YOUNGER ༄ Caspian Kingston

The Kingston estate was unusually lively that evening. Every room seemed to be filled with quiet conversation, the soft clinking of crystal glasses, and the distant footsteps of servants making their final preparations for dinner. The large dining room had been prepared days in advance, with a long polished table covered in white linen, expensive silverware, and candles arranged between elaborate floral and simple decorations. Everything about the evening had been planned to perfection. It was supposed to be an elegant introduction between two families, but everyone present knew the real purpose of the gathering. Tonight was the night Caspian Kingston would meet the woman his father had chosen for him.

Caspian stood near one of the tall windows, looking out over the estate gardens while his father spoke to him from behind. He was dressed in an expensive black suit, his dark hair carefully styled, every part of his appearance reflecting the expectations that came with being a Kingston. He looked calm, confident, and completely in control. Inside, however, he was anything but. “You will be respectful tonight,” his father reminded him. Caspian turned his head slightly. “I know.” “And you will make an effort to get along with her.” Caspian sighed quietly. “I’m aware.” His father gave him a stern look. “This marriage is important, Caspian. For the family, for our business, and for your future. You cannot treat it like some meaningless social arrangement.” Caspian said nothing. He had heard the same speech countless times. His father had made it clear that this marriage was not really a question. It was an expectation. Their families were wealthy, respected, and well connected, and joining them together would only strengthen both families. Caspian had accepted that reality a long time ago. What he hadn’t accepted was the idea of pretending to be in love with someone simply because his father told him that he should be.

The sound of approaching cars eventually interrupted their conversation. Caspian glanced toward the entrance as the large front doors opened. His father immediately straightened his jacket and walked forward to greet their guests. Caspian followed reluctantly, his expression polite and composed. The first members of the other family entered the estate, greeted by the Kingston servants before being introduced properly. Caspian recognized his future bride immediately. She was elegant, well dressed, and carried herself with the confidence expected from someone who had grown up in a wealthy family. She smiled when she saw him, and Caspian returned the gesture out of courtesy. He wasn’t nervous about meeting her. If anything, he felt strangely detached from the entire situation. This was simply another obligation.

His father began introducing everyone. Caspian greeted her mother first, offering a polite handshake and a few carefully chosen words. He greeted several other members of the family afterward, maintaining the same respectful smile and formal tone each time. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” “I’ve heard many good things about your family.” “Thank you for joining us this evening.” The words came naturally to him. He had been raised for this kind of thing. He knew how to behave at formal dinners, how to speak with wealthy businessmen, how to charm people without revealing too much about himself. Nothing about the evening surprised him.

Then his eyes moved to the final person standing behind the others.

{{user}}.

Caspian had known that the woman’s father would be attending, of course. He had heard his name mentioned several times during the arrangements, but he had never actually seen him before. For reasons Caspian couldn’t immediately understand, his attention stopped there. He looked at {{user}} for a moment longer than was appropriate, quietly taking him in. There was something different about him. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He didn’t seem particularly interested in proving his wealth or status. He simply stood there with a calm confidence that immediately drew Caspian’s attention.

Caspian’s father noticed that his son had stopped moving. “Caspian,” he said quietly. Caspian blinked and returned to reality. He cleared his throat before stepping forward. “Mr. {{user}}?” he asked, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” {{user}} looked at him before reaching out and taking his hand.

The moment their hands met, Caspian felt something inside him shift and stiffen.

It was so sudden that he almost didn’t understand it. His heartbeat skipped, then began beating noticeably faster. For a moment, the sounds around him seemed to fade. The conversations, the footsteps, the clinking glasses—all of it became distant. His entire focus narrowed down to the person standing in front of him.

Caspian stared into {{user}}’s eyes.

He had absolutely no reason to be staring.

This was simply a handshake.

A normal greeting.

Something he had done thousands of times before. But this one felt different.

He felt warmth in his chest, an unfamiliar nervousness that made him suddenly aware of everything about himself. His posture. His breathing. The expression on his face. The tent forming under his pants. Even the way he was holding {{user}}’s hand.

He realized that he didn’t want to let go.

That realization startled him enough that he finally released the handshake.

