The twins had been adopted from an orphanage by a man who had told them that he was their real father - and they his biological sons. Their father's house was large and old, and empty save for the three of them. Alfred's surprised shout at the interior of the house echoed all around the gloomy hallways and made Matthew jump. The orphanage was filled twenty-four hours a day with screaming children, but the house was so quiet even the normal volume of their voices seemed to rattle the furniture. Their rooms upstairs would have housed a dozen children at the orphanage, but there was only one four poster bed in each, complete with voiles that fluttered in the breeze from the half-open windows. When Arthur said that they each had one of those rooms, they had unanimously asked to sleep in the same room. (Once Alfred had gotten used to the chiming of the grandfather clock and the incessant groaning of the walls at night, he would move out, eager to claim a room of his own.)
The next room they were shown was Arthur's study, the most prominent room in the house. They were not brought inside but merely stood within reach of the heavy oak door and explicitly warned to never knock on the door under any circumstance. In the face of Arthur's cold countenance, the boys could only nod their agreement. They would quickly learn that Arthur spent almost every hour of the day in his study, working on the novels that earned him all his money. Before they were old enough for schooling, their only company was the housekeeper that came in the morning, and was paid extra by Arthur to play with the twins after her chores into the late afternoon. Reminiscing with each other on a rare occasion, Alfred and Matthew found that neither could remember her name, only that she was round and had wrinkled, gnarled hands, and that her warm embrace smelled of flour and soap, sort of like the matron at the orphanage.
After she left for the day, the twins then had to bathe and clothe themselves and in the evening Arthur would come out of his study. It turned out that one of Arthur's hobbies was cooking, and though for all the practice he seemed to get no better at it, evenings were the boys' favourite time of the day. As he donned his apron, he seemed to become something entirely different, and the boys would watch, mystified, as he puttered around the kitchen, a faint smile on his face. After dinner, they stood on stools to help with the dishes, and Arthur didn't even glare when they got suds around the kitchen counter more than they got the dishes clean. Arthur brought books from his study to read to them at night. His stories were unlike any of the ones they had heard at the orphanage, and in actuality, there were so many difficult words they barely understood any of it. But Arthur's voice as he read aloud was as amicable as it ever got, so they listened to the sound of it until sleep claimed them. Sometimes, just right before they fell into sleep, Arthur would lean over to kiss their foreheads. Arthur always smelled of worn books, and strangely, of the earthly scent of rain.
Still, the twins had a lot of time to themselves. It was fortunate that living in the orphanage where many children vied for the attention of a few adults had made them fairly independent and capable of inventing their own fun. Alfred refused to ever play hide-and-seek with Matthew, despite the glorious size of the mansion, because Matthew could never be found. Instead, they played pretend war-games outside (where Alfred always insisted that Matthew had gotten shot more times) and on rainy days, scrawled coloured figures on the vast supply of paper in the house (where Alfred always insisted that his was more skilfully drawn).
Thinking back on it, they were extremely lucky not to have gotten seriously injured any of the times they played by themselves. It was for another reason that Arthur's study had been disturbed just once in their childhood. Alfred had wanted a proper judge to declare that his artwork was better than Matthew's. Matthew had tried to stop him, of course, but when Alfred starting pounding a tiny fist on the heavy door, he had scampered away to watch from out of sight. Arthur was at first almost visibly worried, wanting to know if something had happened to Matthew. He turned angry at Alfred's explanation, chiding him sternly. He leaned over to slap Alfred's wrist, lightly, but even so, Alfred started bawling. At Arthur's harshly spoken, "Be quiet," he started wailing. Arthur had picked him up and carried him down the corridor, past Matthew who ducked, and locked him up in the outermost room in the house. Arthur returned and slammed the door to his study, and until he emerged again, Alfred wasn't let out even hours and hours after he had stopped crying. Matthew, who had remained hidden the whole time, tried to speak to him from outside the door, but there had been no reply.
Alfred was stubbornly reticent for days after, and when he spoke again he said, "He isn't Daddy."
"Of course he is," Matthew replied numbly. But there was so much more than the incident, or so much less that Arthur did for them. Even when they were feverish and vomiting he called babysitters and only checked on them occasionally. It wasn't much better living in Arthur's house than the orphanage, just very different. On the other hand, neither of them had the faintest inkling how fathers were supposed to behave. Matthew thought very hard about it. "He kisses us at night," Matthew offered finally, "Nobody else do that."
Alfred mulled over this for as long as a boy his age could manage to do so, before he finally agreed.
Alfred's memories of before Arthur came were fuzzy, but he remembered that Arthur was not actually the first to adopt Alfred out of the orphanage. There had been one family before him who had come to look at the children and then said that Alfred was just what they wanted. When Alfred was told the news, he was overjoyed, because there was a miniature celebration for every child who was adopted, and it meant that he had been chosen over all the other children in the orphanage. He was a little sad that he would be separated from Matthew, but despite being biological brothers, they had actually very little sense of being so. The orphanage had dozens of children, and all of them were treated in the exact same manner. The brothers' temperaments were so different that they played with others as often as they played with each other.
So he had hopped into the couple's car with excitement, but when they showed him into their suburban house, there was a boy his age in it. He was their son, and his new big brother, he was told. Alfred could see that the boy was indeed their son, the three of them with their dark hair and dark eyes. Alfred could also see that he was unlike any of them.
For months Alfred struggled against his fate of being the other boy's playmate. The couple paid him extra attention to make him feel welcome at first, but when both boys screamed they placated him first, and though they told their son to share all of his toys with Alfred, he only gave him a few of his worn out ones. Alfred smashed or cut with a scissors the toys he could get a hold of. He would not stand for being punished, verbally or physically. Treats quietened him, but not when the son received them too. At night, the couple tried to make the boys sleep in the same room. The son would go in the middle of the night to the master bedroom, and they allowed that, but when Alfred tried to follow, they sent both the boys back. Alfred instinctively knew why. He spent most days and some nights wailing at the top of his lungs.
Upon his return to the orphanage, some of the other children had jeered, even though their caretakers tried to shush them. It seemed that the energy he had drawn on to make himself heard had exhausted itself. His silence bored the children who soon forgot he had ever left. And Matthew, his real brother by flesh and blood - which he was beginning to realise was most important - took to holding his hand as they slept.
