Title: Er Nai Zhi' Yi (Two Is As One)
Author: Diana Bloomfield

Fandom: Kung-Fu: The Legend Continues

Pairings: Kwai Chang Caine/Peter Caine

Rating: N-17

Summery: Pop and Peter spend a night of discovery.

Permission To Archive: Yes.

Warnings: Incestuous, loving relationship between a father and his son.

Er Nai Zhi' Yi (Two Is As One)
By Diana Bloomfield

This has got to be one of the lousiest days in my life. Why else would I be sitting in a tavern named Joe's at the edge of town, trying single-handedly to drink their entire stock of bourbon?

I don't even know what I'm doing in this hole-in-the wall dive. I try to figure it out as the smell of stale smoke and alcohol, the dull lighting, and the harsh music in the background assault my senses.

As I stare at the glass, watching the beads of moisture slide down the surface, I get annoyed at myself when I realize full well what exactly I'm doing here - trying to use the alcohol to soothe away the anger and hurt I've been feeling for the past two hours - not that it's working, of course. Just another trick I've resorted to in trying to ignore the real problem that's been slowly eating away at me for the last several years - the problem that refuses to be ignored, no matter how hard I try.

Tonight though, it surfaced with an ferociousness I hadn't expected. I still couldn't believe it. How had my life managed to get so screwed up in such a short time?

*

The day had started out so well. I had managed to help Kermit make a huge drug bust that we had been working on for the last two months. Storming in on a major heroin factory, we managed to not only seize the contraband before the thugs had a chance to destroy it, but also rounded up several of the top henchmen of the operation. All in all a
kick-ass day.

I had been feeling the residual adrenaline rush from the bust, and I was ecstatic, a little tired, but still on the high of a job well done. After filling out some leftover paperwork down at the precinct, I had decided that I wanted to share the good news with my pop. I don't even know why it had seemed so important, so urgent, that I go there right then, but it did, so I did. One of many things I owe to my pop is listening to my instincts - even though sometimes I wish I didn't.

The Stealth had practically driven itself on the all-too-familiar route to my father's place, and I felt the excitement welling in my stomach at the thought of seeing my pop, though I didn't know just why.

Hesitating at the entrance way when I didn't see my father anywhere, I called out. "Pop?"

When I finally saw my dad approaching, I was surprised by how he greeted me, wearing only a black silk robe that had slivers of silver woven through it. When had he gotten that? It accented the long, silver hair that was free-flowing and resting around his shoulders.

"Peter?" His warm, brown eyes showed surprise, not something I get to see very often.

"Hi, Pop, can I come in?" I asked, already moving into the doorway.

"But of course, Son," he answered and moved out of my way to let me pass. "What has prompted this visit?"

I gave him an enthusiastic smile. "I just wanted to tell you. Remember the Delnardo case I told you about?"

"Yes...I recall you mentioning it," Pop commented softly, with a nod of his head.

"We finally made the bust today!" I said in a rush.

Then it came, that gentle smile that always warmed me to the core. The rarest of gifts I treasured that let me know I had pleased Pop. "Peter, that is wonderful, I am so proud of you, my son."

I felt my face heating up and my eyes locked onto his for a long moment. I started to say something more when I heard the door to Pop's bathroom open up.

"Hey, Caine, did you see where I left my...."

The familiar feminine voice stopped midway through her sentence as Skalany padded out of the bathroom with one dark blue towel wrapped around her head and another one wrapped around her body, covering her feminine virtues.

Her eyes and mine locked, and a rush of embarrassment flooded through both of us. Embarrassment wasn't the only thing I felt though; for the strangest reason, I also felt myself becoming extremely angry at the brunet woman standing in the main room of my father's place. Why, I didn't know. The silence in the room was deafening until I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Sorry, Pop, didn't know you already had company tonight," I said and made a bee line for the door until a strong hand caught my arm.

"Peter...please...."

I could tell by the look in my father's eyes that he wanted to say something, to explain himself in some way, but I didn't want to hear it at the moment. At least I had to give my father credit for having the good grace to look as uneasy as Skalany and myself, momentarily losing his look of Shaolin calm. Like I said, though, I still wasn't in the mood to listen to anything he had to say. The only thing I wanted was to get as far away as I could from Skalany's piecing dark brown eyes.

"That's okay," I said, pulling free from my pop's grasp. "I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

I moved again for the door and heard my father's soft voice. "As you wish."

Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I said, "Have a good evening, Skalany."

"Ah...yeah," she said and cleared her throat. "You too, Peter." As I started down the stairs, I heard my pop say, "Perhaps Mary Margaret, it would be for the best if...."

I didn't hear the rest, as I was getting out of hearing distance. After leaving my father's loft, I drove around aimlessly until, finally, I ended up at Joe's. It had looked like as good a place as any to get so drunk that I couldn't see straight anymore.

Like I said, it didn't help much. It still didn't flush out the memories of Skalany walking around my father's place in next to nothing, or the knowledge of what had been going on before I had gotten there. I think once more about the way I had felt at seeing it, and another rush of shame fills me with a heat that is mingled with the whisky I sip on. The truth tears at my gut and refuses to be drowned properly, no matter how hard I try. Me, Peter Caine, had actually became jealous because my father and Skalany were sharing a bed...and it wasn't my dad I was jealous of.