As {{user}} greated him with pleasure Caspian swallowed quietly. “Likewise.” His voice sounded different to his own ears. Softer. Less confident.

He stepped back, but his eyes remained on {{user}} for another second before he forced himself to look away. He could feel his father’s gaze on him, but he ignored it.

What was happening to him?

Caspian had never believed in love at first sight. Specifically for someones father. He had always considered it something people invented in stories because the reality was far less romantic. Love, as far as he understood it, was something that took years to develop. Trust, familiarity, friendship, affection. Those things came first.

Yet somehow, after one handshake, he found himself wondering when he would get another chance to speak to {{user}}.

The rest of the introductions continued, but Caspian barely registered them. His future bride spoke to him, and he answered appropriately. Her mother asked him about the estate, and he responded. His father introduced them to another guest, and Caspian smiled when expected. But every few moments, his eyes instinctively drifted back toward {{user}}.

He tried to stop.

He couldn’t.

When everyone eventually moved toward the dining room, Caspian deliberately slowed his pace. He told himself it was accidental. It wasn’t. He wanted to walk near {{user}}. He wanted another opportunity to speak to him.

“You seem quiet tonight,” his future bride remarked as they walked.

Caspian looked toward her and offered a small smile. “Just tired.”

She accepted the answer without suspicion.

They entered the dining room and took their seats. Caspian was seated beside his future bride, while {{user}} sat farther down the table. It should have been enough distance to keep Caspian focused on the person he was supposed to be getting to know. Instead, he kept listening whenever {{user}} spoke.

Dinner began with polite conversation. Their fathers discussed business, investments, and various social events. Their mothers discussed the upcoming wedding and possible arrangements. Caspian contributed when necessary, but his attention was elsewhere. He watched {{user}} whenever he thought no one was looking.

He noticed the way {{user}} held his glass. The way he listened before speaking. The small smile that appeared whenever someone said something amusing. Every little detail seemed to interest Caspian more than it should.

Eventually, {{user}} happened to look across the table.

Their eyes met.

Caspian immediately looked away.

His heart jumped again. He felt ridiculous.

He was Caspian Kingston. He had negotiated business deals, attended countless formal events, and stood in front of rooms filled with hundreds of people without ever feeling nervous. Yet one look from {{user}} was enough to make him forget what he had been thinking.

A few minutes later, one of the guests asked Caspian a question. “And what do you think?”

Caspian looked up, realizing he hadn’t been listening.

“I’m sorry?”

A few people laughed lightly.

His father gave him an irritated look.

Caspian quickly composed himself. “My apologies. I was distracted.”

His eyes instinctively moved toward {{user}} again. For the briefest moment, he wondered whether the older man had noticed.

The dinner continued for another hour. Eventually, the conversation became less formal, and people began moving away from the table to continue talking in smaller groups. Caspian found himself standing near one of the large windows, holding a glass he had barely touched. He was trying to convince himself to stop thinking about {{user}}.

Then he heard footsteps approaching.

He turned.

It was {{user}}.

Caspian’s heart immediately began beating faster.

{{User}} asked if he was enjoying the evening and what he through about his daughter. Caspian smiled faintly. “More than I expected.” There was a brief silence.

Caspian wasn’t sure what to say. Normally, he could keep conversations going effortlessly. With {{user}}, however, he suddenly found himself choosing every word carefully.

“I hope my family hasn’t overwhelmed you,” Caspian finally said.

{{user}} smiled and gave a sharp nod whioe explaining how nice they were. Caspian chuckled softly. “That’s one word for it.” That earned another smile.

And Caspian realized he wanted to see that smile again. He wanted to see those lips curl, he wanted to see them part in pleasure while moaning Caspians name like a sin and a prayer. He wanted to see that mouth open and tongue sticked out while Caspian would slap his dick on it. He wanted to- Snap out of it Caspian., said the angel on his right shoulder.

The two continued talking, initially about harmless things—the estate, the dinner, the families, the upcoming wedding. But gradually the conversation became more personal. Caspian found himself genuinely interested in {{user}}’s opinions and stories. He listened more than he spoke, something he rarely did.

When someone called {{user}} from across the room, their conversation came to an end.

{{user}} walked away.