Guinevere was the name of the twins' mother. Arthur had met her at a gathering for the cultured bourgeoisie. She was a waitress at the hotel. Arthur had attended only because studying people gave him material for his books, and had ended up chatting with her, liking her name first, and then finding that she knew more about art and theatre than most of the people on the guest list. She was awaiting admission into university, and had taken up temporary employment because her family was not rich. Yes, she had read and liked a few of Arthur Kirkland's books.
Thereafter, they had started dating. Guinevere was beautiful and charming, with sparkling blue eyes and a slightly crooked wide grin. She also told wonderful stories of her family, her quirky ex-teachers, her friends from high school and the odd part-time job and from Catholic church. She had a way of painting colourful characters without making them caricatures. The relationship went on for months, one of Arthur's longest, and the one time neither of them had condoms and they couldn't wait to get to Arthur's home and Guinevere had said it was alright, Arthur had figured that she had oral contraceptives.
She came to him solemnly and faintly shaking underneath with excitement and perhaps fear a few weeks later, and spoke of marriage. Arthur made sure that he expressed clearly and sincerely that he wanted their relationship to continue - as it had previously been - and gave her more money than she really needed for abortion pills.
It would be another few years before he heard from her again. In a letter she wrote first of God and His gift of life, then of twins, and how she at first thought she could keep and raise them to manhood, but when she got her first look at them, they had your hair. Your skin and your nose. I wept when I saw them, everytime I saw them. I wish I could say they were tears of joy, and not hate. Mostly I hated myself.
She wrote that she had become weak and sickly ever since childbirth. Arthur thought of what he remembered of her, and cannot reconcile that image with the author of this letter. She wrote further that she thinks she might be dying, and the letter ends there. There were no articulated requests, but enclosed in the envelope was a note with the address of the orphanage, a set of dates months apart - one of birth and another of abandonment - and Alfred and Matthew. On the back of the letter the same information was printed in a careful script.
When Arthur decided to visit the orphanage, he was imagining a young woman, bedridden and pathetic. Pale and waning, possibly dying and with nothing to leave behind in her name.
When he saw the twins for the first time, his first thought was that Guinevere lied in her letter, because they looked nothing like him. Nonetheless blood testing revealed that they were his. After the adoption procedures were completed and they had been brought to his mansion, he identified himself to them as their biological father. He glared harshly and it was enough to shut them up when they asked why they had ended up in the orphanage. When they asked timidly after the whereabouts of their mother, Arthur debated with himself for a long time whether he should find and visit her. Whether he should bring and show her his children. When he had decided, she was already gone.
Alfred had always been proud of Arthur at parents' day and associated events at school, when Arthur deigned to attend. The other children's parents were dumpy and wrinkled, but Arthur was young for someone with children, trim, and impeccably dressed. Even as Alfred had gotten older, Arthur aged very well, and he used to sniff with displeasure when Alfred implied that it was due to the lack of hard labour.
He appreciated it all the more now when it looked like he would get a blowjob from his father. He was sitting up on his elbows in Arthur's bed, legs spread around Arthur who was leaning over him and massaging his erection with smooth, slender fingers. That face and those green eyes were mere inches from it, looking alternately down at it and at Alfred's face.
"Don't tease," Alfred whined and finally Arthur bent further to lick the tip of his cock, then took just the head in and gave it a brief suck. He released it from his mouth and licked his way down his erection. Long fingers pressed the cock into his face, the sensitive tip sliding over his cheekbone, eyelashes and paperthin eyelids, while he lightly mouthed Alfred's balls. Alfred muffled a loud moan with a corner of the bedsheet, and Arthur finally began to suck him in earnest. As Alfred felt close to coming, he thought of saying, I want to come onto your face, but he daren't, not yet, so he bit back a shout as he came down Arthur's throat.
Arthur was crawling up his torso to kiss him when there was the loud rap of knuckles on his door. They both jumped. Matthew's voice drifted in through the door. "It's late, Dad. I... I saw that your light was still on, and I thought..."
"Just couldn't sleep, Matthew."
The pounding of his heart was so loud, Alfred fancied that Arthur could hear it. A glance at Arthur's white face told him he felt the same. At last, there were footsteps padding away from the door, and they breathed. Alfred pulled Arthur down and held him tightly against his chest until Arthur squirmed. He let go, and Arthur rolled away.
"That cock-blocker," Alfred cursed softly in case Matthew hadn't returned to his room. "I haven't even taken care of you yet." He knew that Arthur would not be in the mood now anyway. Arthur's face was lined with worry and trouble, as it frequently was during their rendezvous. They both stilled with fear at any little sound. But Alfred had what he wanted, and no force in the world would make him let it go. He passed a gentle thumb over Arthur's scrunched brow.
Alfred was the star quarterback in his final year at junior high and again the moment he entered high school. Not only had he shot up considerably in height, he had packed a lot of muscle in his shoulders from the training. His dollish face as a child had sharpened, but he still had the same puppyish eyes. Needless to say, he was one of the most popular guys at school. When girls approached him in junior high, he agreed to date them because they had long straight hair, eyes dark with eyeliner, and budding breasts. His first few dates consisted mostly of sloppy, fumbling open-mouthed kisses, but when he landed a date with a senior, she had dropped to her knees in an empty storage room one day and taken him into her mouth. Soon after, she had asked to see his room, and the thought of taking this girl into Arthur's house and taking off her bra and her panties just a few rooms away from where Arthur sat oblivious in his study sent a dangerous thrill up his spine. He'd agreed, and when he was buried in her wet, wet hole, and driving her into the bed so hard that it thudded against the wall with every thrust, all he was thinking about was wanting Arthur to burst through the door and be angry at them. Perhaps he would demand to know who dared to take the childhood from his baby son, perhaps he would tear them apart, hit him, look at Alfred's red cock.
As it turned out, it was Matthew who had burst into the room, then closed the door quietly without a word. "My brother," Alfred explained, because not many people in school knew, and the whole thing had hardly thrown off their rhythm. Later that night, Matthew had been red-faced and refused to meet his eyes. Arthur did not notice anything out of the ordinary. Despite Alfred's disappointment at Arthur, he could not help but to be smugly gleeful at Matthew, whom he was certain was still a virgin, unlike himself. Matthew favoured his studies and spoke at a volume that was only audible when the room was quiet. He was not so much unpopular as he was nonexistent. Indeed, the only person who paid them both an equal amount of attention was Arthur, a thought that soured his mood again.
