My Uncle Chris – Part 13

[Commission Piece]

Everyone in this story is 18+

The morning light sliced through the hotel curtains like a knife, stabbing right into my skull. My mouth tasted like stale vodka and regret, and my body felt like it’d been through a hockey scrimmage with no pads. I rolled over, squinting, and found Chris sprawled beside me, one arm flung over his eyes, his bare chest rising slow and steady. Even hungover, he looked stupidly good—his tanned skin glowing faintly in the dim light, dark hair mussed against the pillow, the hard lines of his abs peeking out from under the tangled sheet.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Fuck, how much did we drink last night?”

Chris peeked out from under his arm, his brown eyes bleary but warm. “Too much. That second round of shots was a mistake.” His voice was rough, like gravel, and it sent a lazy spark through my chest despite the pounding in my head.

I laughed, wincing as it made my skull throb. “You’re the one who kept saying, ‘One more, Grayson, live a little.’”

He smirked, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow. The sheet slid lower, revealing the sharp V of his hips and the faint trail of hair leading down. “Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly saying no.”

I reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, taking a long gulp before passing it to him. Our fingers brushed, and even that small touch felt like it carried too much weight. Last night—the club, Harper, the back room.

We’d stumbled back to the hotel after the club, too buzzed and handsy to do more than collapse into bed, clothes half-on, limbs tangled. Now, in the harsh light of morning, the reality of it all was sinking in. Not just the sex, but everything. The trip. The way we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The fact that we were in London, far from anyone who’d care, but still carrying the weight of what this meant.

Chris took a sip, then set the bottle down, his gaze drifting to the window. “This trip…” He trailed off, like he was chewing on something he wasn’t sure how to say.

I shifted closer, the mattress dipping under my weight. “What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening for a split second. “Just… this. Us. It’s a lot. In a damn good way” He looked at me, his eyes searching, like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t find the words. “You ever think about what happens when we go back?”

My stomach twisted, not from the hangover. “Sometimes,” I admitted, keeping my voice light. “But right now, I’m just thinking about how good you look in this bed.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Smooth talker.”

I slid closer, pressing my chest to his side, my hand resting on his stomach. His skin was warm, the muscle firm under my palm. “You’re holding back. Spill it.”

He sighed, his hand covering mine, fingers lacing through. “I don’t know, Grayson. I just… I keep thinking about home. Emily. The life I’m supposed to go back to. And then I look at you, and I don’t want to think about any of it.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Then don’t. Not today. We’ve got a week left here. Let’s just… be us.”

He turned his head, his lips brushing my forehead. “Yeah. You’re right.” But there was something in his voice, a crack that told me he wasn’t done wrestling with whatever was eating at him.

I didn’t push. Instead, I curled into him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and for a while, we just lay there, hungover and quiet, the city humming outside. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my shoulder, and I let my hand drift lower, brushing the ridge of his hip, not trying to start anything—just needing to feel him.

“Last night was wild,” I said, breaking the silence, a grin tugging at my lips. “Harper was something else.”

Chris laughed, a real one this time. “Kid’s got no shame. Those shorts? Fuck, I thought they were painted on.”

I snorted, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “You were staring just as hard as I was.”

“Guilty,” he said, his grin wicked. “But you were the one practically drooling when he grinded on you.”

“Can you blame me? He’s like a walking wet dream.”

Chris’s hand slid down my back, resting just above my ass. “You’re not wrong. But you’re still my favorite.”

I kissed his chest, my lips lingering on the warm skin. “Good answer.”

We stayed like that, tangled in each other, the hangover making everything feel softer, slower. The room smelled faintly of us—sweat, and the lingering trace of our cologne. I was just starting to drift when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I reached for it, squinting at the screen. A notification from: Harper - Twink Tease. I opened it, and my jaw dropped.

A dick pic. A good one too. Thick, smooth, hard, with a perfectly angled shot that showed off a lean, pale stomach and a hint of those dark curls I remembered from last night. The text below it read: U guys wanna meet up? 😈

Chris leaned over, glancing at the screen. His eyebrows shot up. “Is that…?”

“Harper,” I said, grinning. “Fucking bold.”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”

I turned to him, my grin widening. “So… what do you think? Wanna see where this goes?”

His eyes darkened, a mix of curiosity and hunger. “You serious?”

I shrugged, playing it cool, but my heart was racing. “Could be fun. You, me, him. No rules, no limits.”