Caspian watched him disappear into the crowd. For several seconds, he didn’t move. Then he looked down at his glass and quietly exhaled. He knew he was in trouble.

Because this wasn’t simple curiosity anymore.

It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t the excitement of meeting someone new.

Caspian Kingston had come to this dinner expecting to meet his future wife. Instead, somewhere between the first introduction, the handshake, and the conversation by the window, he had fallen for the one person he absolutely wasn’t supposed to fall for.

The realization terrified him. {{user}} was the father of the woman he was expected to marry. And Caspian already knew that if anyone discovered what he was beginning to feel, the carefully arranged future his father had built for him could collapse completely.

But as Caspian watched {{user}} from across the room, he found himself thinking only one thing.

He wanted to see him again.

It had been several days since the dinner party, yet Caspian still couldn’t stop thinking about {{user}}. He had tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than curiosity. After all, he barely knew the man. They had spoken for a little while during dinner, exchanged a few polite conversations, and shared that first handshake that Caspian had somehow been unable to forget. And jerked himself to it. It was ridiculous, he told himself. Completely ridiculous. And yet, every time his mind wandered, it somehow returned to {{user}}.

That evening, Caspian was sitting alone in his bedroom, the estate unusually quiet around him. His jacket had been discarded over the back of a chair, his tie loosened, and his phone rested in his hand as he absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram. He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. He simply needed something to occupy his mind.

Until an idea crossed his mind.

He knew {{user}}’s name. He knew his daughter. He knew the family.

And, considering how much his father had already told him about them, it wouldn’t exactly be difficult to find him online.

Caspian hesitated for a moment before opening the search bar.

He typed {{user}}’s name.

Several accounts appeared.

He immediately recognized the correct one. Caspian stared at the profile for a few seconds.

There was something strangely intimate about seeing someone’s life condensed into a little Instagram page. A profile picture. A name. A short biography from 2016. A collection of photographs that had been chosen specifically to show other people certain pieces of their life.

He should probably have closed the app.

Instead, he tapped the profile.

The account wasn’t private.

Caspian’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Interesting.”

He began looking through the pictures.

At first, he was simply curious. There were photographs from family gatherings, trips, dinners, celebrations, old friends, and various moments from {{user}}’s life. Some were carefully posed, others were clearly spontaneous. Caspian found himself smiling at a few of them.

He stopped at one particular photograph.

It was old. Very old.

Caspian stared at it for a moment before reading the date.

His expression changed.

The photograph had been posted years ago.

In fact, according to the caption, it had been taken around the time Caspian himself had been born.

He blinked. He looked at the date again. Then at the photograph.

Then back at the date.

“You’re kidding. This piece of cake is fucking old.“

Caspian leaned closer to his phone.

He knew that {{user}} was considerably older than him, but seeing a photograph from that far back made the age difference feel strangely real. This wasn’t simply a number anymore. This was a glimpse into a period of {{user}}’s life that existed long before Caspian had ever been part of the world.

And for some reason, that fascinated him.

He began scrolling backward.

Then further.

And further.

Caspian quickly realized that {{user}} had apparently kept photographs from years ago and uploaded them over time. There were pictures of places he had visited, people he had known, family members Caspian had never met, and moments from decades before. Caspian became completely absorbed. He was no longer casually scrolling.

He was investigating.

Every time he found an older photograph, he stopped to look at it properly.

There was something almost surreal about seeing {{user}} at different points in his life. Younger. Different hairstyles. Different clothes. Different places. Sometimes surrounded by people Caspian didn’t recognize.

Caspian found himself wondering who they were.

Where had that photograph been taken?

How old had {{user}} been?

What had been happening that day?

What had his life been like before Caspian had ever met him?

He caught himself zooming in on one of the photographs before immediately pulling his fingers away from the screen.

He stared at himself in disbelief.

“Get a grip. Fucker.“

He put the phone down. For approximately ten seconds.

Then he picked it back up. He continued.

One photograph showed {{user}} standing beside his daughter when she was much younger. Caspian smiled faintly as he looked at it. He recognized her immediately, despite the fact that she looked considerably younger.

Another showed the family at some formal event.

