My Uncle Chris - Part 3

[Commission Piece]

Everyone in this story is 18+

-------------Chris’s POV------------

The door clicked shut, and I was alone.

I exhaled deeply, running a hand over my face as if I could wipe away the last hour, the last night. The hotel room suddenly felt too big, too empty without Grayson’s warming and soothing presence filling it. The warmth of the bed still clung to my skin, like my body refused to let go of what had happened between us.

I really needed a shower.

I stripped down, tossing my clothes onto the chair before stepping into the bathroom. I turned on the water, letting the steam rise and curl around me as I stepped under the hot spray. The heat seeped into my muscles, but it did nothing to ease the tension twisting inside me, nor did it wash away my sins.

What the hell did I just do?

I pressed my hands against the cool tile as water cascaded down my back. I told myself to forget, to move on, but my mind refused to cooperate.

Flashes of the morning flickered through my thoughts like a fever dream—the weight of Grayson’s body wrapped around me, the slow, teasing grind of his hips, the feeling of our hands stroking each other in sync.

Then his voice, breathless and pleading:

"Cum with me, Uncle. Let go with me. Together. It’s okay."

I should have stopped it. I should have never let it happen. The way he called me Uncle, he knew what he was doing and I let him. A groan rumbled in my throat, my fingers curling into the tile as my cock twitched at the memory.

And fuck, it had felt so damn good. Like a dam breaking after so many years.

Too good.

My hand drifted down instinctively, fingers wrapping around my growing erection. It had been so long since another man had touched me, since I’d even let myself think about something like that.

Years.

But even with Grayson it hadn’t felt awkward, hadn’t felt wrong—not in the way it should have. If anything, it had felt natural, like a part of myself I had locked away was suddenly clawing back to the surface.

And then there was Grayson.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the images from flooding my mind. The way he had looked at me, hunger and admiration in his gaze. The way he had taken charge, so confident, so sure.

It was intoxicating, being wanted like that.

I knew I was an attractive guy—my wife still told me so, even after twelve years of marriage. But it wasn’t the same. The desire in Grayson’s eyes, the raw hunger in his touch—it made me feel wanted in a way I hadn’t in years.

But should I even be thinking about this?

He’s your nephew, my mind whispered, but another voice, lower and darker, responded: He’s not even blood.

My strokes became slower, deeper.

My body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my stomach, pleasure tightening deep in my balls as the images took over—Grayson beneath me, or maybe behind me, our bodies tangled, our moans lost in each other’s mouths.

My breath hitched. I was getting dangerously close.

Fuck.

My eyes snapped open, and I tore my hand away from myself as if I’d been burned.

I couldn’t do this.

Not again.

I turned the water to cold, forcing myself to stand under the freezing spray until my erection faded and my heartbeat steadied. I inhaled sharply, trying to shake the weight of what I was feeling.

This had to stop.

It was just one time.

And it could never happen again.

--- --- ---

I sat at the hotel desk, laptop open, trying to focus on my meeting notes. The numbers on the screen blurred together, my concentration slipping. I was supposed to be preparing for a client pitch, but my mind kept dragging me somewhere else—somewhere I hadn’t let myself go in years.

College.

The memory hit me before I could stop it.

It was my junior year. Late night at the gym, just me and Nate.

We’d been teammates on the hockey team—training partners, drinking buddies, always pushing each other harder. We were both competing for the same starting position, spending hours together on and off the ice, the rivalry turning into something closer, something neither of us ever really talked about.

That night, we stayed after practice, running drills long after the others had left and pushing each other like hell. By the time we made it to the locker room, we were drenched in sweat, bodies aching from exhaustion. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as we sat side by side on the bench, legs stretched out, cooling down.

“That was bullshit,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders.

“You’re just pissed I beat you in sprints,” Nate shot back, peeling off his jersey.

I scoffed, forcing my gaze to stay on the floor as he pulled it over his head. He was built like a fucking machine—broad chest, lean torso, abs that tensed with every breath. He had that effortless confidence, the kind that made him impossible to ignore.

“You didn’t beat me, asshole,” I grumbled. “I let you win.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, tossing his shirt at me. “Try harder next time.”

I shoved it off my lap, rolling my eyes. But when I looked back at him, he wasn’t laughing anymore. As I took off my own clothes he was watching me, like he just saw me for the first time.

