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Renoir was lucky that Verso’s favorite restaurant was right beside an alley.
Crouched down and peering into the window, Renoir stroked himself, eyes only on his son. His beautiful, perfect son. At this low angle, he could see right up Verso’s skirt. He was wearing the littlest of black panties, so tight that they made his cunt lips puff out around it, no doubt stimulating his clit with every movement. Renoir bit his lip, eyes rolling back for a moment when he brushed over the head of his leaking cock.
“Fuck… You’re a slutty little boy, aren’t you? Waiting for Papa to come and have his way with you, hmm? Needy thing… I’ll take such good care of you.”
He groaned as he watched Verso swallow another mouthful of food. He was eating a lot today. His baby deserved it after getting his Bachelor of Music degree. The time had flown by… He still remembered watching Verso when he was just starting out, after he had mistakenly tried to escape him. He had run away, out of the main city, but Renoir had followed. Renoir would always follow.
Creepy, Verso had called him. Protective, Renoir had echoed. He would never understand, and that was okay. As long as Renoir got to take care of him. As long as no one got to have him but Renoir.
Verso spread his legs slightly, and Renoir honed in on his cunt. His lips were so fat, furry and… slick. Renoir throbbed.
Verso began to rock as he fed himself, shifting his panties back and forth on his clit. Renoir stroked himself faster, groaning and biting his knuckles. He longed for his son like nothing he ever had before. Hot precum leaked over his fist, and Renoir pretended it was Verso’s mouth around him, Verso’s tight, wet cunt—
He came, and despite how his eyes tried to roll back into his head, he kept them fixed on his son. His son, who was very clearly trying to stifle a moan himself.
“How fucking naughty, getting off in public… Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, so perfect,” Renoir babbled as cum spilled onto his hand, and then, the ground. A huge puddle of it. He had stained this exact spot countless times.
Verso stopped, a flush rising to his ears, as he was interrupted by the waiter. Renoir chuckled to himself, dissolving into a hiss as he rubbed his thumb over the head of his wet cock. Verso always ended up caught, but that seemed to be part of the appeal for him, if his shifting was anything to go by.
Renoir expected him to avert his gaze and keep his words quick and dismissive, as he always did. He expected the waiter to be gone within moments.
He did not expect for Verso to pause, mull over what he was about to do, and then bat his damn eyelashes.
Hot rage bubbled up in Renoir immediately, and he pressed himself against the glass to get a better look. Surely he was not..? He knew Verso liked to be naughty, but to this extent? To flirt with a random waiter after getting himself off in the littlest of panties?
Unthinkable. He did not raise his son like this. To be a whore for others. Verso was only allowed to be a whore for him.
He growled. He knew he had to act fast, to break the two of them up before they ran off together.
Verso was biting his lip, spreading his legs and running his hand up the waiter's thigh. Before he had time to collect himself, Renoir's body acted on impulse, and he slammed his fist against the window.
Verso looked in his direction for the first time in years, and Renoir ducked down before he could get a glimpse of him. “Fuck,” he gritted out, cursing his lack of self-control. Verso was the only one who made him this way.
Greasy locks hung in his face. He was long overdue for a haircut, and his beard needed a trim. A shower was in order as well. He had never let go of himself like this until Verso.
He could lose everything to Verso and he wouldn't care. He had already lost the rest of his family. As far as they knew, he was dead. Nothing mattered. As long as he could keep Verso. As long as no one touched him ever again.
—
Verso was quick to leave after being interrupted. He lost the waiter's attention, who scurried back to the kitchen with a deep blush. Verso looked embarrassed, too, and his heels clicked loudly on the pavement as he practically ran home, Renoir hot on his tail.
He loved Verso's little outfits. Loved how his ass looked in the tight, short dresses he wore. Loved how his heels made him slower.
Not like there was anywhere for Verso to run. Once Renoir had him, he intended to keep him close.
He had an apartment in the building across from Verso's. Originally, all of them had been taken. It was nothing a little money couldn't fix. Originally, there had been a tree in between them. Renoir had that removed as soon as it proved an issue.
He grabbed a beer, sat in his usual lookout spot, and raised his binoculars to his eyes. He watched.
—
Verso threw off his shoes as soon as he entered his apartment, feet blistered and aching. He groaned, let his bag hit the floor, and immediately began to pull off his dress. It didn't go easily with how tight it was, but soon he was bare save for his little panties.
He breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, it hadn't been a great day. He was supposed to be celebrating his degree, and yet none of it felt like a celebration. He hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, work was dull and stressful as always, and then that dinner, God. All he wanted was a quick lay, someone to fuck him into oblivion. Everything had been going well, until it wasn't. Until the spell he had the waiter under broke, and he hurried off. He was still a virgin despite all his effort, and it was humiliating.
Now he was tired, sore, and horny.
Verso huffed, slipping his soaked panties down his legs and dropping them onto his crumpled dress. He would deal with that later. Now, he just needed to come a few times and go to sleep.
He grumbled to himself as he slid his toy box out from under his bed, grabbing his favorite dildo. This one was glass, a dark purple. It was long, thick, and ridged, just how he liked it.
