Author's Note: All characters described are over 18. If you're going to play in real life make sure things are safe, sane, and consensual. But in this fantasy, just enjoy.
*
George would be the first to admit that he didn't spend as much time with his son growing up as he probably should have. For most of his formative years, he was in places that he can't describe doing things that he can't talk about. Not that he thought that had any impact on my Davey turning out the way he did, George loved him for the man he became and if he loves other men then who was he to judge? Davey inherited his father's height, standing just over six feet, as well as his brown eyes and hair. George's chosen career path led him to be well muscled; some might say overly muscled, but what could he say he loved his thick thighs and biceps that threaten to tear through his seemingly endless supply of t-shirts. Davey probably could have added the same amount of muscle to his frame if he wanted, but that didn't seem to be something that he was remotely interested in. He kept himself long and lean, running and swimming almost exclusively. He hit his growth spurt the summer before his junior year in high school, and it took him some time to fill it out when he shot up almost a foot in one summer. This, along with his more reserved personality, led to him having one or two bullies during the last two years of high school. He managed to keep this from his father for quite some time, but, to Davey's disappointment, not forever.
Graduation had come and gone, and Davey was helping George out with some lawn work in front of the house while he cleaned out the pool in the back. He heard an extra voice from up front, a deep bass up against his son's stiff tone. George didn't often hear him sound like that, he was a pretty easy going man, so he sidled up to the front gate so he could peek around and get some idea of what was happening.
An extremely fit young man, standing a couple inches shorter than Davey, had a hand wrapped around his son's bicep and was pointing a finger up at him. Obviously coming into the middle of the conversation he wasn't one hundred percent sure what was happening, but it was fairly easy to discern.
"...said I didn't want to see you around after graduation faggot - don't you have somewhere to be that doesn't make the rest of the world look at your ugly mug?" he growled into Davey's face, which noticeably tightened at the question.
"Get out of my yard then if you don't want to see me," his son almost mumbled, looking smaller than he thought he had ever seen him.
"Why don't we just make it so that face of yours is harder to see, huh? Can't make it look any worse, right?" As the boy was saying this, he tugged on Davey's arm, propelling him into a freshly watered and fertilized bed at the front of the yard, immediately coating him in mud and gunk.
"Much better," the bully laughed and walked off as Davey sputtered and clawed at the mud covering his face.
This clearly wasn't the first time they had had an interaction, and George was disappointed in himself for not knowing what was going on as well as in Davey for not trusting him enough to tell him. He grabbed one of the rags that he kept outside to clean his hands and trotted up front, crouching down in front of his son and placing a hand on his back to help push him into sitting up. As he went to hand it to him George realized that his hands were just as dirty as his face, so he leaned forward and gently wiped him off until he could see. He could tell Davey was blushing under the remaining dirt and he didn't seem to be able to look his father in the eye.
"Who was that, son?" he questioned, as softly as he could manage while brimming with anger.
"Brian Summers," he mumbled, "we went to high school together. He's just a jerk."
"I could tell he was a jerk, kid, but why didn't you tell me what was going on? This obviously wasn't a new type of interaction for the little prick," he asked while handing off the rag for his son to clean his hands as well. The jeans and white t-shirt he was wearing were definitely a lost cause at this point.
"Figured I could just wait him out, he always had friends to back him up. I didn't want anything to make it worse," Davey explained, his voice stronger. He had put some thought into this, and overall it wasn't a bad plan. A bully who gets no reaction generally moves on; but not every kid had George for a father.
"Why don't you go on inside and finish cleaning up, don't worry about it. I'll see what I can," George started, but felt the need to clarify further when he noticed the panicked look on his son's face. "I mean what I can do that won't cause any blowback on you, promise kid."
"Okay, dad. If you say so," Davey headed back up the drive, the back of his shirt streaked in mud and shoulders slumped in what George could only call defeat.
He would have done whatever it took to help his son, but George was lucky that he had some experience that wouldn't make him break that promise, and might actually work out better for Davey than either of them expected.
***
George could see the house where the party was taking place from where he patiently waited in his truck. He had eyes on Brian for the last few days, and all the jackass seemed to do was drink and talk about how great he was to everyone who would listen. He wasn't the host of the party going on down the street, but he had been there longer than almost everyone else. George had seen him come outside onto the front porch a couple of times, both time with different young women, but they didn't seem to have any interest in the over-inebriated muscle boy. He didn't think this would be Brian's night, in fact he was sure it wouldn't be, but he was hoping that the boy would realize this soon so that he could get things started.
He got his wish about twenty minutes later, when Brian stumbled out the front door, alone this time. George quickly and quietly moved down the street, coming up close enough that he could grab his arm to 'help' him the next time that he tripped over his own feet.
"Woah there, almost bit it there, you okay kid?" George asked, attempting to reign in his smile at how easy the boy was making this.
"Not...a kid," Brian mumbled, "is fine...gotta car."
Now, if George were a true good samaritan he would have called the boy a taxi or perhaps dropped him off at home, but instead he brought the chemical soaked rag out of his back pocket and covered Brian's nose and mouth. Too drunk to realize that he shouldn't, Brian gasped in surprise and his eyes started to shutter closed only moments later.
George hefted the arm he held over one shoulder and half dragged, half carried his target back towards his truck, sitting him down on the ground by the back wheel not visible from the street. He grabbed the headphones he bought specifically for this new experiment; they had the highest rating for noise cancelling of any that he had looked at. He fit them over the slumped boys ears and then all but tossed him into the back.
The track that would play in the boy's ears was a mix of things. There was extremely low music with a soothing and consistent ting. Layed on top of that was George's voice, deep and even throughout.
"Listen to the sound of my voice...you want to be a good boy." **ting**
George had done this kind of thing before, but never with this intent.