Chris didn’t answer right away, but his hand tightened on my hip, and I could see the gears turning. He wanted it. I could tell. But that unspoken thing, whatever he’d been holding back earlier, was still there, hovering.

Chris’s hand lingered on my hip, his fingers digging just enough to make my skin tingle, and that dick pic from Harper was still burning in my brain. His thick shaft, those dark curls, that cheeky U guys wanna meet up?—it was like a match tossed into dry grass. My dick twitched, already half-hard against the sheets, and I could feel Chris’s body shift, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of him radiating like a furnace.

“Fuck,” I muttered, propping myself up to look at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, that hungry glint back in full force. “You want it too, Don’t you?”

He smirked, his hand sliding lower, grazing the curve of my ass. “Kid’s got a nice dick. Can’t lie.”

I laughed, the sound rough from the hangover. “Nice? That thing’s a fucking weapon.”

Chris’s grin widened, and he rolled onto his side, his chest pressing against my arm and his pecs were firm, “You’re hard already,” he said, his hand brushing my bulge, making me hiss.

“Like you’re not,” I shot back, reaching down to palm him through the sheet. His dick was thick, straining, and I gave it a slow squeeze. “Harper’s got us both fucked up.”

He let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing my jaw. “So what’s the play? You wanna invite him over?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I swung my leg over his hips, straddling him, my hands flat on his chest. His abs flexed under my fingers, and I ground down, feeling his hardness press against my ass. “First,” I said, leaning close, my lips hovering over his, “we’re gonna shower. I’m not meeting that twink smelling like a bar floor.”

Chris laughed, his hands gripping my thighs, nails biting into the muscle. “You just want an excuse to get me wet.”

“Guilty,” I said, kissing him hard, my tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting the faint tang of gin. He kissed back, fierce and needy, his hands roaming my back, pulling me closer until our chests slammed together.

We stumbled out of bed, still half-tangled, dicks bobbing as we made it to the bathroom. The tiles were cold under my feet, the air sharp with the scent of soap and steam as I cranked the shower on. Water hissed, filling the room with heat, and I shoved Chris under the spray, watching it cascade down his broad shoulders, rivulets tracing the ridges of his abs, pooling in the V of his hips.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” I said, stepping in after him, the water scalding my skin, waking every nerve.

He grinned, grabbing my waist and pulling me against him. Our dicks slid together, slick and heavy, and I gasped, the friction sending sparks up my spine. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said, his hands sliding down to knead my ass, fingers teasing the crease.

I grabbed the body wash, squeezing a glob into my palm, and started lathering his chest, my hands gliding over his pecs, thumbs brushing his nipples until they pebbled. He hissed, his head tipping back, water streaming down his neck. I worked lower, soaping his abs, then his thighs, deliberately avoiding his dick, which bobbed, red and begging.

“Tease,” he growled, snatching the bottle and returning the favor. His hands were rough, slick with soap, as they roamed my chest, my abs, then lower, cupping my balls before stroking my shaft with a slow, torturous grip. I bucked into his hand, my breath hitching.

“Fuck, keep that up and we won’t make it to Harper,” I said, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the tile. The water pounded our backs, steam curling around us like smoke.

Chris’s hand was on his dick, stroking slow. I knocked his hand away, replacing it with mine, and we jerked each other under the spray, bodies pressed close, the water amplifying every touch. His shaft was thick, veiny, slick with soap, and I twisted my fist at the head, making him gasp. His hand on me was just as ruthless, thumb digging into the sensitive underside, and I was already close when the doorbell chimed.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling away. “That’s him.”

Chris laughed, breathless. “You texted him?”

“Of course I did.”

I stepped out with a smirk, not bothering with a towel, my dick hard and dripping as I padded across the carpet. The room was cool, the air conditioning a sharp contrast to the shower’s heat. I swung the door open, and there was Harper, looking like he’d stepped out of a porn shoot. His dark curls were tousled, his green eyes wide as they dropped to my dick, which was standing proud, unabashed, thick and flushed.

“Jesus,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and hunger. “You’re fucking huge.”

I grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re not so bad yourself, twink.”

Harper smirked, his cropped tank top riding up to show a sliver of smooth stomach, his shorts tight enough to outline his bulge. “Where’s your man?” he asked, kicking off his sneakers.

“Right here,” Chris said, stepping out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping down his chest. His dick was half-hard, pushing against the fabric, and Harper’s eyes lit up like Christmas.

“Fuck me,” Harper muttered, licking his lips.