Alfred kept up a steady string of girlfriends until he was taller than Arthur, and he finally knew what he wanted. When he rejected every girl who confessed to him, explaining that he wanted to focus on sports and his studies, they were undaunted and still more girls continued to speak to him. But he couldn't date them when he knew he didn't want any of them. No one made his blood pound and his hands twitch with the urge to touch and possess like Arthur did.
The boys had a terrific epiphany one day. Arthur was not just their daddy, he had to have his own daddy, and maybe even a mommy too. When they questioned him about this, he admitted that he had both a father and a mother, but was evasive about their whereabouts, or anything about the rest of his family. The boys pouted in disappointment, but were used to Arthur being tight-lipped about all of his personal information.
There was, however, a friend of his that visited the house every now and then. Alfred hated the man on their first meeting, mostly because he had laughed so hard at the sight of the children that he had had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. The man was tall, taller than Arthur, and he injected his sentences with strange words that Arthur informed them was French, because the man, Francis, was a frog.
Francis had thrown an arm around Arthur and introduced himself as Arthur's distant cousin. (Very, very distant. So distant we're actually not related, Arthur had added darkly.)
Whenever Francis stopped by, he stayed the night in Arthur's bedroom. Or perhaps not. The boys weren't sure because he was still in there at their bedtime and was gone before they woke up in the morning. In any case, not only did Francis intrude upon their storytelling routine, whatever the adults did in the room left Arthur short-tempered, complaining of headaches, and being generally unbearable the following morning.
Once Alfred lay awake after Arthur had seen them to bed, and asked Matthew if he wanted to see what it was they did in Arthur's room. "Arthur'll be mad," was the expected reply. Alfred rolled his eyes, wondering why he even bothered, and sneaked across the hallway to Arthur's room. He turned the knob slowly and soundlessly and pushed the door just open enough to peer into the room.
For a moment, he had to close his eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, against the bright light from the room. Francis was making a low groan that sounded a lot like pain, and Alfred thought that they were beating each other up, since Arthur seemed to hate Francis, and that would explain why Arthur's head pounded in the mornings. When he could open his eyes, he saw that Arthur was on his knees in front of Francis, and the latter was apparently suffocating him by pressing his face really hard between his legs. Arthur's hands were pushing at the other man's hips, his throat was bulging and his face had turned really red, but still Francis' hands strained to keep his head in place.
Alfred shouted and pushed the door open all the way. The two of them jerked apart, shocked, and Francis groaned again upon seeing Alfred at the doorway. He held his penis with one hand, and Alfred had never seen anyone's penis look like that, red and swollen. Before any of them could move, Francis moaned and white stuff spurted from the tip of his penis, onto the side of Arthur's still shock-frozen face. The white liquid dripped from his eyelashes and cheekbones, and some went into his slightly gaping mouth, already wet and shining with saliva. Then he was getting up, and Francis was raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "You bloody-"
Alfred didn't hear the rest; he was running at full speed back to his room, because apparently Arthur wasn't being hurt at all. Alfred changed his mind and entered Matthew's room instead.
"What were they doing?" Matthew asked, still wide awake. Alfred did not reply and burrowed into the sheets beside him. Minutes later, Arthur entered the room and leaned over them, his face clean now. Alfred wondered if he had seen something he really shouldn't have because Arthur looked nervous. Arthur smoothed a hand over his brow, and he wrinkled his nose because Arthur smelled heavily of something rather unpleasant.
"Forget you saw that - that was nothing to worry about."
"Okay Dad," Alfred agreed readily enough. It seemed Arthur was ready to forget that he had spied into his room in the first place. "There's still white stuff in your hair."
Arthur swore and left. Matthew questioned him again, but he turned his back on his brother and ignored him. When Matthew fell asleep, he stuck a hand beneath his waistband and felt his genitals, but they were nothing like what Francis' had been.
On the Frenchman's next visit, he thanked Alfred wryly for earning him a black eye the last time. He was early enough that Arthur was not yet out of his study, so the twins questioned him on Arthur's family. Francis told them that he was part of a very old English family, with ties to the aristocrats, but he had been denounced by them, and hadn't seen them since he was a teenager. He coyly added that the rest of the story was not to be heard by their ears, and they should ask no more.
"Why do they not want to speak to Daddy anymore?" Alfred demanded, tugging hard on his arm.
He knew by Francis' widening smirk that he was about to tell them something Arthur would kill him for. "Ah, you know what you saw Arthur and I doing the last time I came over? Arthur did that with his brother."
Alfred crept silently wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms into Arthur's bedroom one night, closing his door and opening Arthur's silently so as not to alert Matthew in his room. He was late enough that Arthur would be lying in his bed and early enough that he was not yet asleep. He didn't want to know what Arthur might do when surprised from his sleep by someone who might be a burglar in the near complete darkness.
"What is it," Arthur had sat up in his bed and asked quietly after Alfred had closed the door behind him. The voiles were affixed to the posts in his four poster bed, so Alfred could see that his eyes were bright and leeched of colour in the darkness.
"Dad," Alfred began and stepped right up to his bed. He didn't know how to ask of Arthur what he wanted. He had thought about it and decided there was no delicate way to put it across. So Alfred tugged his drawstring pants below his hips and let them fall around his feet. Arthur's eyes flickered downwards, following the motion, and Alfred knew what he would see. He was already half hard as he left his own room, and he felt his cock twitch at Arthur's attention.
Arthur looked up not a second later, face contorted with outrage. "What is the meaning of this," he hissed softly, clearly mindful of Matthew's presence the next room over.
Alfred whispered soothingly at him as he pressed him into the mattress as gently as he could manage while being resisted every step of the way. And, oh god, though Arthur muttered viciously at him and his thin shoulders strained against Alfred's hands, he could not get up unless Alfred let him up, and it was the most arousing thing ever.
"Daddy, daddy, my daddy," Alfred was vaguely aware of chanting, utterly mesmerised, as he leaned closer to mouth the sweat glistening in the hollow of Arthur's clavicle, and to let Arthur feel his now full erection through the thin silk covering his waist.
Arthur made a choking sound at the back of his throat, so Alfred lifted his head to look at him, and what he saw in the wide eyes was something akin to horror. Fear, denial, rejection. Alfred released him and backed away slowly. His erection was flagging already anyway. He grabbed his pajama bottoms and left, but not before hearing a faint sob behind him.