Flopping into bed, Verso spread his legs and pressed the dildo into his mouth, warming it up before it went inside of him. With his other hand he rubbed his clit, already hard and throbbing. He was so wet that he could hear it already, how he was making a mess of his fingers, the sheets. Verso whined.
He closed his eyes, and thought of Gustave.
Gustave was the love of his life. They had been working at the same boulangerie for a few months when Gustave had approached him and asked for a date. Verso practically had heart eyes when he first saw him, and since then he tried everything to get closer to him. Friendly talks turned into casual flirting turned into deep, personal discussions. They were drawn to each other like magnets. The teasing from their coworkers and their manager’s exasperation at long lunch breaks together didn’t bother them.
When they weren’t working, they were holding hands and going for walks after romantic dinners or nights in. Verso was playing the piano for him, or Gustave was going on about his latest interest. Gustave was holding him like he was the only person in the world. Gustave was kissing him, hands dipping into the back of his panties and squeezing his ass.
He remembered that he left the day before Gustave promised he would fuck him for the first time.
Verso couldn't stop thinking about him. Gustave was always on his mind, in waking and in dream. He dreamt about his arms around him, his hands and his lips. His soft-spoken words of adoration. He dreamt about his cock, how it would feel coring him open, how the silver of his necklace would taste dipping into his mouth with each thrust. He dreamt about how it felt to be held by him. How it felt to be cherished, and loved.
Fuck, he needed to come.
Pulling the dildo free, he moved his hand to rub it over his clit. He gasped at the weight of it, biting his lip. He longed for it inside of him. He longed for Gustave’s cock inside of him.
His whole life, he had been abandoned. He had stopped believing it wasn't him a while ago. There had to be something wrong with him. That was why Gustave left so suddenly.
It made him want to sob.
Instead, he pushed the dildo inside. He was already stretched from how often he fucked himself, so there was no need for fingers. Besides, he wasn't the type to shy away from a little pain.
Verso gasped, pressing his hips into his hand. He started up a brutal pace, the toy slamming into his cervix with each thrust. A deep-bellied ache settled inside of him, but it just made him leak more. His head dropped back against the pillows, and he moaned to the ceiling. A wet squelch accompanied each thrust.
His whole body already felt clammy, and he loathed having to shower after this. All he wanted was to fall asleep, here, in Gustave's arms…
Verso was crying, and not just from pleasure. “A-Ah, Gustave, Gustave…” He moaned weakly, turning his face into the pillow and biting at it, leaving drool in his wake. He growled and fucked himself even more rigorously, pushing into his cervix so hard it hurt. He deserved it.
Pressure was building in his cunt, his clit throbbing. The dildo brushed against that sweet spot inside of him with every thrust, and he whined. “G-Gustave… Please, I'm sorry…” he sobbed.
Verso opened his eyes, realizing that he had left the blinds up. Oh well. Subconsciously, he searched for anyone who might be watching him. He wanted someone to watch him, he realized, and bit his lip, spreading his legs wider. He wanted them to witness his shame, his misery. His undeserved pleasure. He wanted—needed to be humiliated. It was only right.
Verso saw something. Someone. A figure, looking at him from the building across from his. He squinted, trying to make out what they looked like.
They were behind a pair of binoculars, which was… strange, but… He looked closer. He made out some features. Greying, shoulder-length hair. An unruly beard of the same color. The person dropped their binoculars, and Verso gasped. That face. He knew that face. He knew—
Verso came. It seized his breath, left his cunt aching and his brain foggy. Shame washed over him.
He knew that face. Oh God, he knew it.
And he came.
Verso surged out of bed, letting the dildo drop carelessly to the floor below as it slipped out of him. He gasped for breath as he frantically attempted to close the blinds, his fingers slipping from sweat and nerves.
Why was he here? What the fuck? What the fuck?
Finally, he managed to get them mostly down, and he scrambled to the bathroom. He couldn't see, he couldn't think about anything besides his father. Watching him. Watching him touch himself.
And he had come.
Verso sobbed as he entered his shower, turning the water on to the coldest temperature. It hit him like pellets of ice, but he deserved it. He needed to feel that bone-deep chill. He wished he could freeze under the shower spray.
Verso sank to the floor and let the water wash away his tears.
—
Renoir found him on the floor just outside the bathroom, the shower still running. He was stark naked, curled into himself. He had tired himself out with his panicking.
It was only a matter of time before Verso found out, and Renoir had made a plan long ago.
But first, he needed to get Verso warm. He scooped him up, turned the shower off, dried him with a towel. He would have liked to use the hair dryer, but that was likely to wake him, so he tucked him into bed instead.
He held him, and sighed in pleasure. Finally, he could touch his son like he had been longing to for so long. It wasn't like he didn't occasionally break in and run his hands over his skin, or jerk off over him, but this was different. These weren't the fleeting touches he had gotten used to. He could hold Verso for as long as he liked.
But soon enough, his hands were wandering. Verso wasn't clean, just wet, so Renoir could still smell the musk of his sweat and slick. He buried his head under the covers for a moment, taking a deep huff, before pressing their hips together.