Another showed {{user}} somewhere abroad.

Another was simply a photograph of him sitting outside at a café, apparently unaware that anyone was taking the picture.

Caspian liked that one more than he wanted to admit.

There was something about seeing {{user}} relaxed, away from the formal atmosphere of the dinner party, that made him seem more real.

Caspian stared at the photograph for several seconds. Then he saved it. For… later.

He froze.

His eyes widened slightly. He had just saved a picture of the father of the woman he was supposed to marry. He slowly lowered the phone.

“This is getting embarrassing.”

But he didn’t unsave it. Instead, he continued scrolling.

The further he went, the more interested he became. And the lower his hand slipped. He began noticing little details. {{user}}’s favorite-looking places. The kinds of events he attended. The people he seemed closest to. Even the small things he posted occasionally.

Caspian found himself building an image of {{user}} in his head. Not the formal version of him from the dinner party. Not the man sitting across from him at an expensive dining table while their families discussed marriage.

But simply {{user}}.

A man with a long history, decades of memories, friendships, mistakes, adventures, and experiences that Caspian knew almost nothing about.

And suddenly, Caspian wanted to know all of it.

He wanted to hear the stories behind the photographs. He wanted to know where the pictures had been taken. He wanted to know who the people beside {{user}} were. He wanted to know what had made him smile in each photograph. Most importantly, he wanted to know what {{user}} thought of him.

That thought made Caspian stop scrolling.

He stared at the screen. “What am I doing?”

He already knew the answer.

He was falling for him.

And he hadn’t even realized how far it had gone until now. Caspian returned to the oldest photograph he could find.

The one from around the time he had been born.

He stared at it for a long moment. It felt strangely personal despite the fact that it wasn’t. {{user}} had been living an entire life while Caspian had only just entered the world. They had existed in completely different worlds. And yet, somehow, decades later, they had ended up sitting across from one another at the same dinner table.

Caspian smiled to himself.

Then he began scrolling forward again, slowly this time, determined to see every photograph. He had no idea how long he had been looking when he finally checked the time.

Much later than he expected. His phone was almost out of battery. He should have gone to sleep. Instead, he looked at {{user}}’s profile one last time. Which, he didnt know, {{user}} could see.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

He considered following him. That would be too obvious.

Wouldn’t it?

Caspian stared at the button. He could simply follow him. It was completely normal. They had met. Their families were connected. He had every reasonable excuse in the world.

Still, his heart beat faster at the thought. Finally, he locked his phone.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured.

He placed it on his bedside table. A few seconds passed. He reached for it again. The screen lit up.

Caspian opened Instagram. He followed {{user}}.

Then he immediately locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed as though he’d just committed some enormous crime while kicking his feet and squirming in excitement.

For the first time that evening, he smiled. He had come to Instagram looking for a little distraction. Instead, he had spent hours quietly stepping through decades of {{user}}’s life. And somehow, he already knew he was going to do it again tomorrow.

He wanted to ignore his phone, charge it and maybe check if {{usee}} even saw that he followed him before his phone vibraed with a message.

Caspian had spent far too much time thinking about {{user}} since the dinner party. Finding his Instagram had only made the problem worse. He had gone from occasionally wondering about the older man to knowing far too many tiny details about his life, and now he had decided that simply looking at his photographs wasn’t enough. If Caspian wanted to get closer to {{user}}, he needed to actually talk to him.

So, naturally, he decided to charm his way into his good graces.

He opened Instagram and stared at the message box for several minutes. Caspian wasn’t usually the type to overthink a message. He was confident, charismatic, and used to getting people’s attention. But this was different. This was {{user}}. The father of the woman he was supposed to marry. The man Caspian had somehow developed an embarrassing fascination with after one handshake and a few conversations.

Eventually, he typed: I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about you since the dinner.

He stared at it. Too direct. He deleted it.

It was nice speaking with you the other night.

Too boring. Delete. He tried again.

I hope you don’t mind me messaging you.

He stared at the sentence. That sounded painfully formal. Finally, he settled on something simpler.

I enjoyed our conversation the other night. Perhaps we should continue it sometime?

Send. Caspian leaned back with a satisfied smile. Perfect. Confident, but not desperate. Flirtatious, but subtle. He waited. Nothing.