Christ, when had things gotten so out of hand? When had my feelings of needing Pop's praise, seeking his attention, craving fatherly hugs and touches, turned into something so sordid?

I order another whisky straight-up and try not to think about Skalany's hands roaming all over my father's body. The same body I wanted to know - the same body I could never have because of what society would think about it, the rules that society had set up against it - the same rules I based my career upholding and protecting. God, I'm a wreck!

I know it isn't right to want him, but I can't ignore the fact that is exactly what I want. I tried so hard over the last couple of years to ignore the growing attraction I've felt fostering inside me for him. I chalked it up to just being grateful for having him in my life again after being away from him for so many years. It didn't take long to realize that whatever I was feeling for him sure wasn't gratitude - you don't have the urge to make love to someone because of feeling grateful, or at least I don't.

I get so scared sometimes that Pop can see through me, know what it is I secretly crave from him, and it frightens me. I worry that if he knew, he'd leave me again, that I'd disappoint him so thoroughly that he'd not want to know me any longer. Sometimes I think it's nothing but foolishness.

When I'm with my dad, I can see the love and pride in his eyes, feel the rush of affection and security from his touches, and it's almost enough to make me feel like there is nothing I could do that would ever take his love away from me. Sometimes I even let myself be fooled into thinking that what I feel I can see returned in his eyes, when he thinks I don't know he's watching me. But then in the dark of night, in the hours that hover just before dawn, the fear sets in and nothing can dispel it.

"Give me another shot," I say to the bartender, ignoring the way his image keeps splitting and merging in front of my eyes.

A familiar voice answers from behind my back. "Peter, perhaps you have had enough for one evening."

I turn to look into the endless brown eyes of my father, the gaze burning into my soul.

"Pop, what are you doing here?" I grumble. It doesn't really surprise me that he showed up. Sometimes I get the feeling that he could find me anywhere, anytime. It's both comforting and annoying.

The bartender returns with a filled shot glass, and my pop waves it away with a graceful movement of his hand.

"Perhaps...the question should be, why are you here? Surely there is no problem worth this...." Pop says, motioning at the empty shot glasses sitting in front of me.

Oh, if you had any idea, Dad, I think to myself mirthlessly. What would you think if you knew just what a screwed-up son you ended up with?

Instead of speaking my mind, I simply say, "So what happened to Skalany? You didn't leave her at your place, did you?"

He shakes his silver head slightly. "I did not. I took her back to her home. It is...where she belongs."

I give my pop a quizzical look but say nothing.

"Come, I shall call a cab and take you home," he says slowly, his hand resting heavily on my forearm.

I shake off the hand brusquely. "Thanks, but no thanks, I'm perfectly content right here," I snap and turn to pick up the new shot of whisky that the bartender had left anyway.

"Peter, you will come...now." The sharp tone of my father's voice got me to turn around again.

It was uncommon that he'd use a harsh tone with anyone, and him doing so now definitely got my attention. Dark, unreadable eyes bored into mine.

"Fine, call the cab," I snap, running a hand through my hair.

"You will be...all right?" he asks softly, his eyes searching my face with concern.

I snort. "Yeah Pop, I doubt I'll get myself into any trouble in the five minutes it takes to get you to make the call."

With a nod of assent, he moves off to use the pay phone outside. When he returns, he sits on the stool by my side as we wait for our ride.

The ride home is a quiet one. It's not unusual for my father to be silent, but I just don't have anything I feel is worth saying. What good would it do anyway? I don't really even understand everything I'm feeling, so how can I possibly expect Pop to?

The ride itself is a bumpy one, the cab seemingly having run out of shocks, making my queasy stomach toss and churn perilously. My head is also starting to pound furiously, and all I want to do is to get home to my bed and put the entire mess of a night behind me. Needless to say, I'm more than a little surprised to open my eyes when the cab stops and find myself outside of Pop's loft for the second time that night. I turn to look at my dad.

"Pop, I thought you were taking me home?"

Dad gives one of those familiar shrugs. "Yes, but I did not specify whose home. I...wish for us to talk."

"Pop, I'm not really in the mood," I protest weakly, annoyed at the fact it sounds like I'm whining, even to my own ears.

"Please?" he asks softly and I look deeply into his soft, warm eyes.

I sigh heavily. How can it be that just one word from my father can have such a profound affect on me? That soft, unassuming, tone of his could get me to do anything for him.

"All right, Pop, I'll come in, but only for awhile, okay?" I gain another shrug of his shoulders and follow him up the stairs to his studio.

The place is immaculate as always, and I catch myself glancing around as if some trace of Skalany still permeates the place. There's no hint of her anywhere, only the familiar smell of spices and incense fill the air, and the soft glow of candle light bathes the place. I watch my father as he glides across the floor and into the other room.

When he returns, he's got a pair of my black sweatpants, the ones I keep here for sparring, neatly laid over one arm. He passes them over to me.

"Go shower, we will speak after," he orders softly.

Not having the energy to protest, I take the sweats and move off to the bathroom. Turning the water on, I strip and climb under the warm spray. As the nearly scalding water jets over me, I scrub at my skin, trying to make sense of things in my mind.