Renoir ran his hand over his bicep, then his shoulder. He kissed each spot, and migrated to his breasts. He loved every inch of his perfect son. His nipples were still a little peaked from the cold, and Renoir twisted them to see him whimper in his sleep. Adorable.
As he did so, a small bead of water dripped from his hair, traveling to one nipple. Renoir wasted no time in leaning over to suck it off, and he groaned at the taste of his son.
Renoir’s cock was throbbing. It used to be uncomfortable, how his manhood never went soft around Verso, but he took pride in it, now. He was always ready for Verso to have him, at any given moment. Ready for Verso to use him. Ready for Verso to take everything from him.
His stomach was still slightly clammy, and he grabbed the slight pudge of it before moving on. There would be time to worship him later. There would be all the time in the world. First, he had to stake his claim.
Renoir kept close so he could hear every breath, every gasp, every whimper, as he touched Verso's clit. He squirmed, and Renoir chuckled softly at how he almost fell off the bed. Sensitive. The bed was only built for one, but Renoir would fix that.
His cunt was deliciously warm and soft. He wanted to bury his face in it. And so he did.
Renoir swore this was his favorite place. In between Verso's legs, huffing his musk after a long day of sweating and slicking in his panties. He groaned, running a hand up Verso's shin and spreading his legs wider. He kissed each lip before diving in, licking up his juices. His tongue dug deep, scooping out as much as he could, and he heard Verso's first sweet moan.
He grinned against him, eating him out with fervor. Verso spread his legs wider and humped his face, clearly lost in some kind of wet dream at this point. “Ah…” he gasped, and Renoir began to rut against the mattress. He wouldn't dare come—that would be a waste—but he needed to relieve some of the pressure.
Verso's face was one of pure bliss. His brow furrowed, mouth parted to show off those cute front teeth. Completely unguarded. Renoir savored it, because he knew there would be nothing but fear when he awoke.
Verso's fingers tangled in his hair, and Renoir growled at the slight pain. Verso used his mouth, keeping him in place with his grip and rubbing his clit into Renoir's eager tongue.
“A-Ah! Gustave…” Verso moaned.
Renoir pulled back immediately. That fucking name. That fucking man.
He huffed. It didn't matter. Verso would stay with him, and he would be concerned with no one but his papa.
That settled his breath, just a little, but he still wasn't done. He needed to claim him. Officially.
This was the first time he would be inside of his son. He wanted Verso to be awake for it. He wanted him to look him in the eyes, no matter what emotion he saw there. He wanted to hear the sound he made when he pushed inside, the expression on his face.
But first, Renoir had to make sure he couldn't run. He retrieved the white rope that he'd had on standby for years, a color he knew would compliment Verso beautifully, and began the process of tying him down. Each limb was bound to a bedpost, so Verso was left spread eagle and able to do little but squirm.
He had tried to be gentle, so Verso wouldn't rub his wrists raw, but what came after was anything but. Renoir tugged his pants and briefs down just past his balls, pressing his throbbing, wet tip to Verso's entrance. He was pleased to see precum gathering in the stretched hole already. Renoir had come on his cunt before, but never inside. It was too much of a risk.
Renoir knew he wouldn't last long. He wasn't even inside yet, but he could still feel the heat emanating from his entrance. Finally, he didn't just have to use his imagination.
Verso was loose and wet enough that it didn't take much. Renoir's tip was met with little resistance, and he groaned when it popped inside, throwing his head back. He gripped his hips tightly, but not tight enough to wake him.
Verso moaned, too, spreading his legs wider, and Renoir fought the urge to come right there. He had to be as deep inside as possible, otherwise this would all be a waste. He had to make sure it took.
Verso's hair fanned out around him like an angel. Renoir admired it as he slid home with one, deep thrust. Verso whimpered.
It was heaven.
Renoir gritted his teeth, letting out a guttural growl. The way Verso gripped his cock was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His walls adhered to the shape of his cock immediately, like they were waiting eagerly for this day. Renoir's cock was made for him, and his body knew it.
Renoir had to work fast. If he didn't, he would blow his load too quickly.
The ropes proved necessary as Renoir began to pound into the back of his cunt, where the opening to his womb was. Verso stirred immediately at the onslaught of pleasure and pain, and he came back to moaning loudly.
—
All was dark. All was soft. All was peaceful.
There was someone carrying him, drying him off, warming him up. He was tucked into bed, and they wrapped their arms around him lovingly. Then hands were touching him, but a gentle sort of touch, the touch he had been craving for years. It was familiar, in a way, how those hands caressed… but he wasn't sure how.
Something warm and wet and tingly between his legs. Verso gasped and moaned and grabbed onto the person's hair. Gustave..?
The touch was gone. There was a pull at his wrists and ankles, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was rather pleasant, actually. It grounded him.
A prodding at his cunt. Something large, and heavy. Verso squirmed. Too much, too much…
Pain. Pleasure. Pain.
Verso gasped, trying to find the air he desperately needed, but it had been punched out of him. He whimpered, vision swirling. He was tied to his bed. He was being fucked. By who?
He couldn't see. He couldn't think. All he could focus on was the cock slamming into his cervix like they were trying to split him open. It stung, badly, and tears welled in Verso's eyes.