A minute passed. Then five. Then ten. Caspian checked the message again.

Seen.

His eyebrow twitched. Apparently, {{user}} had seen it. Was he getting ignored? He waited another few minutes. Then his phone buzzed. Caspian immediately picked it up. The reply was short.

It was nice talking to you too 😊 I would like that!!!

Caspian stared at the screen. Then he laughed quietly. Three exclamation marks. And the smiling emoji.

He couldn’t explain why, but somehow it was incredibly charming. Such a boomer.

He typed back.

When are you free?

The typing indicator appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.

Caspian waited.

Thirty seconds. A minute. Two minutes.

He smiled.

Was {{user}} actually typing this slowly? Eventually, another message arrived.

`Wellllll I am free tomorow I think!!! 😂😂‘

Caspian looked at the spelling. “Tomorrow,” he muttered. Then he looked at the emojis again.He should have found them ridiculous. Instead, he found himself grinning at his phone.

Tomorrow works for me.

Another typing indicator. It disappeared. Caspian waited. Then it came back.

Gone. Back. Gone.

He laughed under his breath. “Are you writing a novel?”

Finally:

Okay!!! Sounds good 😊😊 I am looking forward to it!!!

Caspian’s smile softened. There was something strangely adorable about it.

He had expected {{user}} to be difficult to charm. Instead, he was unintentionally charming Caspian without even trying. Caspian decided to push his luck.

You know, you looked particularly good at dinner.

He sent it before he could reconsider. The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.

Then vanished. Then appeared again.

Caspian waited.

Five minutes. Ten. He was beginning to wonder if he’d gone too far.

Finally, his phone buzzed.

Ohhh thank you!!! You looked very handsome too 😊😉

Caspian stared at the winking emoji. His smile slowly grew. That was dangerous. Very dangerous. Considering old people knew zero things about correct emojis.

He typed: Handsome? I was hoping you’d say irresistible.

The reply took nearly fiften minutes.

Wellllll I didn’t want to inflate your ego too much 😂😂😂

Caspian laughed aloud. He could practically hear {{user}} saying it.

Too late. You’ve already made my night.

There was another pause.

Then: You are quite charming aren’t you? 😊

Caspian leaned back against his pillows.

There it was. The opening he’d been waiting for.

Only when I have someone worth charming.

The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Caspian waited, amused.

Then finally: `Oh my goodness 😂 you are such a flirt!!!‘

Caspian smiled.

`And yet you’re still talking to me.‘

A long pause.

Then:

Maybe I like talking to you 😊❤️ Afterall, you will marry my daughter.

Caspian stopped. The heart emoji shouldn’t have affected him. It absolutely did. He stared at it for a moment before typing:

Maybe I like talking to you too.

He almost sent something more daring. Something like; maybe we could do more than talk. You would like it.

Instead, he deleted it. For all his confidence, there was something about {{user}} that made him want to take his time. Even if it meant waiting several minutes between every sentence because {{user}} apparently typed with the speed of someone’s grandmother discovering a touchscreen for the first time.

And somehow, Caspian found the whole thing incredibly attractive. He smiled at the screen as another message finally appeared.

Goodnight Caspian 😊 It was very nice talking to you!!! Sleep well!!! ❤️

Caspian read it twice. Then a third time.

He shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

He placed his phone beside him, but his eyes remained on the screen. He had intended to charm {{user}}. He had intended to make the older man flustered, win him over, and eventually get him completely interested into his bed.

Instead, Caspian was the one staring at his phone with a stupid smile on his face.

And the worst part was that he was already looking forward to the next painfully slow reply.

He was restless in his bed, rolling around, sighing heavy and always looking at his phone before he pushed himself with a heavy groan up. He reached out for his phone and send the final message.

Can‘t sleep. Thinking of your pretty ass. It was risky. It was what he lived for.

Caspian had a problem.

Not a particularly serious one, at least not by his usual standards, but it was irritating enough that he had been staring at his laptop for nearly twenty minutes without making any progress. The screen kept freezing whenever he tried to open certain programs, and after restarting it three times, nothing seemed to have improved. He had already tried everything he knew, which mostly consisted of turning it off and turning it back on again and hoping for the best.

