…What was the phrase?
The moment of truth.
Even though it had to intermingle with a lie for it to happen.
Can it be truth if it is considered bad in another person's eyes? You suppose that truth has many levels — you understand this — and the lie isn't even that big of a deal — "I'll lock the door for you, kid," and you nod inside the upstairs bathroom and he smiles mutely at you and there's a good shivery feeling associated with it. There always is. And you know the lie is there before he closes the door.
(And let's face it… you never actually wanted him to lock it.)
Everyone else is downstairs. Your mom, your dad, and aunt Iris are enjoying the remainder of the evening after Jay and his wife leave the birthday party, laughing and enjoying dessert coffee — and you were banished upstairs to shower off after you slipped and spilled the tub of liquidy chocolatey ice cream all over yourself.
No one notices when your uncle's eyes light up amused (not angry like your parents) and when he swabs a gentle finger over a dark smear on your cheek, and he licks it clean.
The memory is cruel and awful and you're already hard. Your fist slams against the tiled wall. It does not fall again because dearmercifulgod his naked chest is firmly pressing against your back and you didn't even notice him entering and it doesn't matter because his arms wrap around you like you're precious.
"…shhh… I've got you…"
You don't know where the lubricant came from but you are grateful when it is spread cold (your entire body burns red hot and you can't blame the cascade of shower water) clumsily and quickly on the surface of your inner thighs to the underside of your balls — "You need to open your legs a little for me," he says, and his low voice in your ear is soothing and affectionate, and it's kind of breathless.
Standing still is hell but if he stops you'll die and he lets you grasp onto the steel bar near the shampoo rack for support —
"You've got to stay quiet… can you do that, Wally?"
and you want to stop moaning but you can feel him settling with his throbbing cock between your legs and it's… amazing.
You can't see him with how you both are positioned inside the shower and it doesn't matter because you are gasping into the curve of your palm, your fingernails punishing the skin on your face, and you're trying your hardest to not gasp and scream when he starts driving himself between your thighs even harder — "…pleaseHAHIcan'tUncleBarryit'ssohotaah"
Keep telling yourself. No matter how much you want to. Just close your eyes. Don't look, just feel.
Warmth collects on your thighs.
And his mouth is open on your neck. And everything is clear now.
Your parents call for you downstairs when both you both are dressed again inside the bathroom, his gleaming blond hair irresistibly fluffy from the blow-drier, and you want to bury your face in it because it must have smelled so great. His heavy hand touches your shoulder, lingers there somewhat uncertainly, and you don't need to hear it. Your hand touches his, squeezing tight.
Another Barry/Wally prompt from my LJ/YJAM adventures. I got some requests for more smuttiness. ;D
"Close your eyes. Don't look, just feel."