“Son,” he panted with a desperate whine. No other man will know me as you do. I could not stop if you commanded me to. It was too much. Instead, he rolled onto his side and pulled his son into his arms. Mimicking his father’s stance, Hawthorn nodded, and the match began. He would treat this as a victory in the area until Hawthorn expressed otherwise. The first of many nights to come. “H- Hawthorn,” Lowland’s voice came out as a desperate whimpering. He swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes still fixed on his son. To worship the body he helped sculpt into being with flesh and blood and years of labor and care. Say something.”
Lowland stared, bleary-eyed, at his son. It was hard to focus on anything except his son. Even with the bindings removed, Hawthorn’s were not the breasts of a woman; round, soft, ready to tend to an infant’s needs or a man’s pleasure. The young man was panting, sweat dripping from his body as he neared the brink of release.
