Son and Lover
Copyright© 2026 by Ring of Seed
Chapter 2: Rising Friction
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2: Rising Friction - Damien Blackwood swore he'd never become the man his father was. Then his grown son moved home — and everything Damien buried came roaring back. A slow descent into obsession, guilt, and surrender. No redemption. Just them. Forever.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Reluctant Romantic Gay Fiction Incest Son Father Light Bond Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Oral Sex
The rain had eased to a fine drizzle by morning. The air still felt heavy. Pressing against the windows like a held breath. Damien woke before five. Habit more than need. He lay in the dark for a while. Listening to the house settle. The creak of old timbers. The distant drip from the gutter. Then he swung his legs out of bed. The floor was cold under his feet.
Downstairs he moved on autopilot. Kettle on. Tea bags in mugs. Bread in the toaster. The kitchen light was too bright at this hour. He kept it off. Let the grey light from the window do the work. He was buttering toast when he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Ryan appeared in the doorway. Hair still damp from the shower. Grey joggers hung low on his hips. Faded black T-shirt clung slightly to his chest. Barefoot. As always. He rubbed the back of his neck. Yawned. Gave Damien a small sleepy smile that arrived without asking.
“Morning, Dad.”
Damien grunted. “Tea’s on.”
Ryan padded over. Took the mug Damien offered without comment. Their fingers brushed. Brief. Nothing. But Damien felt it in his wrist like a spark. He turned away fast. Busied himself with the plates.
They sat at the small table. Ryan opposite him. Knees almost touching under the wood. Damien kept his eyes on his toast. But he could feel Ryan watching him. Calm. Unhurried. Ryan took a bite. Chewed slowly.
“You’re up early,” Ryan said.
“Habit.”
Ryan nodded. “You always were.”
Silence again. Damien’s gaze drifted. Unwilling. To the way Ryan’s T-shirt stretched across his shoulders when he reached for the jam. Lean muscle under skin. Young. Alive. He looked away.
He’s your boy. Your son. Grown now. That’s all. Stop looking.
The thought didn’t land. It bounced off something harder inside him.
Ryan finished first. Pushed his plate away. “I’ve got an early shift. You?”
“Late turn. Paperwork.”
Ryan stood. Took both plates to the sink. Damien watched the line of his back. The easy way he moved. Ryan rinsed the plates. Dried his hands on the tea towel. Then turned.
“Thanks for breakfast.”
Damien nodded. “Anytime.”
Ryan lingered in the doorway a second longer than necessary. Green eyes steady. Then he was gone. Upstairs. Footsteps fading.
Damien stayed at the table until the tea went cold.
Mid-week the hospital pulled him in.
A stabbing on the high street. Young lad. Gang-related. Damien rode in the back of the ambulance. Held pressure on the wound. Barked orders. By the time they rolled through the A&E doors at King’s the kid was stable but pale.
Damien handed over to the trauma team. Stepped back. Peeled off his gloves. He should have left. Statement later. Back to the nick. But he stayed in the corridor. Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed.
Through the glass he saw Ryan.
Ryan was in Resus. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. Gloves on. Voice calm and sharp as he directed the team. “Pressure here. Keep it steady. IV wide open. Let’s get him to CT.” He moved with quiet authority. Hands sure. Eyes focused. Every motion precise.