In the following weeks Arthur wouldn't look at him, not even when he spoke to Alfred. The few times he had managed to catch Arthur's eye, his mouth twitched, just barely, as though in pain. Alfred was almost inclined to think that Arthur might have thrown him out of the house if not for Matthew's sake. He was also beginning to think, and with growing conviction each day, that he was never going to be satisfied with anything for the rest of his life.
One afternoon, Alfred had wheeled his bike out of the garage and was working on it in the bright sunlight when he felt eyes on his back. Looking behind and up, he saw Arthur staring out at him from his study's window. Alfred realised with an itching, self-conscious sensation he wasn't used to at all that he was shirtless, and as he was squatting down, his loose jeans were probably halfway down his ass and revealing his black briefs. Their eyes met. Arthur's throat worked, quite clearly even from Alfred's position on the ground, then the curtains were abruptly drawn.
The same night, Alfred visited Arthur's room again. This time, Arthur did not question why he was there. After a few moments of silence, Alfred asked, almost meek, "Do you want me, Dad?"
Arthur beckoned him closer.
When they kissed, Arthur's mouth was dry and his face was almost feverishly hot. His hands clutched uselessly at Alfred and they were trembling. It wasn't very good at all, but Alfred didn't mind. "Why do you want to do this?" Arthur hissed as Alfred started to draw up the hem of his shirt. He sounded angry again - he always did, but there was also an undercurrent of fear. "It's okay, dad. I just do."
Matthew's most vivid memories of his time at the orphanage didn't involve Alfred. There was a man who visited the orphanage every now and then, but who wasn't looking to adopt. The caretakers always welcomed him with open arms, and Matthew later figured that he was a patron of the orphanage. He had tanned skin, and very bright green eyes, and somehow Matthew had caught his attention. Matthew, who barely spoke loud enough to be heard. When the caretakers were not paying attention, the man would sweep Matthew up into his arms and carry him into an unused room.
Outside, everyone simply addressed him as Uncle, but when they were alone, and only when they were alone, he wanted Matthew to call him Papa.
When Matthew was good, he would present him with sweets and touch his cheeks and mouth as he ate them. Matthew did not think much of it, because sometimes visitors to the orphanage would also say he was cute and touch him. Sometimes, though, he would ask Matthew to sit in his lap. His arms and torso would be lightly patted and Matthew thinks he may remember a hard bulge beneath his buttocks.
He was never felt below the waist, or asked to do anything more than sit, but the secrecy of the whole thing made Matthew feel ambivalent about it. Much later, putting the memories in the context of his adult knowledge left him chilled to the core. He locked them up somewhere in the back of his mind and consciously limited his recall, like a wound left to fester untouched.
As you have probably realised, the creepy man is the fandom's pedobear. :DD
It is so obvious in hindsight Matthew doesn't know how he failed to see it before - the way Alfred crowded Arthur at the kitchen counter, reaching around him for dishes and seasoning. The way Arthur flushed with embarrassment - Matthew hadn't seen him do that before, except perhaps with Francis. And most of all, the way they both checked his face to see if he thought anything was amiss. Actually, Matthew thinks Alfred might have wanted him to see, to suspect. The way they shared a glance when he feigned indifference, conspiratory and guilty.
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Matthew has a view of the two of them from the side. Alfred's muscular legs are hung over Arthur's shoulders, and the older man is thrusting in and out between them. Matthew isn't noticed yet, not over Alfred's grunting - typical. He has a fight or flight rush of noradrenaline, and this time he chooses not to hide.
With a loud cry he didn't know he could produce, something primal and angry, he rushes into the room and shoves Arthur off his brother as hard as he can. There is a confused shout from both of them, and a yelp when Arthur rolls onto the ground. Matthew jumps onto him and flips him around, raises a fist but stops there. This is his father, his father, his father who was fucking his brother, but he doesn't think he could manage to hit him. During his hesitation, Alfred has gotten his arms beneath his armpits and lifted him off Arthur.
"How could you, how could you!" Matthew rages at Arthur. He hadn't ever thought that such a thing could have happened to Alfred. Arthur reaches up to him, face stricken. Matthew slaps his hand away and runs from the room.
"I've got him," Alfred shouts to Arthur behind him. By the time Alfred catches up to him on the stairs, Matthew has got it figured out. Matthew presses shaking hands into his face and keeps his back to Alfred. He can't believe he did what he just did, and it was a misunderstanding. He can't believe how he thought for even a moment that Arthur, who was past his prime and spent all his days cooped up in his study could force down the school jock, Alfred. He couldn't understand how the truth of the matter was somehow worse than his misinterpretation.
Alfred moves to stand beside him, lazily jerking pants up his hips. Thankfully, he doesn't talk, and Matthew just concentrates on breathing hard until his shoulders aren't shaking and his heart doesn't feel ready to pump out through his ribcage. What follows is a feeling of numbness. The horror, he feels, will set in later, when he's ready to scream. For now, he lowers his hands and looks at Alfred.
Alfred looks back at him. "Want to watch?"
Matthew doesn't reply, but Alfred apparently takes this for an affirmative, and drags him back up the stairs while muttering, but, you know, you can't have him. Arthur is in his room, fully clothed and pacing. He stares when Alfred marches Matthew in and pushes him into Arthur's armchair. Arthur starts when Alfred moves to disrobe him, and demands to know what happened.
"Let him watch, he'll see that I don't mind," Alfred says into his ear as he pulls the pajamas off. And, "It's alright, Daddy," when Arthur protests. Alfred pushes his own pants down and lifts Arthur onto the bed. Arthur's wide eyes meet Matthew's, and he somehow manages to nod his assent.
Alfred pushes his fingers in and out of Arthur's asshole and leans down to kiss him until he is only looking right back at him. Alfred smirks smugly at Matthew. Then, he pumps his own cock a few times, lifts Arthur's hips and presses into him, just like how Arthur was fucking him earlier. Matthew cannot avert his eyes from the disaster on the bed. These are the two people I've known all my life, he thinks.
My family.
"You're mine, Daddy," Alfred is saying as he thrusts, sounding almost pleading. Arthur's eyes are screwed shut, and he seems almost to want to disappear into the bedding, but he sobs a reply when Alfred reaches around his waist to stroke him.
Father and son couple on the bed, and Matthew thinks something intangible and already fragile has cracked and shattered around all of them.