Logically, I know I have no right to get angry at my dad for taking Skalany to his bed. After all, why wouldn't he want companionship sometimes? Even though sometimes he makes me wonder, I try to remember that he is still a full-blooded, normal man, with natural desires and needs like anyone else. Even with his Shaolin control, he couldn't deny himself completely. So it comes down to the fact that I have no reason to expect that dad would abstain from making love, or to get irate when I finally confront that. It isn't as if I have the right to be jealous - I'm his son, not his...lover.

That offers little comfort to me as I quickly wash the soap off my skin, scrub my hair clean, and get out to dry off. Pulling the sweats on, I pad out barefooted to confront the man who means everything to me and who can never be told just how deep my love for
him goes.

In the main room, Dad is sitting cross-legged with two steaming cups beside him. I can tell by the aroma that it's green-leaf tea, and as I come to sit beside him, my father hands one of the cups over to me.

"Drink, it will help soothe you," he says softly.

I sip from the cup, even though I know it won't help soothe what is really troubling me, that continues to eat at me.

"I have...upset...you, my son, and I apologize," my father says, his rich voice not more than a whisper.

I cough on the sip I had taken and turn my eyes away from him, in fear he could see the truth. "Oh, c'mon, Pop, you've not done anything to upset me," I lie, maybe subconsciously wanting my dad to catch me in it. He never disappoints.

With a free hand, he catches the tip of my chin and turned my face until our eyes met. "I have, I can sense your pain," he speaks with certainty. I should have known I wouldn't be able to hide anything from my father. "I have hurt you somehow, and that causes me pain, my son."

My dark eyes are locked onto his, and I see the oddest expression in them. My pulse picks up its pace. His fingers gently caress my cheek.

"I never wish to bring you pain, my dear Peter."

The silken fingers brushing against my skin is almost my undoing. I can't deal with him touching me, not now, not tonight when my emotions are still on a collision course.

"Don't," I plead, and am shocked when my voice cracks.

"Why not, Son?" he whispers to me.

Because once you start, I'm not going to want you to stop, I scream to myself. I feel his hand drift away and feel a sudden and immense loss.

"Will you please explain to me why Mary Margaret has...disturbed you so?"

My eyes, which had drifted close, open and look into the serene face that watches over me in dreams. I should have known that my envy wouldn't have gone unnoticed by my all-knowing pop, but God, I can't tell him the truth! Not about this.

"I...ah...um...." I stupidly fumble for something, anything to say other than the reality, but as I struggle for a suitable lie, I feel the weight of my father's disapproving glance and know I can never get away with less than the truth with him.

Sitting back, his steadfast gaze never leaving mine, my pop slowly speaks. "Perhaps it would be beneficial if I explained why I chose the course of action that brought Mary Margaret to my bed."

Inside I groan, I really do not want to hear how Dad is attracted to her, that he might ...love her.

"Dad, you don't have to explain anything. We're both grown men and free to do whatever we want. You're private life is your own and you don't owe me anything in the way of an explanation," I tell him.

"But I do owe you an explanation, Peter, if it helps to bridge the distance that has opened up between us," he insists. I watch my father close his eyes. "I care for Mary Margaret a great deal,"he starts to say.

For some unfathomable reason I feel my heart sink and my blood chill. Okay, here it comes, tell me you love her, Pop, and let's put a end to these ridiculous fantasies of mine for once and for all. My dad's eyes opens once more, and his steady gaze rests on me.

"Even though I care for her, I am not...in love...with her."

My mind works furiously, trying to process what it has just been told. "You what?"

"Was that not what concerned you?" Pop asks with a tilt of his head. "That I might have... feelings...for Mary Margaret?"

I feel my face flame up and know that the truth is written in my eyes for Dad to read if he wants to. I sit there with a dumbfounded look on my face. Though it could be a trick of my eyes, I can almost swear I see a satisfied look cross his normally passive features.

"Then it is as I suspected."

"Pop, Dad, I...um," I fumble, not knowing just what I want to say, but I'm silenced with a gentle finger pressed against my lips.

"Let me speak, my son, and perhaps I can enlighten you," Pop says softly. "You see, Mary Margaret was a...distraction for me. She sated a need I had, but could not extinguish a greater need I bore." Dad's gentle hand comes back up, the back of his knuckles rubbing against my cheek. "A need I dared not burden you with, my dearest one."

The tone of his voice had taken on a different quality with the last words spoken, a quality that is slightly husky and holds something I dare not believe.

"P-pop?" My voice can't say more as I try to read his eyes, the expression in them. Even as I refuse to believe what he might be saying, my heart starts to thunder in my chest with hope.

"My darling, dearest Peter, I too have felt this... connection...between us that has you so unsettled. I never spoke of it because I know it is forbidden by the outside world, who would show their disapproval. Though their opinions do not matter to me, I felt that they would to you." The hand on my cheek then travels down to my shoulder and back up again in a feather-light caress, and my breath catches in my throat. "I also was not certain that you felt a similar way towards me, but you do, do you not?"

