Chapter 2
Oliver woke slowly to the feeling of something poking him in the cheek. At first, he couldn't remember where he was until he heard the sound of his father's soft snoring and the quiet hum of the TV. His eyes opened slowly with a silent yawn and he realized he was now facing Vincent's torso. One of his arms was wrapped around the man's back, slightly lifting the black t-shirt which gave him the most godly view of a dark happy trail.
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After taking a few seconds to soak in the sight and wake up more, he was able to register that the thing poking him in the cheek was his father's dick. Holy shit, it was so close. He could feel his heartbeat kicking up. If it weren't for a couple layers of clothing, assuming Vincent was wearing underwear, it'd be touching his face.
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Fuck, he wanted it in his mouth.
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Oliver could feel his own cock twitch at the thought. He couldn't do that though. He knew he'd only terrify his father if he committed such an act, especially while he was sleeping. Plus, he was a man with a high belief in consent.
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That didn't stop the thoughts that ran rampant in his mind as he continued to lay there, feeling the occasional twitch against his face, his boxers slowly tenting. Mouthing a curse, he sat up and swiftly left the room, heading to the bathroom down the hall. Once safely inside, he leaned back against the door, immediately stuffing his hand in his boxers and pulling out his weeping cock.
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He tilted his head back in relief and pleasure as he began to stroke up and down, slowly at first before speeding up. This time, his mind conjured up an image of his father on his knees in front of him with his mouth wrapped around his cock.
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"Oh fuck," Oliver groaned softly, hips bucking into his hand, imagining it was Vincent's mouth. Fuck, he'd look so hot choking on his dick.
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With seconds to spare, he moved over to the toilet, lifting the lid as he aimed. His balls tightened in anticipation when he heard a knock at the bathroom door.
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"You okay, Ollie?" Vincent's deep voiced carried through the door and sent his son over the edge with a low groan.
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He bit down on his hand to muffle any more noises as his cum rained down into the toilet. Damn. He panted quietly, cleaning up any leftovers from his cock with a tissue before tossing it and flushing. He tucked himself away, moving to the sink and washing his hands.
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When he opened the door, his father was leaning against the wall across from him. He probably woke up when his son abruptly abandoned him on the couch. He noticed a couple of things as he eyed the man. His cheeks were pink, meaning he probably figured out what Oliver had just been up to. The other thing was that he now donned a different pair of pajama pants. Interesting.
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"'M fine." Oliver stepped into the hallway with a raised brow. "What happened to your other pants?" He asked, pointing at the now colorful comic printed pants, too far away to tell which ones.
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Vincent turned a shade darker as he looked away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "They, uh, had a st-stain on them- um, from making breakfast!" He quickly reiterated, looking slightly panicked.
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Oliver couldn't stop the small smirk that spread across his lips. "Right." His father probably didn't know that he'd already seen and felt how hard he was while he slept. He'd probably made a mess of the Batman pants and had to change out of them. "So... Movies?"
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It was Sunday and they usually spent it lazily lounging about the house, binging TV shows and watching movies. Sometimes pulling out card and board games.
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"Yeah," Vincent nodded, looking relieved to not be pressed further. "Or Dexter." He suggested as they made their way back to the living room, this time sitting next to each other on the couch. Not as comfortable as their previous position, in Oliver's opinion.
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"Yeah, put that on." He agreed, having forgotten that they'd started the show last weekend.
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So, that's what they did most of the day. After several episodes, two meat lovers pizzas, and a conversation about Oliver's current job search, it was close to eleven at night. They stood and stretched, saying their 'good nights' before heading to their respective rooms across from each other.
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Oliver took a quick shower, always preferring his at night, because he was too tired for that shit right after waking up, pulling on a pair of red boxer briefs. He climbed into bed and under the blankets, willing himself to fall sleep.
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An hour and a half passed of tossing and turning in the dark, sleep skillfully evading him. It was frustrating to endure and he felt like he'd surely lose his mind if this kept happening. He glanced at his open door, across the hall where his father's was slightly ajar. Maybe he'd let him sleep with him again. Granted, earlier was a little less intimate under the circumstances in which they fell asleep together, but he'd obviously slept peacefully and nightmare free.
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Mind made up, Oliver eased out of his bed and across the hall. Slowly pushing the door open further, he could barely make out Vincent's sleeping and, goddamn it, shirtless form, laying diagonally on his king size bed.
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"Dad..." his voice was quite as he stepped further into the room. He saw the man shift before his eyes fluttered open halfway, he hummed in question. "Can I sleep with you?"
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Despite the baritone in his voice, he felt like a little ass kid asking that question.
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Vincent blinked tiredly before answering, "yeah." He closed his eyes and straightened his body out, making room before patting the bed beside him. "C'mere."
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Oliver gladly climbed into the bed beside his father, lifting the cover over his muscled body. He lay on his back for a moment, Vincent's own back facing him as he now lay on his right side. He couldn't tell if he was still awake or not.
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"...Dad?" His voice was softer than it was earlier now that they were closer and he didn't want to wake the man if he'd fallen back asleep already.
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"Ollie Pop?" He sounded tired and wondered if he was annoying him now.
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He turned on to his side, facing his father's naked back. Taking a deep breath he asked. "Can I hold you?" There. He said it.
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It was a few moments before Vincent responded. "Ah, sure."
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His dad lifted his arm slightly and Oliver scooted closer, slipping both arms around his father's warm torso. He hesitantly nuzzled his face into the lengthy hair, immediately relaxing with a content sigh. He smelled nice. "Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes drifted shut as his hand rested against Vincent's stomach.
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His dad shivered, but he didn't notice as he was already beginning to fade from consciousness. An arm partially covered his before a hand engulfed his own. "Love you, son."
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Oliver hummed happily at the safe feeling and words, even if he was the one doing the holding, before muttering while half asleep. "Love you too, daddy."