Anon from First Fill
anonymous
April 20 2010, 21:50:49 UTC
This request just keeps giving. May I ask if you are the first anon to claim this fill? Because, if we there's a potential third fill coming, then… wow, I may have to set up camp in this thread.
Fantastic fill. I loved all of the background in this, slowly building up to the reveal at the beginning and end, with this nice sense of foreboding. Particularly, I liked the bit with Alfred pulling Arthur out of the way of the car. And, the relationship between Alfred and Matthew was also well done, subtle.
And, one more thing. The last line. I can't pin down exactly why, but that is just excellently, emotionally phrased
Ooooo, I enjoyed that. It's just...dang, so many things I want to comment on, but nobody wants to read a wall of text so I'll just say that was pretty awesome in a morbidly fascinating sort of way.
Canada. Ok, I'll focus on Canada. Poor, poor kid- first Spain, now this. Everyone in the family is broken, and Arthur apparently has a shameful kink for incest, and there was France, and the family background, and jeez.
OP can't believe her luck
anonymous
April 22 2010, 14:53:41 UTC
OP is really late for this, and really sorry that she is because OMG SO GOOD. I'm so so lucky to get two excellent fills for my prompt ♥
I loved your Alfred; I'm fascinated about Alfred being the most interesting character in both fills, the most complex. I like how you fleshed him and his life out before going on why would such a person do this, and you made it work very well. I specially enjoyed the seduction in two parts (with that interlude about him mending outside and being checked out by his dad from the window, which was SO HOT I can't blame Arthur, really); it was such a powerful scene, specially after Alfred's short road to finding out what he wanted. Another excellent scene was when he brought the girl home to fuck and kept wishing his dad would interrupt (instead, he traumatized his poor brother, as always ^^U)
Their childhood was very itneresting, and Arthur felt like a really well-rounded character with his own motives and thoughts and views. His penchant for incest was an excellent touch. Francis appearance was a really good idea, and how did you know I also ship FrUK? =0_0=
Matt, oh dear, Matt. I really like how you made him and the reason behind his reactions and personality being so mellow too. OMG, Antonio, you asshole. It's interesting that Matt later on relaized what had happened but still hasn't told anyone, painfully realistic. And his histerical violent reaction at the end, but his mostly submissive atittude toward his brother, which seems actually the only thing wrong with him, apart from that latent repulsion to this. It's his relationship with his brother which leads him into Al's and Arthur's perversion, but any other way, he seems well-adjusted in a way Alfred's never been (at least when we look inside his head, to the outside world he appears compeltely normal, or yet, better than normal; also painfully realistic, the darkest parts of the human mind and desires are usually really well-hidden from outsiders)
Finally, that end. That was so good, the oozing wrongness of including Matt as a voyeur and closing the tight circle around their family unit against the world. Whereas Matt was kept out and voluntarily escaped in the first fill, here he gets trapped into the insanity. I'm so glad I got such two different and awesome fills! That end was also fascinating by how expertly Afred gets hold of the reigns in his house and gets everybody exactly where he wants them
Thank you so much, anon ^^
ALSO, PAY THE FUCKING BRAIN RENT, AUTHORANON, BECAUSE HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW I HAVE A HUGE DADDY KINK?
'spooning legal'. I'm afraid not, Captcha, father-son spooning is illegal everywhere I think
The next room they were shown was Arthur's study, the most prominent room in the house. They were not brought inside but merely stood within reach of the heavy oak door and explicitly warned to never knock on the door under any circumstance. In the face of Arthur's cold countenance, the boys could only nod their agreement. They would quickly learn that Arthur spent almost every hour of the day in his study, working on the novels that earned him all his money. Before they were old enough for schooling, their only company was the housekeeper that came in the morning, and was paid extra by Arthur to play with the twins after her chores into the late afternoon. Reminiscing with each other on a rare occasion, Alfred and Matthew found that neither could remember her name, only that she was round and had wrinkled, gnarled hands, and that her warm embrace smelled of flour and soap, sort of like the matron at the orphanage.
After she left for the day, the twins then had to bathe and clothe themselves and in the evening Arthur would come out of his study. It turned out that one of Arthur's hobbies was cooking, and though for all the practice he seemed to get no better at it, evenings were the boys' favourite time of the day. As he donned his apron, he seemed to become something entirely different, and the boys would watch, mystified, as he puttered around the kitchen, a faint smile on his face. After dinner, they stood on stools to help with the dishes, and Arthur didn't even glare when they got suds around the kitchen counter more than they got the dishes clean. Arthur brought books from his study to read to them at night. His stories were unlike any of the ones they had heard at the orphanage, and in actuality, there were so many difficult words they barely understood any of it. But Arthur's voice as he read aloud was as amicable as it ever got, so they listened to the sound of it until sleep claimed them. Sometimes, just right before they fell into sleep, Arthur would lean over to kiss their foreheads. Arthur always smelled of worn books, and strangely, of the earthly scent of rain.
Still, the twins had a lot of time to themselves. It was fortunate that living in the orphanage where many children vied for the attention of a few adults had made them fairly independent and capable of inventing their own fun. Alfred refused to ever play hide-and-seek with Matthew, despite the glorious size of the mansion, because Matthew could never be found. Instead, they played pretend war-games outside (where Alfred always insisted that Matthew had gotten shot more times) and on rainy days, scrawled coloured figures on the vast supply of paper in the house (where Alfred always insisted that his was more skilfully drawn).
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Alfred was stubbornly reticent for days after, and when he spoke again he said, "He isn't Daddy."
"Of course he is," Matthew replied numbly. But there was so much more than the incident, or so much less that Arthur did for them. Even when they were feverish and vomiting he called babysitters and only checked on them occasionally. It wasn't much better living in Arthur's house than the orphanage, just very different. On the other hand, neither of them had the faintest inkling how fathers were supposed to behave. Matthew thought very hard about it. "He kisses us at night," Matthew offered finally, "Nobody else do that."
Alfred mulled over this for as long as a boy his age could manage to do so, before he finally agreed.
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So he had hopped into the couple's car with excitement, but when they showed him into their suburban house, there was a boy his age in it. He was their son, and his new big brother, he was told. Alfred could see that the boy was indeed their son, the three of them with their dark hair and dark eyes. Alfred could also see that he was unlike any of them.