“Ah, there you are… my angel.”
Verso knew that voice. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, he had to get out of here. Now. A wave of dread washed over him, his skin crawling, and he tugged at his binds as hard as he could. He sobbed in defeat once he realized it was futile.
Renoir wrapped a hand around his neck, pinning him to the mattress. Forcing him to be still. Stay. Be good.
“Shh. Do not resist, my child. It will be much easier for you that way.” Renoir squeezed, and Verso choked, his face one of terror. Disbelief. How many years had it been since he'd left? How had Renoir found him? Why did he live right across from him?
As Renoir hovered over him, Verso got a clearer view of his face. His papa's hair created a curtain around his own, and the smell of it wasn't exactly pleasant. His face hadn't changed much aside from the deep bags under his eyes, but it was his dishevelment that stood out to Verso the most. He wasn't taking care of himself, that much was obvious. He felt something like concern, but quickly tamped that down before it grew into something more. His father was stalking him. He should hate him.
But he had come when he saw him.
And his cock, God, his cock… It was better than anything he'd ever had inside of him.
No. No.
“You are thinking too hard. My angel, my Verso,” Renoir groaned, and leaned down to kiss him. Verso pressed his lips together, trying to turn his head away, but Renoir grabbed his jaw and forced him into place. His tongue was strong, easily pushing past Verso's lips and invading his mouth. At the same time, he bullied his cervix, pushing into the little divot over and over.
Verso sobbed into his mouth.
He could have bit down on Renoir's tongue.
He did not.
His lower belly cramped and seized, but he could not get away. He could only squirm pathetically like a bug upside down.
Renoir was growling, and Verso could feel him leaking precum right into his womb. He throbbed inside of him, and Verso pushed down the thought that he wanted more.
When was the last time he had taken his birth control..?
Oh, God.
A fresh wave of panic left him struggling to breathe, but Renoir did not stop, or even waver. With no other option, Verso's body began to give.
He screamed when he felt Renoir beginning to push past that final barrier, and the elder man gritted his teeth, holding tightly onto his hips and pushing deeper, and deeper, and deeper—
The head popped inside. Verso's cervix clamped around it like a vice, and he sobbed shakily, his thighs quivering. Hair stuck to his face, leaving it wet with tears and snot.
Verso did not even know he had been close, but as soon as Renoir groaned and buried his face in his neck, as soon as he felt that first pump of hot cum, he came, too.
He knew Renoir could feel it by the way his breath hitched. He chuckled, panting and burying himself a little deeper inside as he removed his face from Verso's neck. “I always knew you would be easy.”
He stroked Verso's hair, his cheek, his neck. He turned his face away. Rage consumed every fiber of his being. He tried to keep his breathing under control to hide his arousal, but most of all, his fear.
“You’re a sick fuck, will you fucking untie me?” Verso grunted, tugging at his binds in agitation.
Renoir just smiled fondly. Verso could see it out of the corner of his eye. It was infuriating.
“Oh, but I'm not done with you yet, and I don't want you to run away again.” Renoir touched him so lovingly, like he was something to be cherished, but his actions spoke otherwise.
“Have you ever considered what I want? Why I ran away from you?” Verso struggled endlessly, but it did nothing.
Renoir looked down, guilt filling his eyes. Verso felt no pity. “I… I know the living environment at home was not the best—”
“Not the best? Aline denounced everything I did if it wasn't painting, Clea and Alicia hardly stood up for me, and you. You… stared at me like I was a piece of meat. You still do. You're disgusting,” Verso seethed.
He knew it wouldn't do anything to change Renoir's mind about what he was doing, but he still needed to express his feelings. He was not going down without a fight, and never, under any circumstances, would he allow himself to fall into Renoir's trap.
“I know, and I deeply apologize. I'm here to fix things, to take care of you how I should have in the first place.” There was genuine remorse in Renoir's voice. His brow was pinched, his eyes pleading. Verso was having none of it.
“This is your idea of ‘taking care of me?’ There's something seriously wrong with you, Renoir.”
Renoir looked ashamed, now. He stroked his hip, because Verso would just squirm away if he touched his face. Verso was hoping he would have a change of heart, release him and leave to never return, but he quickly realized that was wishful thinking.
“You don't understand yet, Verso, but we were made for each other. You'll see eventually.” He shifted slightly, and it reminded Verso of their conjoining. He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to disappear.
He opened his mouth to argue, but Renoir beat him to it. “Baby. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance.” His thumbs stroked tentatively over his cheeks. His eyes were warm, soft, no ill intent behind them.
Verso chewed his lip. The touch was gentle. The way he looked at him and spoke to him was gentle. Verso had not experienced gentleness in a long time.
He had been on his own since he left. No one was there to love him, to support him. He was dirt poor, and every night he stared at the ceiling and wondered if it had even been worth it to leave.
Verso stared into his papa's eyes. Keeping his voice impassive, he whispered his answer:
“Okay.”
