Read the first part: here.
Troy had to leave eventually. As much as he enjoyed spending time at the lake with me and his newfound friend—whose name Troy decided was Marvin, after the cartoon martian—there was school and responsibility and his mother waiting for him in the city. As appealing as it was to be Troy’s friend, I had to be his father first, so I sent him back to the city and promised that he could visit in the winter on his vacation.
As the weather got colder, the lake became further deserted. I prepared for it alongside Marvin who had become more animated since meeting Troy. It was like a part of him had been completed. A part that I couldn’t have given him by myself. He was quiet and contemplative, but curious and hardworking. The two of us dressed in our cold weather gear and went out to the nearby woods to gather firewood in the early days of winter. There was something a little savage and a little romantic about him, chopping at the thin trees with his axe while wearing my hand-me-downs.
We brought the wood back up to the house in batches. It took all afternoon, but when we were finished, I would pour vanilla-infused vodka into snifters and we made fresh bread and dark bitter greens cut with vinegar and brown sugar. He was a quick study in the kitchen and needed only to be instructed in a thing once before picking it up. We undressed as we worked, I would hang my jacket on a hook in the kitchen, while Marvin always let his fall to the floor. He wore old thermal shirt that had once been white. Sometimes underneath the thin material I could see his skin, the darker areola around his nipples.
We usually built a fire and sat by it with our dinner. Marvin ate slowly and politely as if shy about eating in front of me. I couldn’t help but contrast against Troy’s way of wolfishly tucking into any dish set in front of him. They looked similar, but there were myriad ways in which the two were so very different.
After dinner we would go up to bed. Since Troy had left, we’d shared a room, and a bed. It cost less to heat a single room rather than two and Marvin never complained about crawling into the same bed. It wasn’t like the first night when he’d climbed into my bed and we lay together, sharing each other’s warmth. Instead we lay separately and I stayed awake half the night watching him sleep, wanting to reach out and touch him. But everyday he was becoming more himself, less the shell that I breathed life into and more a person, a quiet, calm young man snoring gently in my bed.
Troy returned as promised on his winter break to a place transformed. He remarked as much as he entered the house. I tried to see it from his eyes and had to admit that the changes were stunning. Over the last months I’d found that Marvin had a genius for carpentry and he showed it by crafting new furniture from the spread of trees available in the wood beyond the house. He’d crafted a new kitchen table and a closet for Troy’s room. He was working on a chair next.
We’d also redecorated, painted almost all the rooms and stained the hardwood floors. Troy thought the changes were wonderful, but noted with some reservation that it seemed we’d done everything there was to do without him. He was sullen about it, but my son was as able to hold on to a bad mood as much as one can hold on to a cloud. It passed quickly.
We built snow men in the yard like kids and skipped stones off the icy lake, seeing whose would slide the furthest. We decided to have a welcoming dinner so I drove out to town later that afternoon—dozens of miles away—and picked up a few things we needed for the feast. Marvin and Troy helped out by dicing, peeling, and stewing the beginnings of the dinner so that by the time I arrived, I only needed to add a few things in order to complete it.
We ate like kings or pigs or both.
Troy went to bed early and Marvin and I stayed up for a while playing cards, until I started nodding off as well. I fell asleep on the couch with Marvin watching me.
The next few days went by in the slow, lilting way of life outside of time. We played, worked, and slept. A part of me was excited about catch them at it again, Marvin and Troy, but I didn’t want to rush things or create tension where there was none.
One night I woke up in the middle of the night, alarmed and upset, driven by some dream specter into a sweaty terror. I got out of bed and walked down the hall, intending to self-medicate with warm milk. I walked by Troy’s room which was lit by candles with the door wide open. I stepped out of the light coming from the room as soon as I’d seen what was happening, but it was too late, I had also been seen.
Troy was on his hands and knees, eyes half closed with concentration or lust, or likely some potent mix of the two. Marcus was behind him. The man I had built was slowly, but inevitably penetrating my son. Troy looked up at me, standing in the doorway, watching, and no words were spoken but he began nodding gently, consenting to whatever was about to happen.
I didn’t enter the room. I couldn’t allow myself to, but I watched. The gravity of desire lowered my hand until I was caressing the swollen front of my pajamas. Marvin fucked Troy gently and I wondered if it had been their first time, if I was witnessing a line crossed. In the flickering candlelight I watched their body’s sway as they awkwardly at first, then more confidently, pushed against each other. I slipped my cock through my fly and worked my fingers into moisture already springing from the tip.
A distant chime of guilt twisted at my stomach, but awe was the stronger emotion. My mouth went dry. My hand shook a little and I didn’t dare breathe, but I watched.
They didn’t last long. They were both too inexperienced to do more than crash into each other, but somehow they managed to cum nearly simultaneously. Marvin first with a yelp like surprise or pain and then a sublime, angelic expression fixed on some abstract point on the ceiling. Then Troy did too, humping his own fist with desperate speed and force. His dick spat cum on the bed and he looked up at me with eyes that said something untranslatable.
I came as well and watched my seed roll down the freshly painted door frame. I imagined it drying with the paint and forever marking the moment.
We didn’t speak of it the next day as Marvin worked on his chair and Troy and I collected firewood. No one mentioned it at dinner as we ate quinoa and wild vegetables. Even that night, when Marvin and Troy, hand-in-hand, appeared from the dark hallway at the threshold of my bedroom with fire in their eyes, nothing was said.