For months Alfred struggled against his fate of being the other boy's playmate. The couple paid him extra attention to make him feel welcome at first, but when both boys screamed they placated him first, and though they told their son to share all of his toys with Alfred, he only gave him a few of his worn out ones. Alfred smashed or cut with a scissors the toys he could get a hold of. He would not stand for being punished, verbally or physically. Treats quietened him, but not when the son received them too. At night, the couple tried to make the boys sleep in the same room. The son would go in the middle of the night to the master bedroom, and they allowed that, but when Alfred tried to follow, they sent both the boys back. Alfred instinctively knew why. He spent most days and some nights wailing at the top of his lungs.
Upon his return to the orphanage, some of the other children had jeered, even though their caretakers tried to shush them. It seemed that the energy he had drawn on to make himself heard had exhausted itself. His silence bored the children who soon forgot he had ever left. And Matthew, his real brother by flesh and blood - which he was beginning to realise was most important - took to holding his hand as they slept.
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Thereafter, they had started dating. Guinevere was beautiful and charming, with sparkling blue eyes and a slightly crooked wide grin. She also told wonderful stories of her family, her quirky ex-teachers, her friends from high school and the odd part-time job and from Catholic church. She had a way of painting colourful characters without making them caricatures. The relationship went on for months, one of Arthur's longest, and the one time neither of them had condoms and they couldn't wait to get to Arthur's home and Guinevere had said it was alright, Arthur had figured that she had oral contraceptives.
She came to him solemnly and faintly shaking underneath with excitement and perhaps fear a few weeks later, and spoke of marriage. Arthur made sure that he expressed clearly and sincerely that he wanted their relationship to continue - as it had previously been - and gave her more money than she really needed for abortion pills.
It would be another few years before he heard from her again. In a letter she wrote first of God and His gift of life, then of twins, and how she at first thought she could keep and raise them to manhood, but when she got her first look at them, they had your hair. Your skin and your nose. I wept when I saw them, everytime I saw them. I wish I could say they were tears of joy, and not hate. Mostly I hated myself.
She wrote that she had become weak and sickly ever since childbirth. Arthur thought of what he remembered of her, and cannot reconcile that image with the author of this letter. She wrote further that she thinks she might be dying, and the letter ends there. There were no articulated requests, but enclosed in the envelope was a note with the address of the orphanage, a set of dates months apart - one of birth and another of abandonment - and Alfred and Matthew. On the back of the letter the same information was printed in a careful script.
When Arthur decided to visit the orphanage, he was imagining a young woman, bedridden and pathetic. Pale and waning, possibly dying and with nothing to leave behind in her name.
When he saw the twins for the first time, his first thought was that Guinevere lied in her letter, because they looked nothing like him. Nonetheless blood testing revealed that they were his. After the adoption procedures were completed and they had been brought to his mansion, he identified himself to them as their biological father. He glared harshly and it was enough to shut them up when they asked why they had ended up in the orphanage. When they asked timidly after the whereabouts of their mother, Arthur debated with himself for a long time whether he should find and visit her. Whether he should bring and show her his children. When he had decided, she was already gone.
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He appreciated it all the more now when it looked like he would get a blowjob from his father. He was sitting up on his elbows in Arthur's bed, legs spread around Arthur who was leaning over him and massaging his erection with smooth, slender fingers. That face and those green eyes were mere inches from it, looking alternately down at it and at Alfred's face.
"Don't tease," Alfred whined and finally Arthur bent further to lick the tip of his cock, then took just the head in and gave it a brief suck. He released it from his mouth and licked his way down his erection. Long fingers pressed the cock into his face, the sensitive tip sliding over his cheekbone, eyelashes and paperthin eyelids, while he lightly mouthed Alfred's balls. Alfred muffled a loud moan with a corner of the bedsheet, and Arthur finally began to suck him in earnest. As Alfred felt close to coming, he thought of saying, I want to come onto your face, but he daren't, not yet, so he bit back a shout as he came down Arthur's throat.
Arthur was crawling up his torso to kiss him when there was the loud rap of knuckles on his door. They both jumped. Matthew's voice drifted in through the door. "It's late, Dad. I... I saw that your light was still on, and I thought..."
"Just couldn't sleep, Matthew."
The pounding of his heart was so loud, Alfred fancied that Arthur could hear it. A glance at Arthur's white face told him he felt the same. At last, there were footsteps padding away from the door, and they breathed. Alfred pulled Arthur down and held him tightly against his chest until Arthur squirmed. He let go, and Arthur rolled away.
"That cock-blocker," Alfred cursed softly in case Matthew hadn't returned to his room. "I haven't even taken care of you yet." He knew that Arthur would not be in the mood now anyway. Arthur's face was lined with worry and trouble, as it frequently was during their rendezvous. They both stilled with fear at any little sound. But Alfred had what he wanted, and no force in the world would make him let it go. He passed a gentle thumb over Arthur's scrunched brow.
"I, at least, will never leave you."
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As it turned out, it was Matthew who had burst into the room, then closed the door quietly without a word. "My brother," Alfred explained, because not many people in school knew, and the whole thing had hardly thrown off their rhythm. Later that night, Matthew had been red-faced and refused to meet his eyes. Arthur did not notice anything out of the ordinary. Despite Alfred's disappointment at Arthur, he could not help but to be smugly gleeful at Matthew, whom he was certain was still a virgin, unlike himself. Matthew favoured his studies and spoke at a volume that was only audible when the room was quiet. He was not so much unpopular as he was nonexistent. Indeed, the only person who paid them both an equal amount of attention was Arthur, a thought that soured his mood again.
Alfred kept up a steady string of girlfriends until he was taller than Arthur, and he finally knew what he wanted. When he rejected every girl who confessed to him, explaining that he wanted to focus on sports and his studies, they were undaunted and still more girls continued to speak to him. But he couldn't date them when he knew he didn't want any of them. No one made his blood pound and his hands twitch with the urge to touch and possess like Arthur did.
He was beginning to think that no one ever would.
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There was, however, a friend of his that visited the house every now and then. Alfred hated the man on their first meeting, mostly because he had laughed so hard at the sight of the children that he had had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. The man was tall, taller than Arthur, and he injected his sentences with strange words that Arthur informed them was French, because the man, Francis, was a frog.
Francis had thrown an arm around Arthur and introduced himself as Arthur's distant cousin. (Very, very distant. So distant we're actually not related, Arthur had added darkly.)