—
After untying him, Renoir helped him to get cleaned up and dressed. At first he didn't make any attempt to get the cum out of his womb, but Verso protested enough that he finally agreed. There would be plenty of time to breed him—they had forever. Verso breathed a sigh of relief when the bump in his pelvis disappeared.
He didn't understand yet, and that was okay. Renoir would be lenient with him. Once he showed him how life would be under his care, he would have a change of heart.
Everything had gone to plan so far. He had isolated Verso, and in turn, Verso was the only one he could rely on for comfort. Renoir had practiced what he would say for hours in the mirror. He had tried to imagine the insults Verso would hurl at him and keep himself from crying.
Nothing could prepare him for the real thing.
He had a brief moment of doubt. That maybe this was all for nothing. That maybe he should just drop his plan and apologize to Verso endlessly, kiss his face and hair and promise to be better. But he had worked so hard for this. Verso would never forgive him. This had to be done.
Renoir led Verso to his car, and luckily he didn't ask for time to pack. Verso didn't need anything—Renoir would provide it all for him. Though he longed to take his phone right away, he knew he needed to build up trust before he could. Waiting for him to be more comfortable was part of that process. He couldn't force feelings. Just instinct.
And clearly, he had done an excellent job at that so far.
Verso had tried so hard, bless him, to make connections. Attempted acquaintances, friends, and boyfriends never made it far under Renoir's watchful eye. In his experience, money did, in fact, fix everything. With enough money, anyone could be persuaded to leave and never come back.
Verso was devastated when Gustave left. It had been months, but he still cried the same way he did when he first learned he was gone. Renoir saw him crumpled up on the floor the first few weeks. Then, Verso became angry, throwing his emotions into his piano keys. His score ended in shreds on the floor every time. He saw him talking to himself in his sleep, waking up crying. He saw him fucking himself desperately and calling out Gustave's name.
His poor, sweet Verso. Renoir would show him just how special he was.
The home he had picked out for the two of them was secluded—difficult for people to find, difficult for Verso to run from. Renoir had a tracking picto implanted in all of his clothes anyway, so it didn't matter how far he managed to get.
There was no escape.
—
Verso's skin prickled. His chest felt tight. It was too hot. He couldn't stop shaking. It only got worse the further he got from home. Renoir had assured him he would take him back if he wanted, though it wasn't much comfort to hear. In the back of his mind, he knew he was lying. From the start, not a single word out of that man's mouth had been believable.
But his voice, and his hands, and his cock—
The car pulled into a driveway. Verso jumped at the sound of the car turning off, and took a moment to look around him. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were going. Fuck.
It looked similar to the houses that he saw every day in Lumière, though this one was a deep brown, different from the typical white. The roof was a similar shade, although darker.
It matched the trees around it. Perfectly camouflaged. Verso eyed the tinted windows anxiously, just a little too high up for anyone to see into.
This was bad. Verso shouldn't go in that house. Verso should demand Renoir take him back. Instead, Verso got out of the car.
He followed Renoir to the front door, and allowed him to place a hand on his lower back to guide him inside.
Renoir closed the door. Locked it. Verso's heart jumped, his breath hitching.
“Nice, isn't it?”
His voice sounded too loud in the quiet space. They had been silent so long that it felt wrong to speak, after everything that had just happened. No words could fix this situation. No words could change Verso's mind about Renoir.
Verso took in the interior. It was open, yet cozy. The lighting was dim and warm, and everywhere he looked there were places to cuddle up with blankets and pillows. The second floor overlooked the first attractively. Verso was already calculating how he could hurt himself if he jumped from it.
“Yes,” he agreed.
Renoir put his cane down and circled around him until he was standing before him, his smile fond and… proud. He stroked his thumbs over Verso's cheeks, and his son watched him wearily. “My daughter. You are so—”
“What?” Verso stepped away from his touch, a look of disgust replacing the impassivity he had tried to maintain. Renoir had never called him his daughter since he told him he was a boy. Never.
He started to feel that swell of anxiety in his stomach. That doubt. What kind of man was he, when he didn't care about binding his chest and he liked to wear skirts and dresses? When everyone else thought he was a woman?
“I'm…” His voice shook with anger and nerves. He couldn't look at him right now. “I’m a man.”
Renoir showed no remorse for what he had said. Verso's lip curled along with his fingers, and he'd never felt a stronger urge to punch someone until now.
“Mm… Not yet.”
Verso blinked, perplexed. “What?” He repeated. This whole day had been a total shit show. Whatever Renoir had to say he didn't want to hear.
“Hormones. That's what you're missing.”
Verso’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Was he saying that he had what Verso had been needing for years? What he had yearned for but had never been able to afford?
“If you stay with me, you'll always be my boy,” Renoir approached again, petting Verso's hair, “But if you leave… It's back to Mademoiselle Dessendre. Aren't you tired of hearing that, baby?”
Verso tensed, but he made no attempt to push him away. He was too stunned to do anything but stare at the wall and shake.
Was he really a man if he wasn't even on testosterone?
No more faking his voice. No more drawing eyeliner on his face and wishing it was a beard. No more staring at his body in the mirror and wishing it were straighter.
Verso was still fuming, still shaking, but he mulled over his options for a long moment, chewing at his lip.
