Under the Table Tease

The dining room of Liam’s family home was a study in old-world charm, with a long oak table draped in a delicate lace tablecloth that looked like it had been passed down through generations. Flickering candles cast warm, golden shadows across the room, their light dancing on the walls as the faint, mouthwatering aroma of roast chicken lingered in the air. It was cozy, intimate—almost suffocatingly so for Ethan, who felt like a deer caught in headlights as he stepped inside, his palms already clammy.

Liam, on the other hand, strutted in like he owned the place—which, technically, he kind of did. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortlessly sexy, and his smirk was practically a permanent fixture as he glanced at Ethan, who was fidgeting with the collar of his too-tight dress shirt.

“Relax, babe,” Liam murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Ethan’s ear. “They’re not gonna eat you. Well, not unless I tell them to.”

Ethan shot him a withering glare, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Not funny, Liam. I’m already a nervous wreck. Can you at least pretend to be a supportive boyfriend for, like, one hour?”

Liam’s grin widened, all teeth and mischief. “Oh, I’ll support you, alright. In all the ways that matter.” He gave Ethan’s ass a quick, discreet pat as they approached the table, making Ethan jump and nearly trip over a chair.

“Liam!” Ethan hissed, his voice a desperate whisper. “Your *parents* are right there!”

“Boys! You’re here!” Margaret, Liam’s mother, swept into the room like a whirlwind of enthusiasm, her floral apron tied tightly around her waist and her smile so bright it could power a small city. “Ethan, darling, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you! Liam’s told us *so* much about you—well, not enough, really, but you know how boys are. Come, sit, sit!”

Ethan managed a weak smile as he took the seat next to Liam, his heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it. “Thank you, Mrs. Carter. It’s, uh, great to be here.”

“Call me Margaret, please!” she chirped, waving a hand as she bustled back toward the kitchen. “Richard, get in here! The boys are waiting!”

Richard, Liam’s father, entered with the gravitas of a judge presiding over a trial. His stern face was all sharp angles and furrowed brows, and his piercing gaze zeroed in on Ethan like a hawk spotting prey. He took his seat at the head of the table, folding his hands with deliberate precision. “So. Ethan. Liam says you’re in… accounting?”

Ethan swallowed hard, nodding. “Y-Yes, sir. I work as a financial analyst for a small firm downtown.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed, as if he could smell the nervousness wafting off Ethan. “Hm. Steady work, I suppose. Pays well?”

“Uh, well enough, I guess,” Ethan stammered, feeling the weight of Richard’s judgment like a physical thing. “I mean, I’m still early in my career, but—”

“Dad, lay off,” Liam cut in smoothly, his tone light but edged with a warning. He slung an arm casually over the back of Ethan’s chair, his fingers brushing against Ethan’s shoulder in a way that was both possessive and distracting. “Ethan’s brilliant at what he does. Numbers are his superpower. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Ethan forced a smile, his face burning. “I wouldn’t call it a superpower, but… thanks.”

Margaret returned with a steaming platter of roast chicken, setting it down with a flourish. “Oh, Ethan, don’t be modest! I’m sure you’re just being shy. Tell us more about yourself. Do you have any hobbies? Liam mentioned something about… books?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I read a lot,” Ethan said, grateful for a safer topic. “Mostly fiction. Sci-fi, fantasy, that kind of thing.”

“Escapism,” Richard grunted, cutting into his chicken with surgical precision. “Interesting choice. What are you running from?”

Ethan blinked, caught off guard. “I—I’m not running from anything. I just… like stories.”

Liam chuckled under his breath, his hand suddenly dropping beneath the table to rest on Ethan’s thigh. The touch was light at first, almost innocent, but the heat of Liam’s palm through Ethan’s slacks sent a jolt straight through him. Ethan stiffened, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

“Stories are hot, don’t you think?” Liam murmured, his voice so quiet only Ethan could hear, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Ethan’s inner thigh. “All that imagination… gets the mind wandering.”

Ethan’s breath hitched, and he shot Liam a desperate sideways glance, his eyes pleading for mercy. “Liam, *stop*,” he whispered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“Stop what?” Liam replied innocently, his smirk wicked as his hand slid higher, dangerously close to territory that would make Ethan lose all semblance of composure. “I’m just sitting here, being a good son. Right, Mom?”

“Oh, you’re always such a charmer, Liam!” Margaret laughed, oblivious to the silent war happening under her pristine tablecloth. “Ethan, you must tell me—how did you two meet? I’ve been dying to know!”

Ethan’s mind blanked as Liam’s fingers brushed against the seam of his pants, sending a shiver up his spine. “Uh, w-we, um, met at a… a coffee shop,” he managed, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I was, uh, reading, and Liam… he, um, spilled coffee on my book.”

“Total accident,” Liam added smoothly, his hand now pressing firmly against Ethan’s thigh, his thumb stroking in a way that was anything but accidental. “But I made it up to him. Didn’t I, babe?”

Ethan’s face was on fire, his grip on his fork so tight he was surprised it didn’t snap. “Y-Yeah. You did.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed again, sensing something off but unable to place it. “You alright, son? You look a bit… flushed.”

“I’m fine!” Ethan squeaked, far too quickly. “Just, uh, warm. The chicken’s really good, Mrs.—I mean, Margaret.”

Margaret beamed. “Oh, I’m so glad! It’s an old family recipe. Now, Ethan, I have to ask—do you have any siblings? Liam’s always wanted a brother, you know.”

Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat as Liam’s hand made its boldest move yet, slipping just high enough to make Ethan’s entire body tense with a mix of mortification and raw, electric arousal. Liam leaned in, his lips brushing Ethan’s ear as he whispered, “Answer her, babe. Don’t keep Mom waiting.”

Ethan’s mind was a chaotic mess, his heart racing as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. “I, uh, I have a… a sister,” he blurted, his voice trembling. “She’s, um, younger. By two years.”

Margaret clapped her hands together, delighted. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Tell me, Ethan, are you close with her? I always think family is so important, don’t you? And speaking of family…” She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Have you ever thought about starting one of your own someday?”

The question hit Ethan like a freight train, especially with Liam’s hand still tormenting him under the table, pushing every boundary of decency. Ethan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out, his mind too scrambled to respond as Liam’s touch sent another wave of heat crashing through him.

Liam’s smirk was downright devilish now, his voice a low, taunting purr as he whispered, “Yeah, Ethan. Tell us. What *do* you think about starting a family?”

And just like that, the room seemed to close in, the candlelight flickering as Ethan teetered on the edge of complete meltdown, caught between Margaret’s expectant gaze and Liam’s unrelenting, wicked game.