The glow from the candlelight in the room turns fuzzy and hazy, blurring the edges around my dad. The only thing that is crystalline clear is the endless brown of his eyes that are intensely focused on me. My heart is loud in my ears, and my chest hurts from the trapped breath I still hold on to.

"Y-yes," I finally manage to get out. It is somewhat weak and barely audible, but it must be clear enough to Pop because the next thing I know, the hand on my shoulder has moved to cup the back of my head and I feel myself being drawn closer and closer to the mouth I have only tasted in my most hidden fantasies.

His lips descend upon mine with the gentlest of pressure, a touch so soft that it might be nothing more than a figment of one of my fantasies. Except when he pulls back slightly and I open my eyes, I can see the smoldering squall of emotions swirling in the dark depths of his eyes and I know it's no fantasy.

Our faces are still close enough that I can feel myself taking in his breath. His fingers gently stroke my neck and the heat from his touch is almost scalding.

"Peter," he whispers once more.

How many times has he said my name? I can't even count, but it never sounded like this before, and it sends a shiver through me. I lean in again to reclaim his mouth, boldly kissing him more firmly as my arms go around him and pull his body closer to mine. I feel the tip of his tongue trace my lips and I part them, inviting him further.

Taking the offer, I feel his tongue push forward and into my mouth with a slow and deliberate thoroughness. His mouth captures my breath, as I drown in the sensations rushing through me, electrifying me. He tastes of herbs, spices, and something else that I can't exactly pinpoint, and I take in more of it, the unique taste mingled with heat.

Not able to stay passive, I set forth to explore the recesses of his mouth as well, kissing him back with all of the pent-up intensity that had been coiled inside me for years.

So began a gradual, sensual duel, both of us taking and giving, tasting and teasing, our tongues sliding against each other sensuously until I capture his and draw it into my own mouth to suckle on.

I feel his hands threading through my hair, one cupping my head and the other sliding down my spine to rest at the small of my back as I feast on him. My hands come up and stroke his firm chest through the silken shirt, enjoying the feel of hard muscle under the softest of material beneath my fingers. We're so close that when I inhale, his scent infuses into me, and I become helplessly submerged in him, lost in his scent, his touch that is so strong yet tender, of the wondrous taste of him - everything that is Kwai Chang Caine.

In a moment that seems to be both instantaneous and lasting an eternity, the kiss ends, our lips still clinging to one another even as we pull apart.

When I pull back slightly, my lungs draw in a ragged breath as I look into the dark eyes that are illuminated and glowing in the soft flames of the candles, a thousand shards of light combining with passion and desire.

"Dad?" At the moment I can't seem to be capable of saying anything other than that and hope that my father can sense all I am thinking and feeling at the moment but am unable to say coherently. A soft thumb trails across my kiss-swollen lips.

"My precious Peter," he whispers. "Love is as illusive and rare as it is treasured. It is something that is greatly sought after, but seldom found. When two souls come together and unite as one to travel life's path as a single entity, it is an event that should be
celebrated, not scorned. So many pursue fleeting encounters, suffer torment of their heart, all in the hope that they will find that which will complete them, yet these same people impose restrictions on the form that this gift is to be accepted. Is that, in the end, not as foolish as denial of the gift once it is found?"

I stare into my father's eyes and try my best to comprehend all that my dad is telling me.

Tonight there are no boundaries between us, the last of them shattered with a single kiss. My father is not, for once, being obscure or ambiguous, but as forthright as he ever gets. And I still can't comprehend it.

Is he actually telling me that he, Kwai Chang Caine, my father, is in love with me? Was that possible? Could I ever be that fortunate?

I still can't bring myself to speak, and he seems to take my silence to mean something other than the fact I'm simply dumbstruck, because I feet his hand draw away from me and watch as his eyes drop. My heart aches at the disappointment coloring Dad's eyes.

"Perhaps I have been too brazen in my expression of my feelings towards you and that is...disconcerting...to you, but do not doubt them. I do love you, my darling one, and I shall always. If you are not capable of accepting that at this time, then perhaps soon, but I
shall not pressure you. When you are ready, and only then, will I hope you shall come to me, but it a choice only you will be capable of making."

Dad begins to rise, and I find my hand shooting out to capture his arm.

"Don't go," I whisper hoarsely. "Please...stay."

"Peter?"

My eyes search the floor in front of me, unable to meet my dad's intense gaze.

"I love you, too, Pop. For so long I've fought it, tried to deny it, but I can't. Not anymore, it's too strong. Dad, I...I need you so much, want you...so much."

My body is shaking as forcibly as my voice is and suddenly strong arms surround me, cradling me against a firm chest.

"As I, you, my darling," he reassures me, his voice low and husky as his fingers come back up to caress my face, touching me as though he never wants to stop.

"Then make love to me," I plead, my voice barely above a whisper.

If I wanted to say more, I couldn't have because at that instant hot, firm lips close over mine with a demanding hunger, not tentatively, but a branding kiss that leaves no doubts of the stakes being claimed.

I feel his fingers, warm, sure, agile, exploring my bare chest. Hands that have both the power to maim and heal gently explore, and though he's touched me often in the past, there is a new energy this time in his caress.