Whenever Francis stopped by, he stayed the night in Arthur's bedroom. Or perhaps not. The boys weren't sure because he was still in there at their bedtime and was gone before they woke up in the morning. In any case, not only did Francis intrude upon their storytelling routine, whatever the adults did in the room left Arthur short-tempered, complaining of headaches, and being generally unbearable the following morning.
Once Alfred lay awake after Arthur had seen them to bed, and asked Matthew if he wanted to see what it was they did in Arthur's room. "Arthur'll be mad," was the expected reply. Alfred rolled his eyes, wondering why he even bothered, and sneaked across the hallway to Arthur's room. He turned the knob slowly and soundlessly and pushed the door just open enough to peer into the room.
For a moment, he had to close his eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, against the bright light from the room. Francis was making a low groan that sounded a lot like pain, and Alfred thought that they were beating each other up, since Arthur seemed to hate Francis, and that would explain why Arthur's head pounded in the mornings. When he could open his eyes, he saw that Arthur was on his knees in front of Francis, and the latter was apparently suffocating him by pressing his face really hard between his legs. Arthur's hands were pushing at the other man's hips, his throat was bulging and his face had turned really red, but still Francis' hands strained to keep his head in place.
Alfred shouted and pushed the door open all the way. The two of them jerked apart, shocked, and Francis groaned again upon seeing Alfred at the doorway. He held his penis with one hand, and Alfred had never seen anyone's penis look like that, red and swollen. Before any of them could move, Francis moaned and white stuff spurted from the tip of his penis, onto the side of Arthur's still shock-frozen face. The white liquid dripped from his eyelashes and cheekbones, and some went into his slightly gaping mouth, already wet and shining with saliva. Then he was getting up, and Francis was raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "You bloody-"
Alfred didn't hear the rest; he was running at full speed back to his room, because apparently Arthur wasn't being hurt at all. Alfred changed his mind and entered Matthew's room instead.
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"Forget you saw that - that was nothing to worry about."
"Okay Dad," Alfred agreed readily enough. It seemed Arthur was ready to forget that he had spied into his room in the first place. "There's still white stuff in your hair."
Arthur swore and left. Matthew questioned him again, but he turned his back on his brother and ignored him. When Matthew fell asleep, he stuck a hand beneath his waistband and felt his genitals, but they were nothing like what Francis' had been.
On the Frenchman's next visit, he thanked Alfred wryly for earning him a black eye the last time. He was early enough that Arthur was not yet out of his study, so the twins questioned him on Arthur's family. Francis told them that he was part of a very old English family, with ties to the aristocrats, but he had been denounced by them, and hadn't seen them since he was a teenager. He coyly added that the rest of the story was not to be heard by their ears, and they should ask no more.
"Why do they not want to speak to Daddy anymore?" Alfred demanded, tugging hard on his arm.
He knew by Francis' widening smirk that he was about to tell them something Arthur would kill him for. "Ah, you know what you saw Arthur and I doing the last time I came over? Arthur did that with his brother."
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"What is it," Arthur had sat up in his bed and asked quietly after Alfred had closed the door behind him. The voiles were affixed to the posts in his four poster bed, so Alfred could see that his eyes were bright and leeched of colour in the darkness.
"Dad," Alfred began and stepped right up to his bed. He didn't know how to ask of Arthur what he wanted. He had thought about it and decided there was no delicate way to put it across. So Alfred tugged his drawstring pants below his hips and let them fall around his feet. Arthur's eyes flickered downwards, following the motion, and Alfred knew what he would see. He was already half hard as he left his own room, and he felt his cock twitch at Arthur's attention.
Arthur looked up not a second later, face contorted with outrage. "What is the meaning of this," he hissed softly, clearly mindful of Matthew's presence the next room over.
Alfred whispered soothingly at him as he pressed him into the mattress as gently as he could manage while being resisted every step of the way. And, oh god, though Arthur muttered viciously at him and his thin shoulders strained against Alfred's hands, he could not get up unless Alfred let him up, and it was the most arousing thing ever.
"Daddy, daddy, my daddy," Alfred was vaguely aware of chanting, utterly mesmerised, as he leaned closer to mouth the sweat glistening in the hollow of Arthur's clavicle, and to let Arthur feel his now full erection through the thin silk covering his waist.
Arthur made a choking sound at the back of his throat, so Alfred lifted his head to look at him, and what he saw in the wide eyes was something akin to horror. Fear, denial, rejection. Alfred released him and backed away slowly. His erection was flagging already anyway. He grabbed his pajama bottoms and left, but not before hearing a faint sob behind him.
In the following weeks Arthur wouldn't look at him, not even when he spoke to Alfred. The few times he had managed to catch Arthur's eye, his mouth twitched, just barely, as though in pain. Alfred was almost inclined to think that Arthur might have thrown him out of the house if not for Matthew's sake. He was also beginning to think, and with growing conviction each day, that he was never going to be satisfied with anything for the rest of his life.
One afternoon, Alfred had wheeled his bike out of the garage and was working on it in the bright sunlight when he felt eyes on his back. Looking behind and up, he saw Arthur staring out at him from his study's window. Alfred realised with an itching, self-conscious sensation he wasn't used to at all that he was shirtless, and as he was squatting down, his loose jeans were probably halfway down his ass and revealing his black briefs. Their eyes met. Arthur's throat worked, quite clearly even from Alfred's position on the ground, then the curtains were abruptly drawn.
The same night, Alfred visited Arthur's room again. This time, Arthur did not question why he was there. After a few moments of silence, Alfred asked, almost meek, "Do you want me, Dad?"
Arthur beckoned him closer.
When they kissed, Arthur's mouth was dry and his face was almost feverishly hot. His hands clutched uselessly at Alfred and they were trembling. It wasn't very good at all, but Alfred didn't mind. "Why do you want to do this?" Arthur hissed as Alfred started to draw up the hem of his shirt. He sounded angry again - he always did, but there was also an undercurrent of fear. "It's okay, dad. I just do."
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Outside, everyone simply addressed him as Uncle, but when they were alone, and only when they were alone, he wanted Matthew to call him Papa.
When Matthew was good, he would present him with sweets and touch his cheeks and mouth as he ate them. Matthew did not think much of it, because sometimes visitors to the orphanage would also say he was cute and touch him. Sometimes, though, he would ask Matthew to sit in his lap. His arms and torso would be lightly patted and Matthew thinks he may remember a hard bulge beneath his buttocks.