Finally, he looked into Renoir's eyes. “Show me.”
—
Renoir grinned at his son. He could see the self-loathing swirling behind his eyes, in the furrow of his brow. He needed this. Needed his papa.
“Come,” he ordered gently, taking his cane and leading him to the supply he had received not long ago. It was enough to last a few months, plenty of time for Verso to grow dependent and needy. There would come a day where Renoir could leave the door open and Verso wouldn't even think of leaving. Where he would wail and cling to his leg when Renoir had to go somewhere.
It was out in the open, a reminder of why Verso was here. He wanted Verso to be able to see it almost always, to understand that leaving meant he would never see this again.
Verso followed behind him stiffly, his heavy breathing audible in the silence, and Renoir opened the black box containing the testosterone patches.
—
Verso's breath caught. Renoir hadn't been lying. The patches were clearly labeled “testosterone,” and no tampering was evident. It was safe. He was safe.
That was what he told himself.
Then why was he scared to try them?
“Go on, put one on.” Renoir gestured to the box.
Verso took a packet with shaking hands. He examined the patch inside. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it. Truly, this was fine. He would be okay. He would start to look more like himself with time. This was what he wanted.
Verso tore the packet open with his teeth. He took the patch in hand. He hesitated. He looked past Renoir's head, refusing to look him in the eye. Renoir nodded, encouraging.
Verso removed the paper back, baring the adhesive beneath. He lifted his shirt and placed the patch on the left side of his lower stomach. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
It was done.
For some reason, Verso expected to feel something. All he felt was the brush of his clothing against the unfamiliar patch. He dropped his shirt, standing awkwardly in place. What now?
—
Renoir's smile was satisfied as he watched Verso. It was too easy. He didn't know that the tampering hadn't been done to his patches, but the house itself. And even if he did know, he wouldn't be able to stop it.
Renoir activated the small picto controlling the vents in his pocket. They opened, soundlessly, and gas began to stream into the room. Renoir had spent the past few years building a tolerance to it, so he would be perfectly fine. Verso, however…
“Can I go home now?” Verso muttered, looking down at his feet.
“That depends… Do you want to be a girl? Or a boy?” He tilted his head. Verso glared just past his shoulder, and didn't respond.
Renoir watched him begin to sag in real time.
His eyelids drooped. His head started to loll, and he swayed on his feet. “W-Wait… Wass… Wass happenin’?” He slurred, eyes rolling back. He took a shaky step back, swayed once more, and Renoir was there to catch him before he fell. His cock twitched as he gazed upon Verso's face, so lax and pliant. He had been longing to see him like this for years.
His eyes could hardly stay open, and he couldn't keep his gaze fixed on one thing. It settled, somewhat, on Renoir's face, and Verso began to laugh, slowly.
Just giggles, at first, but it became full-blown laughter soon enough.
“P-Papa!” He giggled gleefully, shaking in Renoir's arms, and Renoir chuckled, too. He hadn't seen his son smile like this in so long, let alone laugh. It was refreshing. It was beautiful.
This was the first time Verso had called him Papa since he was 18. It had been lurking in the depths of his mind all this time—he just needed a little encouragement for it to come out.
“What, baby?” Renoir stroked his thumb over Verso's cheek. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and he fought them back, wanting to savor this moment. His son was with him, and he was smiling.
“Dunno…” Verso giggled, words slurred to the point of almost incomprehension. Renoir kissed his cheek lovingly, nuzzling into his beautiful face. Finally. Finally.
This was supposed to be happy. Then why did Renoir's smile sour into a look of despair? Why did he gaze upon Verso's face and feel nothing but shame?
As Verso giggled, Renoir broke down. He carried him to the bedroom on the first floor, depositing him onto the bed and kissing his face. His lovely face, that was currently contorted in laughter. False laughter.
Renoir cried harder, holding Verso close. His son just giggled, holding him back. “Papa…”
People didn't giggle constantly like this. This was wrong. This was… this was all his fault.
“I’m sorry, darling… I'm so sorry…” He sobbed, rubbing his face against Verso's chest. He didn't hear whatever Verso said to him in response. It took a while for him to calm, and Verso fell asleep within that time.
He couldn't help but touch him.
Tears still streamed from his eyes as he worked Verso out of his clothes, rubbed his clit to get him wet and then sunk inside of him. He mouthed over his soft breasts, rubbed the flat of his stomach that would soon be swelling with his child.
He was supposed to be happy.
They would be together for as long as they lived.
Then why, why was he still crying?
Renoir knew.
It was because he was a monster.
—
When Verso awoke, everything swirled around him. His whole body felt light, but his head was heavy. He didn't want to move. There was a warmth in his lower half, and the feeling of someone's skin against his. He looked down and found Renoir, mouth open against his nipple as he slept.
His instinct was to jump away, but everything came back to him in an instant. A reluctant smile pulled at his lips.
This was nice.
He hadn't been cuddled since Gustave.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Verso didn't have much going for him back in Lumière, and here, there were hormones. There was a warm bed, and it was peaceful. Here, Renoir would always call him his son, and he would hold him, and cherish him.