“Maybe we will,” I said, winking at Chris before heading back to the bathroom. “Gimme a sec to dry off.”

I grabbed a towel, rubbing it over my chest, my thighs, my dick still throbbing from the shower. I could hear low voices from the room—Chris’s deep rumble, Harper’s flirty laugh—and when I stepped back out, my jaw nearly hit the floor.

Harper was on his knees, his pouty lips wrapped around Chris’s dick, sucking him deep. Chris’s head was tipped back, his hands in Harper’s curls, guiding him gently. The towel was gone, and Chris’s body was a fucking masterpiece—broad shoulders, tight abs, his dick glistening wet from Harper’s mouth.

I wasn’t jealous. Fuck no. I was so horny I could barely think, my dick jumping at the sight. I crossed the room in two strides, dropping to my knees beside Harper. “Room for one more?” I asked, my voice thick.

Chris’s eyes snapped open, dark and burning. “Get in here.”

I grabbed his face, kissing him hard, my tongue plunging deep, tasting the wetness of his skin. Then I slid lower, joining Harper, my lips brushing his as we both worked Chris’s dick. It was sloppy, messy—our tongues clashing, spit dripping, Chris’s shaft sliding between our mouths. I sucked the head, swirling my tongue, while Harper licked the base, his hand cupping Chris’s balls, rolling them gently.

“Fuck, you two, almost too much” Chris gasped, his hands gripping our hair, hips bucking.

Harper pulled off, grinning at me. “Your turn,” he said, nudging me toward Chris’s dick. I took him deep, gagging as he hit the back of my throat, my hand stroking what I couldn’t swallow. Harper moved to my side, his lips on my neck, then lower, sucking my nipple, his hand jerking my dick with quick, rough strokes.

We shifted, a tangle of limbs and need. Harper lay back on the floor, his shorts gone, his dick hard and smooth, slightly smaller than mine but perfect. I leaned over him, sucking him into my mouth, while Chris knelt behind me, his hands spreading my ass. I felt his tongue first, wet and probing, then his fingers, slick with lube, fucking me open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Chris said, his voice rough as he pushed two fingers deep, curling them just right.

I gasped around Harper’s dick, my hips rocking back, needing more. Harper’s hands were in my hair, his moans high and needy. “God, you’re good at this,” he panted.

Chris pulled his fingers out, and I felt the lubricated head of his dick nudge my hole. He pushed in, slow, the stretch burning but so fucking good. I moaned, the vibration making Harper buck into my mouth. Chris fucked me steady, his hips slapping my ass, each thrust driving me deeper onto Harper’s dick.

We found a rhythm—Chris pounding me, me sucking Harper, Harper’s hands roaming my chest, pinching my nipples. Then we switched, Harper sliding under me, his mouth on my dick, while I jerked him off. Chris kept fucking me, his hands gripping my hips, the room filled with wet slaps, grunts, and Harper’s needy whimpers.

“Let’s line up,” I said, pulling off Harper’s dick, my voice wrecked. I positioned Harper on his hands and knees, his ass up, pink, flushed, smooth and ready. I slicked myself up, sliding into him, his hole tight buth greedy. Chris moved behind me, re-entering my ass, and we moved together—a fucking train, each thrust rippling through us.

Harper pushed back, meeting my thrusts, his moans muffled by the carpet. “Fuck, you’re huge,” he gasped, his body trembling.

“You love it,” I said, slapping his ass lightly, making him yelp.

Chris’s hands dug into my hips, his dick hitting that spot that made my vision blur. “You’re taking us so good,” he growled, his voice thick with need.

We fucked like animals, sweat dripping, bodies slapping, the air thick with musk and lube. I jerked Harper’s dick, my hand slick, and he tensed, his hole clenching around me. “Fuck, I’m—” he gasped, unloading in thick spurts across the floor, his body shaking.

That set me off. I pulled out, stroking myself fast, my cum painting Harper’s back, thick ropes splattering his pale skin. Chris was right behind me, pulling out and jerking himself over Harper, his load joining mine, mixing on Harper’s ass and thighs.

We collapsed in a heap, panting, sticky, the room spinning. Harper laughed, breathless, rolling onto his back, his chest flushed. “You guys are fucking insane.”

I grinned, leaning over to kiss him, then Chris, our lips meeting in a messy three-way tangle. “You kept up,” I said, winking at Harper.

“Barely,” he said, his curls plastered to his forehead.

Chris pulled me close, his hand resting on my thigh. London was turning out to be even better than I had imagined.