I gasp and suck in a breath when they find my nipples, rubbing across them until they're hard nubs, drawn so tight that they ache. I moan into Pop's mouth, my own fingers wrestling with the small buttons on his shirt, craving to feel hot skin under my hands.

The shirt gives and I slide it down his muscled arms, letting the silk pool on the floor.

My fingers gravitate through the crisp curls of fine hair that dust his etched chest, taking pleasure in the softest of moans I hear coming from deep in his chest. I feel his nipples peak as my thumbs stroke them. His mouth trails a line of fire across my cheek, down the length of my neck where it joins my shoulder and back again, nipping with teeth and soothing with his warm, moist, tongue.

I try to pull him closer, leaning into him as his hands roam over my bare back, scraping. He moves to sit on his knees, and I follow, so we're facing one another. He reaches for me and pulls me to him. The feel of our chests brushing against each other sends shivers of delight rippling through me and settles well south as my mouth seeks his again. His arms circle me, pulling us together tightly. I can feel our groins pressed against each other through the material of his twill pants and my sweats, and I can feel our matching hardness, the fabric trapping the heat of our frustration that ached for freedom.

Dad's hands comes down my spine to cup and squeeze my buttocks as I kiss his neck and up behind his ear, licking lightly at the ridge before coming to savor his full mouth.

I can't seem to get enough of him, each kiss, each touch, only driving me for more. I feel his hands stroke over my legs before he reaches and cups my length. My eyes close, my head tilts back, and I moan urgently as his fingers stroke over me, causing me to grow even harder.

"Oh God, Christ, Dad...please," I moan helplessly.

The stroking stops almost as quickly as it began. My eyes open, and I see a fire burning in his dark depths, a look of love so fierce that it leaves me feeling dangerously weak.

Dad reluctantly pulls himself out of my arms and stands. "Come," he whispers, extending his hand to me. I clasp it as if clasping a lifeline, and effortlessly he pulls me to my feet.

Together we make our way to his futon. Still standing, our arms wind around each other and we kiss, softly, nibbling at each other's lips, just enjoying the feel of being in the other's arms and realizing what a momentous step we were going to take together.

My hands run over Pop's back, our noses brushing against each other as Dad's hands travel to dip into the band of my sweats. I hide a smile as Dad gazes into my eyes when he discovers I don't have any briefs on under the black sweats. I can swear I hear a growl as his hands dive in farther to cup my bare cheeks. I moan as his fingers knead and massage before finally pulling the sweats all the way down, carefully avoiding my solid erection.

I kick them off to the side and reach for his belt buckle to help him remove what's left of his clothing. I move to lie down on the futon and wait for Dad to join me. When he doesn't, I look up at him and find his gaze running over the length of my exposed body. The gaze is unabashed, frank, appreciative, and weighs so heavily on me that I start to squirm a little in embarrassment and feel a rush of heat spread through me, making me blush.

Matching gaze for gaze, I let mine sweep over him head to toe. I greedily take in the sight of the well-defined physique, muscles toned and carved, the flat, firm, stomach, lean legs full of strength, back up to the length of sex that stands jutting forth from his body, asserting boastfully its need - its need for me. My head swims with the thought that I'm capable of arousing him so thoroughly...that he actually wants me that much.

With feline grace, he stretches out beside me as I turn to face him. His hand runs over my ribs and down to my hipbone so lightly.

"You..." he whispers softly, his breath flowing across my cheek, "... redefine beauty."

I feel the blush intensifying, spreading from the tip of my hair down to my toes at the warmth and affection in his tone. God, no one has ever made me feel like this before, making me feel cherished completely.

I vaguely wonder how it's possible to feel such overwhelming love. Before I have time to think about it, I watch Pop move between my spread legs, and my lungs forget how to work. My eyes are locked onto his hands, and I watch as they begin stroking over my chest, brushing across my ribs, traveling over my abdomen and lower in a touch that's almost ticklish it's so light. I then feel them, fingers spread wide, running up and down my legs in a languid motion that doesn't correspond with the sparks in Dad's eyes. They then move up my inner thighs, and my legs fall farther apart to accommodate them, letting silken thumbs rub at the inner creases dangerously close to where I wanted them most, but not close enough.

My eyes drift shut again, and I feel Dad's lips following the trail his hands mapped out, not a single inch escaping his attention. I feel his mouth close around my hard nipple, teeth grazing over it gently as his tongue swirls around it, only releasing it to take the other one into his mouth. He suckles as I groan, aching to feel more of him, all of him.

My hands thread through his long hair, the silver strands so soft, as I rub against him, urging him on with little moans and half-formed words.

As diligent as he is in everything else, he continues to lave my body with his thorough exploration, his lips and tongue learning every minute dip and slope of my body, making it feel like it is practically vibrating with the building need, until finally I can feel his breath brush against my heated, straining length.

I force my eyes to open, not wanting to miss a precious second of what I sense is going to happen next, what my body begs to have happen next.

I watch his head bow down and the tip of his tongue dart out. I'm not able to stifle the cry that escapes my throat as his scalding tongue swabs the engorged head of my erection, licking up the precum that's pooled there. My body arches sharply, but the palms of his hand hold me still as he continues tormenting me. The length of his tongue runs up and down my length, running underneath and around several times over.