Except for yesterday, when he had called you his daughter to get you to stay. Except for yesterday, when he had taken you against your will.
The smile fell from his face immediately.
This was nothing to be happy about.
Carefully, Verso removed Renoir from his chest and slid out of bed. He was wobbly when he stood, and liquid he assumed was cum trailed down his thighs, but he still tried to walk as best he could. He grimaced in disgust.
As much as he wanted to shower, his main focus was to get out of here. He didn't know what had happened before he passed out, but it couldn't go on. He would take the box and go.
Verso wobbled to the door, more and more cum dripping out of him.
He was at a loss as soon as he noticed the lack of doorknob on the inside. No lock, no latch, nothing. A picto was keeping the door shut.
Shit.
Panic began to roll in his belly, but he hadn't lost all hope yet. He checked the windows next, but those didn't have any way to open either. Attempting to break them would be his last resort. He hurried around the whole house, but all the ways out had no way of opening them.
Finally, teary-eyed, he headed back to the windows near the front door.
The only thing he could think to throw was the box of hormone patches. Unable to see from the influx of tears, he grabbed the box and threw it as hard as he could at the window. It thunked loudly, but nothing happened. Not even a scratch.
Verso put his hands on his head and screamed.
He sank to the floor in a crumpled mess and released years of pent up pain. Years of smiling as if nothing was wrong, as if anyone had ever seen him as more than a prop for their enjoyment. As if everyone didn't leave as soon as they realized he was him. As if anyone would truly love him for who he was.
The panic swelled into a big knot, squeezing his chest until he could no longer breathe. He gasped for air, grasping desperately at the floor as if to sink into it, to let Earth take him and never give him back.
There was pressure, the feeling of something warm engulfing him, a voice in his ear, and then he passed out again.
—
Progression was slow.
After Verso realized he was truly stuck, Renoir had to keep him on the nitrous oxide unless he wanted Verso glaring and screaming and hitting.
He was pliant like this, letting Renoir touch him and kiss him and fuck him as many times as he wanted.
He couldn't stop crying.
He needed to get himself under control.
He was deviating from the plan. He had worked so hard to get here, but it didn't mean the work was over now that Verso was with him. In fact, far from it.
There was enough food in the kitchen to last for a few weeks, so Renoir disappeared for a month. Verso had no laughing gas and no one to keep him company. Just him and his thoughts.
The first time, he glared at him and demanded he tell him where he'd been, why he thought it was okay to leave him alone like that when he was carrying their child.
Their child.
Renoir had missed the first signs of morning sickness while he was gone, the slight swell of his belly. While it pained him, they would have more children. He let the nitrous oxide flow again and placed his temple to Verso's belly. Their precious child. Renoir loved them so much.
He didn't miss how Verso cuddled him back while they slept, how he began to linger around him more and more, actually initiating conversations.
Renoir left again after a month. This time, it was two months. And when he came back, Verso was even more angry. He was in his second trimester and Renoir had left him. Again. Would he do this when their child was born?
How negligent could he be?
He had been so lonely.
Renoir watched him break down. Not because of what Renoir had done, but because he had missed him.
Verso tugged him desperately against him, his face in his stomach, and stained his shirt with tears. Little fists pounded at his chest, scolding him for his negligence.
Renoir pulled him away, held his face, wiped his tears away. He pressed him down into the couch cushions and kissed him, fucking him to another wave of tears. Verso let him, clung to him, begged for him.
They spent almost all their time in bed the first week. Renoir showered him with love as he fucked him, praising him for how well he was carrying their child, how proud of him he was.
He saw Verso smile at him as they basked in the afterglow of their orgasms, the warmth in his eyes. He pet Renoir's head from where it rested on his belly, big blue eyes staring up at him.
“You clean up nicely,” Verso complimented, referring to his freshly cut beard and hair. He stroked his jaw, his touch featherlight, and Renoir nuzzled into it.
“Thank you, angel. And you're beautiful full with my child.” He turned his head to press his lips to the curve of Verso's palm, and he giggled. A genuine giggle. Renoir hadn't opened the vents since he had returned last time.
Renoir cried, but this time, it wasn't out of shame.
He was going to leave a third time, but he didn't think he could bear it. Verso was progressing faster than Renoir had imagined he would, likely due to the shift in hormones both from the patches and his pregnancy. Now, he would simply love him until Verso loved him back.
—
Verso could feel the shift in his emotions.
That first month had been absolute hell. He had never felt so devastated in his life. The first day was bearable, but the first week, when he found out he was pregnant? Not so much. No one was there to pat his back while he threw up into the toilet, to hold his hair, to rub his stomach and cuddle him after the fact.
He couldn't believe how quickly sadness and rage built up inside of him, until he couldn't stop crying for hours on end. He buried his face in the sheets and the hamper, searching for traces of Renoir's scent. He felt cold and empty without his touch and presence. He sat by the window and stared, waiting for his return. Renoir was the only thing he had to look forward to in his life anymore.
And when he came back, he wouldn't dare show it, but he was relieved.
The second time was even worse. Verso didn't think it could get worse.
But after a whole month of touching, kissing, fucking, and simply having someone to talk to, Renoir abandoned him again.