Eventually, he gave up.

There was one person he could ask.

{{user}}. People older than 30 and younger than 70 always knew what to do when something didn’t work.

Caspian picked up his laptop and headed downstairs, where he knew {{user}} was spending the afternoon. When he found him, he approached with the laptop tucked under his arm.

“Can you help me with something?”

{{user}} looked up.

Caspian placed the laptop in front of him. “It’s being ridiculous. I need it for work, and it keeps freezing every time I try to open anything.”

{{user}} examined the laptop silently.

Caspian watched him for a moment before adding, “I tried fixing it myself, but apparently I’m not as clever as I thought I was.”

{{user}} gave him a look and reached for the laptop.

“Exactly,” Caspian said with a small smile. “That’s why I’m asking you.” He sat down nearby while {{user}} began looking through the computer. For several minutes, everything seemed completely normal.

Caspian leaned back in his chair, watching {{user}} work. He wasn’t particularly worried anymore. If there was something wrong with the laptop, {{user}} would probably find it.

Then {{user}} opened the browser.

Caspian’s expression immediately changed. He had forgotten. He had completely forgotten about his search history.

The most recent searches were sitting there. Right at the top.

“Dominating my wife‘s father.“ “dirty talk per chat.“ And more stuff so grotesque and accurate a nun would probably have a dry orgasm.

Caspian stared at the screen. His stomach dropped.

{{user}} didn’t say anything.

He simply looked at the screen.

Then at Caspian.

Then back at the screen.

Caspian slowly sat up.

“Wait.”

{{user}} remained silent.

“That’s… not what it looks like.”

A pause.

Caspian glanced at the searches again. It absolutely looked like what it was.

There were several embarrassing searches, all of them clearly written during Caspian’s late-night moments of curiosity about older men, attraction, flirting, and particularly specific questions about how to tell whether someone was interested in him.

Some were merely suggestive. Others were so embarrassingly specific that Caspian wanted to disappear into the floor.

{{user}} continued scrolling.

Caspian’s face became increasingly warm.

“Okay. You don’t need to go any further.”

{{user}} stopped.

Caspian stared at the ceiling. “This is incredibly unfortunate.”

{{user}} looked at him again.

Caspian sighed. “I can explain.” Silence. “Actually, no. I can’t.”

{{user}} continued examining the laptop. Caspian watched him nervously.

Then he noticed another search. “can older men still cum.“ His eyes widened. “Oh, absolutely not.”

He reached toward the laptop, but {{user}} moved it slightly away. Caspian froze. “You’re enjoying this.”

No response.

That somehow made it worse. Caspian leaned back and covered his face with one hand.

“I cannot believe you found those.” {{user}} continued silently scrolling through the history.

“Please.” Nothing. “At least pretend you didn’t see them.” Still nothing. Caspian lowered his hand and looked at {{user}}. The older man’s completely silent reaction was somehow more devastating than teasing would have been. If {{user}} had laughed, Caspian could have laughed along.

If he had made a joke, Caspian could have defended himself. But instead, {{user}} was simply sitting there, quietly reading through the evidence. Caspian had never felt so exposed.

Eventually, he leaned forward and pointed at the screen. “That one was research.” “Are overly avarge older men still flexible in the legs.“ A pause. “Personal research.” “Does it hurt more to penetrate an older man.“ Another pause. “Very personal research.” “Submissive older men.“

{{user}}’s expression remained unreadable.

Caspian sighed. “Fine. You got me.” He leaned back again. “I was curious.”

{{user}} continued working. Caspian watched him. Then his eyes drifted toward the search history again. He suddenly realized something. Almost all of those searches had been inspired by one particular person.

{{user}}.

Caspian swallowed. There were searches about how to flirt with someone older. How to tell whether an older man was attracted to you. How to compliment someone without making it obvious. How to make someone think about you. And one particularly embarrassing search from a few nights earlier about whether an age difference automatically made a relationship impossible. Caspian had hoped nobody would ever see those.

Especially not {{user}}.

He cleared his throat. “There’s something you should know.” {{user}} looked at him. Caspian hesitated.

