The basement smelled like sweat and old beer. Mark, twenty-two and built from summers on the construction site, stood in the doorway with his shirt off, watching his dad, Rick, forty-five and still thick with muscle, sort through boxes. Rick looked up, eyes dark.
"Close the door, boy."
Mark kicked it shut. The lock clicked. Rick straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. His bulge was already pushing the denim.
"You been thinking about it again?" Rick asked, voice low and rough.
"Every fucking night," Mark said. He stepped closer. "Your cock in my mouth. Your hands on my ass. Telling me I'm yours."
Rick grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him in. Their mouths crashed hard, tongues shoving, teeth scraping. Rick tasted like whiskey and need.
He shoved Mark backward until his ass hit the old couch, then dropped to his knees.
"Pull it out," Rick ordered.
Mark unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down. His cock sprang up, already leaking. Rick didn't tease. He swallowed him to the root in one wet slide, throat working, spit dripping down Mark's balls. Mark groaned loud, hips jerking. Rick sucked like he was starving, head bobbing fast, hand gripping the base and twisting.
"Fuck, Dad, that's it," Mark hissed. "Suck your son's dick."
Rick pulled off with a filthy pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to the head. "Get on the couch. Face down."
Mark obeyed, kicking his jeans the rest of the way off. He knelt on the cushions, chest against the backrest, ass up. Rick spread him open with rough thumbs and buried his face between the cheeks. His tongue dragged hot and wet over Mark's hole, licking, pushing, getting it sloppy. Mark pushed back, moaning.
Rick stood, unzipped, and hauled out his thick cock. He spat in his palm, slicked himself, then pressed the fat head against Mark's hole.
"Beg for it."
"Please, Dad. Fuck me. Shove that cock in your son's ass."
Rick drove in. One long, brutal thrust that stretched Mark open and bottomed out deep. Mark shouted, hole clenching around the invasion. Rick didn't wait. He fucked hard and steady, hips slapping, balls swinging, the couch creaking under them. Every thrust punched a grunt out of Mark.
"That's it, take it," Rick growled. "This hole's mine. Been mine since you turned eighteen and started looking at me like you wanted it."
Mark reached back and spread himself wider. "Harder. Breed me, Dad."
Rick gripped his hips bruising-tight and pounded. The wet sound of cock driving into spit-slick hole filled the basement. Sweat dripped off Rick's chest onto Mark's back. He reached around, fisted Mark's cock, and stroked him in time with the thrusts.
Mark came first, shooting thick ropes across the couch cushions, hole pulsing around Rick's cock. Rick fucked him through it, then slammed deep and stayed there, growling as he pumped his load inside, flooding his son's guts.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard. Rick leaned down and kissed the back of Mark's neck, softer now.
"Next time," he muttered, "I'm tying you to the weight bench first."
Mark grinned against the couch. "Can't wait, Dad."
