<div class="floatleft">(http://29secrets.com/wp-content/uploads/nick%20bateman.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Emmett Holloway<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Guest<br/><strong>Date | Time:</strong>August 1st | 3pm<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Private yacht<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Coral colored swim trunks<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Benjamin Holloway<strong>Mentioned:</strong>N/A<br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong>Father/son bonding<hr/>It didn’t seem to matter how old Emmett got; certain things remained tried and true.  One of which spanned across nearly every person he’d ever known, including himself: it was generally possible to hold in your tears right up to the point when someone asked if you were okay - then, all bets were off.  Another truth was one Emmett had only just now realized: there was something about hearing ‘let it out’ that exacerbated a good ol’ fashioned sob fest.  Somehow, things always seemed to escalate from ‘no, no, I need to stop crying’ to the obligatory answer of ‘well thanks, I don’t mind if I do let out the last five years of repressed misery’.<br/><br/>His father peppered light kisses at the corner of his jaw and Emmett’s rigid muscles began to slowly relax.  Toned body leaning into the warmth of Ben’s arms, he couldn’t help but turn his face slightly to press his cheek against the kiss placed on it.  He could feel the warm rush of air against his face as Ben exhaled.  His muscled back, shoulders wide from hours spent rowing while away at school seemed to welcome the touch of their creator’s hands - much like the way a painter’s fingers ghosted over their own artwork in appreciation of their own skill.  Gooseflesh.  A gentle shiver up his spine as Ben’s fingers worked his neck in the sort of massage Emmett hadn’t gotten in ages.  Jasmine had never given him a massage.  She was more keen on receiving.<br/><br/>Another kiss, this time a bit lower - just under his ear.  Emmett did nothing to hide the shudder that ran through him.  He inhaled in abruptly and before he could control his hands, they were moving.  Fingers of his left hand curled and his short nails pressed into his father’s back through the thin fabric of his shirt.  His right was more daring, still - retracting from where it’d been, wrapped around Ben’s body, and instead moving up the man’s’ chest.  By the time Emmett had realized what he'd done, it was too late - the damage was done.<br/><br/>… He wouldn’t be any less of a man, any less Ben’s son for crying - but what about blatantly making an advance on his father like that?  Taking advantage of his father’s desire to comfort him?  This was uncharted territory - dangerously uncharted and equally terrifying.  This was wrong.  He couldn’t.  This was his… dad.<br/><br/>Sure, he’d called his last fling ‘Daddy’ in the heat of the moment plenty of times.  It’d even brought him over the edge on more than one occasion to do so.  So, why was it so scary to think about his dad this way?  And furthermore, why had the ghosting of his father’s lips caused a slight stir in his shorts?  Part of him wanted to apologize on the spot - while the rest of him wanted to do nothing.  What was the worst that could happen?