I whimper and move restlessly under him, getting lost in the heat and sensations that are short-circuiting what is left of my mind. No other lover that I had ever made me feel like this, there is no comparison, no contest, bar none.

Just when I think I am going to be driven to sweet insanity, Pop takes me all the way into his mouth.

Sweet Holy Mother of Jesus! I feel like I'm on fire and drowning at the same time, consumed by torrid heat that feels like lava flowing over me.

Lips close around me like a vice, teeth, cheeks and tongue work in harmony as he draws me over and over again into his mouth in a tireless rhythm.

The urge to thrust is too strong to resist and I try to move, but steady hands still hold me fast, and I'm driven higher and higher. There's a fire that's smoldering in my stomach, a tight ball that starts growing, spreading through me. My body is protesting, warring against itself. One part aches for this to last forever, to draw it out as long as possible, but the other part craves the release that I ache for. I need more, want it all.

A plaintive moan breaks free. Dad can sense just how close I am, and he moves. Powerful forearms rest on either side of my shoulders, and I shudder when I feel the full length of his body slide along mine, such sweet agony! We're touching at all points, no distance between us as I discover the full effect of his strength, of the fever of his body, of the raw, sexual energy he has.

Our erections rub against each other, the sweet friction banking the fire of need in my stomach. It's swelling and suffusing in me, spreading, reaching out further and further, dragging me closer and closer. My fingers grasp at him, clutching at his back, at the curved cheeks of his rear, arching into him and pulling him down at the same time. Our moans tangle around each other as we move faster and faster against one another, my hips moving in counter rhythm to Dad's.

"Dad, Jesus, please, Pop," I beg, crying out.

Dad stops himself, holds himself motionless on top of me. My whole body is trembling as his hands stroke over me, calming me.

"Tell me what it is you need, my love," he whispers harshly, his own voice raspy and thick.

"Want you...inside me," I manage to choke out.

Eyes fueled with desire and want rake over me. "Yes, my beloved one."

I find myself nudged over, and I turn onto my stomach as a pillow is placed under me. My gut is a tangled, mangled mess of nerves and anticipation as I feel his hands running over my back and flank lovingly. I feel his fingers spread my cheeks apart as my legs come up on their own.

His thumb intimately grazes over the muscular ring of my body, and I can't suppress the hard trembling that shoots through my body as fear and urgency meet and collide. I want it so bad that my body is screaming at me, but the fear is there, too.

The thumb stills, his fingers gently kneading me. "You have not been this intimate with another man before...have you?" he asks knowingly.

"I...no," I answer honestly, breathlessly.

Though I had a little experience with men in the past, experimenting here and there along the way, there had never been anyone I had wanted to share this intimacy with before...until now.

"I see," he whispers. "I do not wish to hurt you, perhaps we should stop for now."

"Christ, no!" I cry. "Please, Pop, I want this...need it. God, please."

"Shshh, my love, it will be all right," he soothes as his hands stroke over me. "If it is what you want, you shall have it. I can deny you nothing, my sweet one."

Slowly the trembling in my muscles calm and ease up as Dad continues broad, circular strokes over my back, shoulders, and over my rear, a motion meant to allay and pacify, not arouse.

One hand remains on me as I feel my father shifting around. I look over my shoulder to see him holding a vial in his hand. He opens it, and a strong herbal, spicy scent lofts towards me. He tips the bottle, and I felt a trail of oil dribble down the cleft of my cheeks.

The soothing touches start and are accompanied this time with butterfly kisses over the skin of my back. My eyes drift shut again as I lose myself in the glow of love I feel wrapping around me.

His hands move back down to my rear and gently probe, teasing over the rim of my body.

The pad of his finger brushes against it, and my body tenses. He continues kissing my back tenderly, and I feel myself relaxing despite the fear. His finger continues rubbing gently, then firmly presses against me until he dips inside my body.

I groan at the wave of sensations battering me all at once as his finger probes deeper into my most intimate opening, testing, stretching the ringed entrance with the utmost care, using slow circles to gently loosen the muscle.

I feel a little uncomfortable at first, but breathing steadily, I force myself to relax as much as I can, and as my body relaxes, I feel his finger moving more easily inside of me. I sigh and begin to enjoy the unfamiliar sensations as they start becoming more and more pleasurable. Dad's finger wiggle in even farther and suddenly stroke a spot that sends sparks of white-hot electricity through me. I gasp out and push myself back hard against Dad's hand, involuntary shudders running up and down my spine.

"You are so hot, so tight," he whispers, and I groan loudly.

He brushes against the hot spot again, and I hardly notice when a second finger is pressed into me. Both fingers work in tandem to spread me wider, stretch me farther than I ever had been before. My painfully rigid length is pressed ungivingly into the futon as I meet my dad's thrusting fingers eagerly, wantonly.

The fingers disappear, leaving me feeling like one large raw nerve and painfully empty, quivering at the loss and unfulfilled need. I moan and feel the head of his member pressed against the tight rim, rubbing the leaking tip against me purposefully.

"Are you ready, my dearest one?" he questions.

Somehow his words permeate my fog-filled brain.

