My Uncle Chris – Part 8

[Commission Piece]

Everyone in this story is 18+

-------------Grayson’s POV------------

The second the door clicked behind us, I spun to face him, grinning like I’d just gotten away with something. Maybe I had.

Chris looked around—dingy tiles, flickering light above one of the mirrors, a half-broken soap dispenser. Definitely not the most romantic place we’d been naked together.

But we weren’t here for romance.

I reached for him, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking him close. “Told you I had some ideas.”

He raised an eyebrow, already breathless from the rush. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“I already ruined you,” I whispered, dragging my mouth along his neck. “Now I’m just getting greedy.”

I backed him against the stall wall, my fingers already unbuttoning his jeans. He didn’t stop me—his hands were under my shirt, sliding across my back, squeezing, pulling me closer. Our mouths crashed together, and it was messy, frantic, like we only had minutes—and maybe we did.

I dropped to my knees, pulled his cock free. He was already hard, already leaking, like his body had been waiting for this as much as mine. I wrapped my hand around the base and gave him a slow stroke, then looked up.

“Show me yours,” he said, his voice low, shaky.

I smirked and stood again, unzipping and freeing myself. He groaned softly—fuck, that look in his eyes—then wrapped his hand around mine. Big, warm fingers sliding over my shaft, matching my rhythm. Our foreheads touched as we jerked each other in sync, breaths short and heavy in the close air.

The sounds of slick skin, shallow breathing, and quiet curses filled the stall.

“You’re so thick,” he whispered, his hand tightening just enough to make me twitch. “Every time I touch you, it feels fucking unreal.”

“Then don’t stop,” I breathed. “I want us to come together.”

He nodded, biting his lip. I leaned down, catching his mouth in a kiss while our hands worked faster, more urgently now. His thumb flicked over my head, and I nearly buckled.

“Almost there,” he muttered.

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “In your mouth?”

He nodded.

I dropped to my knees again, stroking him with both hands now, my cock pressed between my own thighs as I opened my mouth and took him in. He gasped—sharp, broken—his hand resting on the back of my head as I sucked the tip and stroked the rest.

Seconds later, he cursed under his breath and tensed.

“I’m—fuck, Grayson—”

I sealed my lips around him, and then I tasted it—warm, thick, pulsing against my tongue as I swallowed every drop, holding eye contact the whole time.

When I pulled off, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, he was still breathing hard, braced against the wall.

“My turn,” he said, grabbing me by the hips and flipping our positions like it was nothing.

I barely had time to react before he was on his knees, hand stroking me, mouth open. I braced against the stall, biting down on a moan as his lips wrapped around the tip and I spilled into him with a low grunt, my hips twitching as he swallowed every drop, just like I had.

When he stood, his lips were damp, his eyes dark.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing—quietly, breathlessly, still buzzing.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said, shaking his head as we adjusted our clothes.

I smirked and kissed him one more time. “Or I’ll make you come alive again.”

◆◆◆

I parked Chris’s car in front of my house. The sun had already dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden lines across the lawn.

I cut the engine. For a second, neither of us moved. The sudden quiet made everything louder—the ticking of the cooling engine, the breath I was holding, the thoughts trying to crowd my chest.

“I guess this is it,” I said, turning toward him.

He gave me a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For now.”

I nodded. “I should go in. Before they come out to get me.”

He glanced at the house, then back at me. “We really shouldn’t.”

“I know.” But neither of us moved.

I leaned over and kissed him. What was meant to be brief—just a goodbye—lasted longer than either of us intended. His hand came up to cup my jaw, and I pressed in harder, trying to memorize the feel of his lips all over again.

His tongue brushed mine and I swear my whole body responded like it was already wired for him.

Then he pulled back, just enough to breathe.

“Grayson,” he whispered, eyes dark. “We can’t. Not here”

“I know,” I said again, throat tight.

Our foreheads rested together for a second, just breathing the same air. His thumb brushed my cheekbone.

“I’ll be back for your graduation,” he said, voice low. “I promise.”

I looked at him, a slow smile creeping in. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smirked.

We kissed one more time. Softer. Slower. The kind that didn’t ask for anything except everything.

And then he let go.

He stepped out, grabbed my bag from the backseat, and shot me one last look before he got in the driver’s seat.

“I can’t wait,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I watched until he turned the corner and disappeared, the weight of his absence already heavy in my chest.