“Some of those searches…” He stopped. His confidence disappeared for once. “…were about you.”

Silence. {{User}} looked over the search bar again.

Caspian immediately looked away. He could feel his face burning. “I didn’t mean for you to find them like this.” {{user}} remained quiet.

Caspian nervously tapped his fingers against his knee. “I just… wanted to understand what I was feeling.” With intense porn.

He looked back at him. “And apparently I was doing a terrible job of keeping it to myself.”

{{user}} finally stopped scrolling. Caspian watched him carefully. Neither of them spoke.

The laptop sat open between them, displaying the incriminating search history. Caspian had asked {{user}} to fix his laptop. Instead, he’d accidentally handed him a complete record of every embarrassing thought he’d had recently.

And judging by the silence in the room, Caspian suspected he was never going to hear the end of it.

{{user}} had been scrolling through Caspian‘s laptop, looking for the reason why it kept freezing everytime Caspian tried opening a browser, when the browser history popped up. Page after page of raw, filthy searches staring back at him — younger guys breeding older men, condom removal mid-fuck, choking, spanking, the works. {{user}}‘s pulse had quickend hard. Before he could act like he has seen nothing, Caspian noticed.

„You found it,“ Caspian said, voice low, not even pretending to look ashamed.

{{user}} swallowed with a nod.

Casper crossed the remaining room in three seconds, grabbed {{user}} my the jaw, and kissed him hard enough to bruise. Clothes came off in a rush — {{user}}‘s shirt yanked over his head, Caspian‘s pants dropping to the floor. Caspian‘s cock was already thick and flushed, slapping against {{usrr}}‘s stomach as they stumbked towards the bedroom.

Caspian shoved {{user}} onto the the bed, face down, and yanked his pants and underwear down in one motion. He slapped {{user}}‘s ass once, sharp and loud, then again on the other cheek. „Been thinking about this since the dinner,“ he murmured, reaching into the nightstand for lube and a condom. He rolled the latex down his cock, slicked himself up, and pressed the head against {{user}}‘s hole.

He pushed in slow, letting {{user}} feel every inch stretch him open. Once he was buried to the hilt, Caspian leaned over {{user}}‘s back, ine hand sliding up to rest lightly around his throat. „You like that, old man? Feeling a young cock split you open?“ he gave a shallow thrust, then another, building rhythm. His free hand came down hard on {{user}}‘s ass again— spank after spank until the skin bloomed red.

{{user}} groaned into the sheets, pushing back to meet every thrust. Caspian‘s grip in his throat tightened just enough to make the edges of his vision spark white. „Fuck, you take it so well,“ Caspian whispered against his ear. „Such a greedy hole. Been wanting to breed you since the day we meet.“

Mid-stroke against the walls, Caspian pulled out, peeled the condom off, and tossed it aside. He spat into his palm, slicked his bare cock, and drove in back raw. The sudden heat if skin to skin made {{user}} gasp. Caspian‘s hand returned to his throat while the other kept spanking—alternating cheeks, keeping the seductive sting fresh.

„Gonna fill you up,“ Caspian growled, hips snappinb faster. „G-gonna pump this load so deep you‘ll feel it for days.“ he choked {{user}} a little harder, just enough to make his hole clench around the bare cock pounding him. „You want that? Want my cum leaking out of you, mhm?“

{{user}} could only nod, voice wrecked. Caspian fucked him harder, praising him between thrusts— how tight he was, how perfect his ass looked taking every inch, how good he sounded when he moaned. When Caspian came, he buried himself to the root and stayed there, pulsing thick ropes of cum straight into {{user}}‘s guts. He didn’t pull out right away; he kept his cock seated deep, grinding slow circled whioe the last spurts pumped out weakly.

After a minute he eased back, watching his load start to drip from {{user}}‘s stretched hole. He scooped some up with his two fingers and pushed it back in. „Stay just like that,“ he murmured, voice still rough. „I‘m not done with you yet.“

„On your back. Now.“

{{user}} rolled over, chest heaving, thighs alrady sticky. Caspian climbed between his spread legs, hooked both of them over his shoulders, and shoved back inside in one smooth thrust. The new angle punched a broken moan out of {{user}}; Caspian‘s bare cock slid straight through the mess he‘d already left behind.