"Yes," I hiss through my teeth, seething with a bone-deep ache that is running recklessly through me.

He knows, has to know, that I trust him more than anybody else on this Earth - that I trust him with my life and know he'd never do anything to intentionally hurt me.

His hips shift, his arms circle me, and I felt myself breached as he presses into me. I moan as the pleasure-pain courses through me as he works his way into my tight channel that reluctantly accepts him.

He's patient and moves slowly, letting me adjust around his imposing girth until we're joined as completely as humanly possible.

I feel filled and stretched to capacity. He's so hot and hard inside of me, and it's better than I had ever dared dream of. He feels so good, so right, like he's where he belongs, where we both belong.

I wish feverishly that I could see his face, see the love I know would be shining in his eyes, but I don't have to see it to know it's there, I can feel it washing over me as easily as I feel his throbbing, twitching erection inside of me.

He begins moving, slowly at first, and I'm helpless, lost in the varying feelings and sensations, but soon my hips start rocking in time to his, meeting him thrust for thrust.

His hands curl around my hips, holding with his strength, as long, deep strokes fill me over and over again.

It is the most incredible feeling to be completely surrounded with his power, feeling his need and desire burning like molten lava, feeling it as acutely as his physical touch. My entire body tingles under his hands, electrified and concentrated, centering into my very
soul.

Urgent moans fills my throat, and I hear them mingle with Pop's, the sound of his throaty murmurings vibrating deep in his chest and sounding so erotic to me.

The moans get louder and more ardent until I can't tell which voice is mine.

He starts moving faster and faster inside me, and I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep a rein on my control, wanting to make it last, but it's an almost impossible task and I feel myself slipping and slipping.

My body pushes back harder and harder, the need to have him connected with me as deeply as he can be, becoming uncontrollable. I want everything he can give, all I can take, and so much more.

Dad's arms wind themselves around my waist and chest, and I feel myself moving as he moves. He pulls me up until we're sitting, his knees are on the inside of mine, so I'm spread wide over his legs.

He's buried inconceivably deep, to the hilt, inside of me as his steeled arms hold me securely. I'm drifting helplessly as I feel him continue to drive into me. My head rests on his shoulder as I'm reduced to not much more than quivering muscles and endless moans. I want to do more than just accept the waves of pleasure and hot need rippling through me, but once again I find myself a student under the master, and I turn over all of my control to the only person I've ever trusted.

"Oh my love," he whispers shakily into my ear, and I feel his hot tongue tracing over it, drawing an earlobe into his mouth to suckle on.

I'm walking a tight-rope, the friction, heat, sensations, driving the fire in my stomach through my system until I feel like I'm burning from the inside out. The need is too strong, and my control slips further as the thrusting grows faster and faster.

One of Dad's hands runs over my chest, tweaking and tugging on my painfully erect nipples while I feel the other hand slide down my stomach to wrap around my ruddy, iron-hard, member, and it begins stroking in tempo to his thrusting.

It is all too much, too overpowering. My muscles draw up, and I feel a deep spasm welling in my stomach and tearing through my body with a violent, explosive wave of mind-altering bliss.

I cry out as my seed surges out of my body and over my dad's fingers. A split second later I hear the most wondrous sound I've ever heard as Dad cries out, my name on his lips, as his body shudders and feel myself filled with his scorching, thick, essence.

As my mind slowly drifts back down to join my body, my chest heaves in heavy pants, the air chilling the sweat on my flushed flesh.

I lean against my dad's chest as his arms continue to hold me so tightly against him. I hear my the sound of my dad's ragged breathing in my ear, can feel his thundering heart against my back and know our lovemaking has effected him as much as it has me. A feeling of absolute and pure love surfs through me, so overwhelming that I think my heart will burst from it.

"Oh, Dad, I love you so much," I murmur when I finally catch my breath.

Somehow the words don't seem to do justice to all I am feeling, but it's the best my disjointed mind can come up with for the time being.

"As I, you, my precious lover," he whispers back.

I turn my head, and we kiss softly.

Tender but firm hands stroke down my sides and to my hips and gently lift me. With much reluctance, I feel him slipping out of my body, leaving me feeling empty and hollow until his arms come around me again.

Together we fall onto the futon, side by side, both of us content to just hold each other, nuzzling noses and nipping lips lightly for long minutes.

I sigh and close my eyes, and after a moment, I feel the shifting of my dad getting up, his arms disentangling from mine.

I watch him walk into the bathroom and hear the sound of running water. When my dad reemerges, he's carrying a small washcloth.

Walking over to his table with all of his herbs and medicines, I see him pick up a flask before coming back to drop down on his knees beside me.

I feel the warm, soft, damp cloth caressing me clean, wiping off my stomach and damp groin, over my flaccid sex, and between my legs.

I then watch my dad as he raises the flask that has a greenish liquid in it and pour a healthy dose of the fluid onto his fingers. I jump slightly when he then brings his fingers between my legs and tenderly runs his fingertips over the opening of my body.

"This has numbing properties," he explains as I look up at him questioningly. "It will help to soothe any...residual discomfort...you might experience."

I blush hotly in uneasiness and embarrassment, but instead of laughing, Pop merely smiles with affection when his eyes meet mine. He brushes his lips against mine before setting the cloth and the flask to the side and drawing me into his arms again.