He’s coming back.

◆◆◆

I walked through the front door, tossing my duffel down by the coat rack like I hadn’t just spent the weekend getting wrecked—and doing some wrecking—by my married uncle.

“Hey, sweetie!” my mom called from the kitchen. “How was the trip?”

“Good,” I said, casual as hell. “Campus was cool. Facilities are nice. Rink’s in good shape.”

Dad poked his head in from the living room. “And? You think it’s the place?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Feels like a fit.”

I kept my voice even, controlled. No mention of how Chris looked under the shower spray, mouth full, eyes glazed. Nothing about how I took him slow, deep, and careful this morning while the sun lit up our hotel sheets.

Nope. Just talked about dorm layouts and academic advisors and how the tour guide had bad breath.

Luckily, they didn’t suspect a thing—then again, why would they?

◆◆◆

I flopped onto my bed fully clothed, phone still in hand, not quite ready to come down from the weekend. It had only been a few hours since Chris pulled out of the driveway and started the long drive home, but already the silence in my room felt too heavy.

I unlocked my phone and shot him a snap:
👀 You home yet, Uncle?

A few minutes later, the screen lit up with his reply. A selfie—messy hair, tired eyes, the collar of his shirt a little wrinkled.
Yeah. Just walked in. Long-ass drive. Next time, I’m flying.

I smirked and messaged back.
Thanks for taking the car, it was fun driving it. Even when I almost drove out of the way looking at you.

Chris: No, problem and after this weekend you're lucky I’m not limping.
Chris: But yeah. I’ll be booking a flight next time. Not doing so many hours of highway again after that.

Me: Fair.
Me: Glad you made it safe though.

Chris: Miss you already.
Chris: I’ve been thinking about the trip. All of it. Not just… y’know. Everything.
Chris: I’ve got something for you, by the way. Graduation present. I think you’re gonna love it.

Me: I’m sure it’s something great, knowing you.

Chris: You know I love to treat those I love.

I bit my lip at that, already feeling myself stir again. He always knew how to get under my skin with just a few words.

Me: You alone now?

A pause.

Chris: Yeah. House is dead quiet. Wife's still out of town as usual.
Chris: Why? You got ideas, troublemaker?

Me: Check your bag. Small zipper compartment.

Another pause.

Chris: Fuck. I just did. Jesus.
They still smell like you.
I’m hard as a rock right now.

I waited, grinning, until the next message came.

Chris: You left your boxers in my bag?

Me: Not just any boxers.
Me: The ones I wore that night you begged me not to stop.

Chris: You’re an evil little bastard.

Me: You smell them yet?

Chris: Fuck. I just did.
Chris: Jesus.
Chris: They still smell like you.
Chris: I’m hard as a rock right now.

Me: Then show me.

He sent a snap. Just his lap. Jeans unzipped, hand gripping himself through his boxers. The outline was thick and obvious. I felt my dick twitch immediately.

Chris: I want your cock in my mouth again.

Me: Then stroke it like you mean it. Think about my hand guiding your head down. Think about my voice telling you not to stop until I’m empty.

Another photo came—his boxers now pulled down, his cock fully out, flushed and leaking at the tip.

Chris: I’m stroking it with your boxers in my other hand. Still warm from my palm. You fucking ruin me.

I was already fumbling my shorts off, one hand jerking myself while I typed back:

Me: I wanna fill your throat next time. Watch you choke on it. You love that, don’t you?

Chris: I fucking crave it.

Me: Stroke faster. I want us to finish together.

He sent another snap—his chest, his stomach, his hand pumping his cock fast now, the waistband of my boxers bunched up in his fist.

I could barely breathe. My fingers moved slick and fast, every nerve on fire. I sent him a shot of my cock, thick and red, my abs already tensing.

Chris: Tell me when.

Me: Now. Do it now.

He replied with a final video—his cock spurting thick across his stomach, a mess of white dripping down his abs. His other hand clutching my boxers like a lifeline.

And just like that I took my phone and filmed it—My body tensed as I let go, thick streaks painting my stomach as I groaned quietly into the back of my hand. I stayed like that for a while—panting, sweaty, heart pounding—just staring at the ceiling with a crooked, exhausted smile. I didn’t even clean up right away. I just let it sit there, proof of everything I’d done. Then I hit send, with the caption:

Can’t wait for graduation.

Everything I would do again. Because graduation was coming. And so was he.