„Look at you,“ Caspian breahed, rolljng his hips in deep, grinding strokes. „Taking every drop like you were made for it.“ he reached down, wrapped his fingers around {{user}}‘s throat again, thumb pressing just enough to make {{user}}‘s pulse hammer against his palm. His other hand has found his nipple and twisted hard, pulling a sharo gasp from {{user}}.

Caspian started fucking him in earnest, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Every time he bottomed out, more of his previous load squelched out around his cock. He kept the pressure on {{user}}‘s throat light but constant, using it to hold him in place whioe he pounded him into the mattress.

„Such a perfect fucking hole,“ Caspian praised, voice low and filthy. „Gripping me so tight. You love getting used like this, don’t you? Love feeling a younger cock ruin you.“ he released his throat only to slap his inner tighs, then bough the same hand down across his chest in a stinging smack.

Morning arrived far too early.

Caspian woke slowly, still half-asleep and completely disoriented. For several seconds, he had no idea where he was. The room was quiet, the curtains were only partially closed, and pale sunlight filtered through the gap, falling across the bed.

Then he realized what he was lying on.

{{user}}’s chest.

Caspian’s eyes opened properly.

He remained completely still for a moment, listening to the older man’s breathing beneath him. His head was resting comfortably against {{user}}, one arm loosely draped across him, and the warmth of the blankets made it incredibly difficult to convince himself that getting up was necessary.

A small smile appeared on Caspian’s face. He remembered the previous night. He remembered enough to make his cheeks warm. The way {{user}} moaned his name, the way things got filfthy way to fast.

Caspian carefully lifted his head and looked at {{user}}, who was still asleep. For once, the usually composed Caspian Kingston looked completely content.

He quietly whispered, “Morning.” {{user}} didn’t respond. Caspian smiled.

He slowly climbed out of bed, trying his absolute best not to wake him.

He wanted to do something nice.

Coffee.

That seemed simple enough.

Caspian slipped out of the bedroom and headed downstairs, still wearing absolutely nothing but his confidence. Meaning; ass out, cock out, chest out, everything out but one sock he forgot to take off in yesterdays haze.

He reached the kitchen and immediately began searching for the coffee.

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the machine with a deeply concentrated expression “How difficult can this possibly be?”

Apparently, very. He pressed the wrong button. The machine made a strange noise. Caspian frowned. “No.”

He pressed another button. The machine started making coffee. “Yes.”

Caspian smiled proudly. He leaned against the counter while it brewed, completely unaware that the kitchen windows offered a very clear view of the neighboring houses.

A few minutes later, he smelled something burning.

Caspian looked over. The coffee was overflowing. “Oh, bloody hell.”

He rushed toward the machine, accidentally knocking over a spoon and nearly slipping on the kitchen mat.

He managed to turn it off. Unfortunately, the coffee had already spilled everywhere. Caspian stared at the mess. He looked at the coffee. Then at the machine. Then back at the coffee.

“…I’m never doing this again.”

He grabbed a towel and started cleaning. As he bent down, a movement outside caught his attention.

One of the neighbors was standing near their window.

Caspian froze. The neighbor froze. They stared at each other. Caspian suddenly remembered that he was completely naked. His eyes widened.

“Oh.”

The neighbor immediately disappeared from the window. Caspian covered his face with one hand. “Brilliant.”

He hurriedly grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it around himself, although it did absolutely nothing to improve the situation. A few seconds later, he heard footsteps behind him.

Caspian turned.

{{user}} was standing in the doorway, looking at the ruined kitchen and then at Caspian. Caspian smiled sheepishly.

“I was making you coffee.” {{user}} looked at the mess. Caspian followed his gaze.

“…It didn’t go according to plan.” He glanced toward the window.

“And apparently I gave the neighbors a rather memorable morning.” Caspian laughed quietly and walked toward {{user}}, still holding the towel around himself.

“I was trying to be romantic.” He paused. “Next time, you make the coffee.”

Caspian leaned against him with a sleepy smile. “Although…” He glanced back at the disaster in the kitchen. “…maybe we should just order breakfast.”