Verso had been eager the morning he left, sleepily sitting on Renoir's cock, chest to chest. Renoir fucked him so good, until his legs shook and he was so wet and hot down there it felt like a sauna between his thighs. Verso went back to sleep afterward, content, and woke up to Renoir gone.
Anxiety pulled at his guts. Would it be a month or only a day? There was no way to tell. Verso sobbed into his pillow, wrapping his arms around himself, but it was nothing compared to Renoir's touch.
His changing hormones were having a massive effect on his libido, and despite his tears he couldn't keep his hands off of himself. Verso fucked himself with small fingers, wishing for something bigger, something that would satisfy him.
Verso turned his face into the pillow just as he came, whispering “Papa…” softly, denying even himself of his true feelings.
Because it used to be Gustave's name that he would shout to the rooftops, calling him back home.
When Renoir finally returned, Verso couldn't help himself. After Renoir had tried pinning him down, he flipped him over instead, forcing his cock inside before he was ready. He rode him until his papa's thighs bruised.
“Don't you ever leave me again,” Verso had whispered, grasping at his shoulders so tightly that he left angry red marks. He couldn't believe the things that were coming out of his mouth, and God, what was he doing, but at the same time… it felt so right.
When did he start waiting for Renoir to come home? When did he want to embrace him without cringing in disgust at the way he smelled his hair? When did he start craving his papa’s dick? When did he start touching himself while thinking of large, paint calloused hands playing with him?
When had he fallen into his trap, like he had promised himself he wouldn't?
Weak.
You're so, so weak.
But then Renoir touched him, kissed him, told him he looked beautiful, and everything else faded away.
—
1 year later
Verso sat out on the patio, basking naked in the sun after a swim in the pool. His 5 month old was in between his legs, Verso's hands wrapped protectively around him. Renoir had been out for a few hours now and Verso was getting restless. He had already called him a few times, and Renoir had assured that he would be home soon.
“Soon” was five minutes. Soon was not an hour.
Verso whined, shifting his baby slightly so he could free the plug keeping his papa's cum inside, fucking himself idly. Renoir had fucked him before he left, but he already missed the feeling of his cock. He missed it as soon as it had left him.
He was getting ready to call him again when Renoir suddenly appeared in front of him, holding bags from luxury stores.
Verso squealed, popping his fingers out of himself and getting up to jump into his arms. Renoir laughed, dropping the bags to hold him under the thighs.
“Papa! I missed you so much,” Verso whined, burying his face in his neck and inhaling his intoxicating scent of pipe tobacco and leather. He moaned, his clit tingling with arousal, and pressed his lips to Renoir's hungrily. “Fuck me,” he gasped, and as soon as his toes hit the ground he was pushing Renoir onto the ground. He rubbed his dripping pussy over his clothed length, staining his pants with his own cum.
“Ah, princess, what about Hector—” Renoir protested, but was already working himself out of his slacks.
“He's okay. He's asleep,” Verso dismissed, shutting him up with his lips and tongue. A dark beard covered the lower half of his face now, his jaw much sharper than it used to be. Despite the pleasing changes, he was always more focused on his papa. The time he might spend examining himself in the mirror was spent cooking, cleaning, blowing him while he ate and drank. He would be Renoir's doormat if he so pleased.
As soon as Renoir freed himself from his underwear, Verso was sinking onto him, throwing his head back and moaning loudly into the open air.
“Mm… Y-Yes, Papa. I missed you so much, Daddy.” He bounced at a brutal pace immediately, their skin slapping together filthily. Renoir groaned, one hand holding his waist and the other playing with his tits.
There was another child growing inside of him, he was sure of it, and he couldn't be happier. Verso grinned, licking his teeth. Renoir would be so pleased. He couldn't wait for his third trimester, when the baby sat low on his hips, he gained weight, and Renoir kissed his stomach and praised how beautiful he was. He would wrap a hand around his throat and tell him he was proud of him while he pounded into him so hard Verso was sore for days.
He liked that. He liked to see and feel the toll Renoir had taken on his delicate body. All for Papa to play with and no one else.
Verso was going to come soon. He didn't last long anymore, and that was okay, because Papa liked to know he was making him feel good.
“Can I come, Papa? Please?” Verso whimpered, tits bouncing and ass jiggling as his sopping wet cunt clenched around Renoir.
“Come, baby, come for me,” Renoir gritted out, grabbing onto his hips and thrusting in time with each bounce. His pupils were blown into something feral, and Renoir looking like he wanted to devour him had Verso coming so hard he saw stars.
Renoir held him down, both of them panting heavily as warm cum flooded Verso for the third time that day.
They held each other for a while as they came down, speaking in soft whispers and giggling at dumb little comments.
Eventually, Verso pulled off, clenching to make sure no cum escaped as he rushed to grab his plug. He sighed when it was back inside, full and happy once again, and picked up a sleeping Hector.
“See? Fast asleep,” Verso grinned, holding him on his hip.
Renoir returned his expression, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. He rested his forehead against his, and Verso closed his eyes.
“I love you,” Renoir whispered.
“I love you, too.”
And Verso had never meant something so much in his life.