He rolls part way onto his back and guides my head to rest on his chest. I feel his fingers brushing softly against my temple.

"Rest now, my love," he whispers.

"Love you," I murmur before my heavy eyelids droop shut.

I try to resist at first, afraid that if I close my eyes, when I open them again I'd find that this all has been some dream, that I'll wake up and my dad will have vanished like a phantom whisper.I know it's a preposterous thought, but I can't seem to help it.

His fingers continue stroking my temples, and soon I give up the struggle. As I begin to drift off to sleep, listening to the steady, sure beating of Pop's heart under my ear, I can't help wondering at the depth of my love for him, stronger and deeper than anything I've ever felt in my life, the rightness of it both exhilarating and frightening.

****

I come to, my head pounding, pain coursing through me. My eyesight is blurred, and it takes several minutes to clear, but as soon as it does, I start looking around frantically for my father.

"Pop!" I cry out, startled by the fact that the temple lies in rubble around me. Then I remember the attack, watching my father fighting, struggling against the invaders. I cry out louder, moving around the debris. It doesn't do any good; no matter how hard I look, my dad is nowhere to be seen.

I try to fight back the tears but they fall anyway, wet on my cheeks, and I feel the Master's arms around me.

"Where's my father?" I wail.

"He is gone, Peter, I am...sorry," the calm voice tells me.

"No," I sob, turning to bury my face in his black robes in denial.

****

I bolt upright in bed, my heart racing a mile a minute, the terror still spiking through me. My body is drenched in sweat again, and I'm surprised to feel tears streaking down my cheeks as in my nightmare. My eyes blink rapidly, until I remember where I am. I reach over to my side to find the futon empty.

"Pop!" I call out, suddenly filled with an irrational fear.

Suddenly I see my dad walking off the terrace outside. Relief floods me when I realize he must have woken up and simply wanted some fresh night air. I'm instantly up and in his arms.

"Peter? What is wrong?" he asks, full of concern as he gathers my shaking body into his arms.

"I...I, just had a bad dream, that's all," I say weakly, suddenly feeling extremely foolish, yet grateful for the strength of my dad's arms around me.

He pulls back and looks at me. His eyes look deeply into mine, and then he kisses my forehead. "Are you...all right now?"

My arms lock around him. "Now," I mumble into his neck as he holds me.

Minutes pass before Pop speaks again.

"Perhaps if you tell me about the nightmare, it will help to banish it."

His hands stroke over my back and shoulders, continuing to hold me close.

"I...we were..." I fumble, not wanting to re-experience it, but somehow feeling compelled to share it.

"Yes?" he encourages softly.

"We were at the temple again...the day I thought you'd been killed," I admit finally.

He pulls back slightly, and his hands come up to cup and caress my face.

"I...see," he says slowly. "I, too, have had similar dreams haunt me some nights," he confides to me.

"You do?" I ask, bewildered.

His head nods slowly. "Yes." His fingers come to circle my neck and his thumbs stroke against me. "The day I thought I had lost you, I felt as though my own life-force had ended. I felt as though my soul was nothing more than an echo, a shadow of what it once was, left empty and aching. That feeling still...haunts...me to this day at times."

"Oh, Dad," I murmur, my voice cracking. "I don't want to lose you again, not ever. I love you so, so much. You're everything to me."

His fingers caress my cheeks. "And you, my dear love, are my greatest delight. You have given me more love and happiness than I thought could exist."

My heart does this funny little jump inside of my chest. "Don't leave me again, I...I couldn't stand it," I whisper, as my eyes bore into him.

I watch a glimmer of a shadow cross his features, and it unsettles me. "My sweet one, as I have said before, our life is a path that is already chosen for us. I do not know where my path has yet to take me, so it would be unfair of me to make a promise I might be unable to keep."

My eyes drift down to the floor, and I battle with all that I want to say, but can't seem to be able to...the love I feel, the fear that'll be taken away from me. Dad slips a finger under my chin and tips my face back up to meet his eyes.

"I will promise you this though, beloved, that if I am meant to leave, it will not be of my volition. I will never be willingly parted from you again," he vows.

Our lips meet and touch, and I put all the love I feel for the man in my arms into it, holding nothing back. I feel the same love being returned in spades, and I feel my heart lifting at the promise the kiss holds.

When the kiss ends, Pop rests his forehead against mine.

"Let us return to bed, the sun shall rise soon and you are still weary yet."

I nod. I am weary, but it's a good weary, a deep-seated weariness that comes from being loved thoroughly and completely. Pop takes my hand and gently guides me back to the futon. Shaking off the silk robe wrapped around him, he lies back down and pulls me into his arms. I immediately snuggle into his encompassing warmth.

As the beginnings of dawn fractures through the horizon, muting the sky in varying shades of blush, violet, and fuchsia, I settle down feeling more peaceful than I have since I can remember.

My Pop often talks about the path of fate everyone is destined to follow, the order of the universe working for harmony, and I feel such a reverent desire to thank those Fates because I'm more sure now than ever that my journey will always parallel Dad's, that we'll be making that journey together - just as it was always meant to be.


End