“You ever wonder how we’d match up in something else?” he asked, voice lower now, like he wasn’t sure he should be saying it.

I frowned. “Like what?”

Nate didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in—too close. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the musky sweat and deodorant clinging to him. His chest rose and fell, a little faster than before.

Then his hand was on my thigh.

A sharp, jolt shot through me. Every instinct told me I should move, say something, stop this before it went any further.

But I didn’t.

His fingers pressed in, gripping the muscle, testing. And then, before I could second-guess it, his mouth was on mine.

The first contact was hesitant—like he was waiting for me to push him away. I didn’t. Instead, my lips parted, and that was all the invitation he needed.

The kiss turned rough, all heat and urgency. Teeth clashed, hands grabbed, breath came fast and uneven. I barely registered the moment his hand slid higher, palming my dick through my jock, squeezing just enough to send a shudder rolling through me.

“Fuck,” I muttered, voice wrecked, my head tipping back against the lockers.

Nate took it as permission. He yanked at my jock, freeing my cock, and without hesitation, his hand wrapped around it. His grip was firm, knowing, like he had done this before. Maybe he had.

I wasn’t thinking anymore—just feeling.

His fingers stroked over the head, smearing the wetness that had already gathered there, his mouth moving down to my throat, biting, sucking. My hands found his waist, my fingers digging into sweat-slick skin, feeling the sharp cut of his abs beneath my palms.

My hand quickly found his cock, freeing him from his jock. He was so similar to me—yet somehow completely different. As my fingers wrapped around him, it was as if something clicked, a switch flipping inside me that I hadn’t even realized was there.

It was fast, messy, like we were both trying to outrun the reality of what we were doing. Two teammates, two “straight” guys, jerking each other off in an empty locker room, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

We both came—or rather, hosed each other down—cum coating our abs, mirroring the way Grayson and I had played with each other that very morning.

But with Nate, it wasn’t love. It wasn’t romance.

It was raw, reckless heat.

And it wasn’t the last time something like that happened during my college years.

--- --- ---

I gripped the wheel as I drove through the city, but my mind was miles away. The meeting was in fifteen minutes, and I needed to focus, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t shake this morning.

Grayson.

The way his body had felt wrapped around mine, the way his voice had sent a shiver down my spine, the way his hand had stroked me with such confidence, as if he had known exactly what I needed even when I hadn’t.

I exhaled, flexing my grip on the wheel.

It really wasn’t just about the sex. It wasn’t even just about the attraction.

It was about the fact that, for the first time in years, I felt something real.

I had spent so long convincing myself that my life was right—that I had done everything a man was supposed to do. I got the career. I got the wife. I built a future with stability and success. But now, after what happened with Grayson, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something had always been missing.

And maybe, deep down, I had always known it.

I thought about my wife. About the twelve years we had spent together. About how, somewhere along the way, love had turned into something else. Comfort. Familiarity. A deep respect and admiration, yes—but nothing like the fire I had felt this morning.

And then there was the fact that we had never had kids.

For years, we told ourselves it was because of our careers. We both traveled, both worked long hours, both poured our energy into things that didn’t involve raising a family. She had brought it up a few times, casually at first, and then, in later years, with more hesitation.

But I had always brushed it aside. There was always a reason, an excuse. Let’s wait until things settle down at work. Let’s see where our careers take us first. Let’s not rush into something so big.

Eventually, she stopped asking.

And I never brought it up either.

I had told myself it was because we were just better off this way—free, unburdened, able to enjoy life without the weight of responsibility that came with children. But now, driving through the streets with my thoughts spiraling, I wondered if that was ever really the reason at all.

Had I chosen this life because it was what I wanted? Or because it was easier than facing the truth about myself?

My stomach tightened. I pulled into the parking lot, shutting off the engine, but made no move to get out. My fingers drummed against the leather steering wheel as I stared at my phone. Before I could talk myself out of it, I typed out a message.

"Hope you're doing good on your tour. I'm off to the meeting now."

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. Then I added:

"I really wanna take you to dinner tonight. And Grayson… thanks for everything."

I hit send before I could rethink it.

As I sat there, staring at the message, a slow exhale left my lips.

This wasn't over.

And deep down, I already knew I didn’t want it to be.