He was never felt below the waist, or asked to do anything more than sit, but the secrecy of the whole thing made Matthew feel ambivalent about it. Much later, putting the memories in the context of his adult knowledge left him chilled to the core. He locked them up somewhere in the back of his mind and consciously limited his recall, like a wound left to fester untouched.
As you have probably realised, the creepy man is the fandom's pedobear. :DD
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Matthew has a view of the two of them from the side. Alfred's muscular legs are hung over Arthur's shoulders, and the older man is thrusting in and out between them. Matthew isn't noticed yet, not over Alfred's grunting - typical. He has a fight or flight rush of noradrenaline, and this time he chooses not to hide.
With a loud cry he didn't know he could produce, something primal and angry, he rushes into the room and shoves Arthur off his brother as hard as he can. There is a confused shout from both of them, and a yelp when Arthur rolls onto the ground. Matthew jumps onto him and flips him around, raises a fist but stops there. This is his father, his father, his father who was fucking his brother, but he doesn't think he could manage to hit him. During his hesitation, Alfred has gotten his arms beneath his armpits and lifted him off Arthur.
"How could you, how could you!" Matthew rages at Arthur. He hadn't ever thought that such a thing could have happened to Alfred. Arthur reaches up to him, face stricken. Matthew slaps his hand away and runs from the room.
"I've got him," Alfred shouts to Arthur behind him. By the time Alfred catches up to him on the stairs, Matthew has got it figured out. Matthew presses shaking hands into his face and keeps his back to Alfred. He can't believe he did what he just did, and it was a misunderstanding. He can't believe how he thought for even a moment that Arthur, who was past his prime and spent all his days cooped up in his study could force down the school jock, Alfred. He couldn't understand how the truth of the matter was somehow worse than his misinterpretation.
Alfred moves to stand beside him, lazily jerking pants up his hips. Thankfully, he doesn't talk, and Matthew just concentrates on breathing hard until his shoulders aren't shaking and his heart doesn't feel ready to pump out through his ribcage. What follows is a feeling of numbness. The horror, he feels, will set in later, when he's ready to scream. For now, he lowers his hands and looks at Alfred.
Alfred looks back at him. "Want to watch?"
Matthew doesn't reply, but Alfred apparently takes this for an affirmative, and drags him back up the stairs while muttering, but, you know, you can't have him. Arthur is in his room, fully clothed and pacing. He stares when Alfred marches Matthew in and pushes him into Arthur's armchair. Arthur starts when Alfred moves to disrobe him, and demands to know what happened.
"Let him watch, he'll see that I don't mind," Alfred says into his ear as he pulls the pajamas off. And, "It's alright, Daddy," when Arthur protests. Alfred pushes his own pants down and lifts Arthur onto the bed. Arthur's wide eyes meet Matthew's, and he somehow manages to nod his assent.
Alfred pushes his fingers in and out of Arthur's asshole and leans down to kiss him until he is only looking right back at him. Alfred smirks smugly at Matthew. Then, he pumps his own cock a few times, lifts Arthur's hips and presses into him, just like how Arthur was fucking him earlier. Matthew cannot avert his eyes from the disaster on the bed. These are the two people I've known all my life, he thinks.
My family.
"You're mine, Daddy," Alfred is saying as he thrusts, sounding almost pleading. Arthur's eyes are screwed shut, and he seems almost to want to disappear into the bedding, but he sobs a reply when Alfred reaches around his waist to stroke him.
Father and son couple on the bed, and Matthew thinks something intangible and already fragile has cracked and shattered around all of them.
May I know what you thought of it pls?
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Fantastic fill. I loved all of the background in this, slowly building up to the reveal at the beginning and end, with this nice sense of foreboding. Particularly, I liked the bit with Alfred pulling Arthur out of the way of the car. And, the relationship between Alfred and Matthew was also well done, subtle.
And, one more thing. The last line. I can't pin down exactly why, but that is just excellently, emotionally phrased
All around, superb job, anon!
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I'm glad you liked it, anon. I was inspired to write after reading yours, actually.
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Canada. Ok, I'll focus on Canada. Poor, poor kid- first Spain, now this. Everyone in the family is broken, and Arthur apparently has a shameful kink for incest, and there was France, and the family background, and jeez.
I liked this; could you tell? :P
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recaptcha says: estonia regulation. wrong fill, i think
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I loved your Alfred; I'm fascinated about Alfred being the most interesting character in both fills, the most complex. I like how you fleshed him and his life out before going on why would such a person do this, and you made it work very well. I specially enjoyed the seduction in two parts (with that interlude about him mending outside and being checked out by his dad from the window, which was SO HOT I can't blame Arthur, really); it was such a powerful scene, specially after Alfred's short road to finding out what he wanted. Another excellent scene was when he brought the girl home to fuck and kept wishing his dad would interrupt (instead, he traumatized his poor brother, as always ^^U)
Their childhood was very itneresting, and Arthur felt like a really well-rounded character with his own motives and thoughts and views. His penchant for incest was an excellent touch. Francis appearance was a really good idea, and how did you know I also ship FrUK? =0_0=
Matt, oh dear, Matt. I really like how you made him and the reason behind his reactions and personality being so mellow too. OMG, Antonio, you asshole. It's interesting that Matt later on relaized what had happened but still hasn't told anyone, painfully realistic. And his histerical violent reaction at the end, but his mostly submissive atittude toward his brother, which seems actually the only thing wrong with him, apart from that latent repulsion to this. It's his relationship with his brother which leads him into Al's and Arthur's perversion, but any other way, he seems well-adjusted in a way Alfred's never been (at least when we look inside his head, to the outside world he appears compeltely normal, or yet, better than normal; also painfully realistic, the darkest parts of the human mind and desires are usually really well-hidden from outsiders)
Finally, that end. That was so good, the oozing wrongness of including Matt as a voyeur and closing the tight circle around their family unit against the world. Whereas Matt was kept out and voluntarily escaped in the first fill, here he gets trapped into the insanity. I'm so glad I got such two different and awesome fills! That end was also fascinating by how expertly Afred gets hold of the reigns in his house and gets everybody exactly where he wants them
Thank you so much, anon ^^
ALSO, PAY THE FUCKING BRAIN RENT, AUTHORANON, BECAUSE HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW I HAVE A HUGE DADDY KINK?
'spooning legal'. I'm afraid not, Captcha, father-son spooning is illegal everywhere I think
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