Daddy-Daughter D.I.Y

CHAPTER ONE

Amy scrunched up her face, scowling as she dropped her pen on her textbook and turned her focus back to her computer screen. With an irate flick of a hand, she swept a wayward lock of her amber hair back over her shoulder, brows furrowing over muddy hazel eyes as she tried to decipher precisely what her latest assignment was all about.

"Ugh. Fuck it. I'm done for tonight." She sighed. "This can wait until tomorrow."

Rolling her shoulders back, Amy arched her back and stretched her arms out toward the ceiling. Her t-shirt pulled tight up against her slender frame, showcasing her perky B-cup breasts and riding up slightly at the hem to reveal her lightly toned midriff. Kicking herself away from her desk, she spun in her chair to face her bedroom door.

Partway through her first year of university, Amy was spending the nineteenth year of life with her nose to the grindstone, dedicating herself to her studies and to her future career. She still lived at home with her parents, still in her childhood room; draped with the trappings of her youth. A pegboard studded with photos from school. A mound of stuffed toys - tucked out of the way but by no means discarded. A pastel pink vanity that was probably due for an upgrade.

It was, after all, buried in textbooks. There wasn't enough space on her desk for them all to stay there while she was working, and she didn't really have any other place to put them. Her childhood vanity, complete with peeling cartoon stickers, would be better off replaced by a bookcase.

"Knock knock. Taking a break? Just about time for dinner."

Standing in the doorway, Amy's dad rapped his knuckles on the frame, tapping out a jaunty tune as he peeked inside.

Regarding her father, Amy quirked a lip and rolled her eyes. John was forty-one years of age, and a life-long builder. His dad did it, and his dad's dad did it, and however long you wanted to look back, the men of his family had been builders. There were admittedly hushed rumours of a black sheep a few generations back who went into plumbing, but nobody would ever admit to it.

Either way, he had a muscular build, one that belied his age. Short cropped brown hair sat neatly atop his head, and keen green eyes kept up a perceptive watch from just below. People always said he had some sort of x-ray vision when it came to building, able to look over a structure and determine the intricacies of his construction.

Amy didn't put any stock in it. Her dad was just good at his job. But he did have a discerning eye, and a piercing stare that had gotten many an apologetic confession from her and her siblings over the years.

"Yeah, I'm done for tonight. What's for dinner?"

"Meat and two veg of some sort. Good hearty food for good, hearty people."

John smiled down at his daughter as she slipped past him on the way to the kitchen, and he ruffled her coppery hair as she went.

She might be a 'big girl' now, but she's still my little one.

Turning to follow along behind his daughter, John took a moment to appraise her, musing on the change that seemed to have suddenly overcome his eldest child.

It hasn't been -that- long since she was in pre-school, has it? Just five- ten... fifteen years?

Jesus Christ. Time really does fly.

He swept his eyes across his daughter, marvelling as she sashayed up the corridor before him. While she might have grown over the years, she was still petite, barely topping out at 5" 3'. Her hair, however, had grown more significantly. She kept it neat and straight, but grown out to the point where it just brushed the waistband of her jeans; a smooth, chestnut curtain running the length of her back.

His gaze drawn downward by the cascade, John couldn't help but appreciate his daughter's rear. She might not have inherited her mother's more sizable bust, but Amy had a perfectly shaped behind. Wide hips, generous proportions, a spring to her step that set her taut cheeks to bouncing-

John froze, midstep.

What the hell am I doing? Am I -checking out- my daughter?

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

No. No. I'm just... admiring the woman she's become. Completely reasonable. I should be proud, after all.

Noticing that her father had come to a stop behind her, Amy turned to check on him. It wasn't like her dad to put off wolfing down his dinner.

She caught the barest sight of his eyes flicking up from her rear.

Daddy? What were you...?

Shock and chagrin seemed to war upon her father's face for a brief moment. Then his keen eyes regained their customary focus as his gaze centred upon her face.

"Hey kiddo, don't mind me. I was just thinking that... you're not my little girl any more. Kinda struck me all of a sudden."

Amy blew a raspberry.

"I haven't been your 'little girl' for years now! I'm big, strong, confident."

She began listing off her traits, counting each one off on a finger.

John began to roll his eyes as he passed Amy, resuming his trip to the kitchen. It didn't stop his daughter.

"Capable! Intelligent. Wise. Kind. Considerate..."

"Humble?" John retorted.

"So humble. And beautiful. Alluring, even."

"Oh yeah, you're a real charmer. Boys must be tripping over themselves chasing you."

"Only..." John paused in the kitchen doorway, stroking at his five o'clock shadow with a contemplative aire, "I can't seem to recall having ever seen any boys around? Nobody introduced to your parents, or caught sneaking in or out."

Amy's blush complimented the tone of her hair. It was true. She hadn't had much experience with boys. Or any, really. Sure, a crush or two during her high-school years, but nothing that ever eventuated into anything.

"Leave the poor girl be and have your dinner, you big lug."

The voice of her mother spared her any further indignity, and dinner with the family progressed without further incident.

She really has grown.

John lay in bed beside his wife. The earlier realisation about his eldest daughter was still reverberating through his mind. The recognition of her age, her crossing of the threshold into adulthood.

Her life is just beginning. Her new life, without us in it. Or... at least not in it to the same degree.

She was at university. Had been all year, without really drawing his notice. Oh, he knewof course. He wasn't an absent father. He just hadn't put two and two together before. And studying 'Computer Science' of all things.

That's not building. That's not even building-related, like Engineering or Architecture! My little girl, not following in my footsteps...

Laying in his bed, separated by just a single wall, John felt further from his daughter than he had ever felt before.

A frown creased his brow. He couldn't fault her, of course. She was free to do whatever she pleased. But he'd be damned if he was going to send her out into the world without some practical skills.

Perhaps I should come up with something we can do together. We're going into the weekend. We could do a little bit of daddy-daughter D.I.Y...

His eyelids drooped, settling against his will. But as he drifted into his slumber, the thought stuck with him.

... Daddy-daughter D.I.Y...

CHAPTER TWO

Amy awoke to the sound of a toolbox crashing to the ground beside her bed.

"GEEZUS-" She sat bolt upright. "What the heck!"

Her dad stood over his impromptu alarm, looking down on it, and her, with a cheery grin plastered on his face.

"Happy Saturday! I thought we could bond. Do some work together. Make some stuff around the house, fix some things up. Like me and your grandpa used to do when I was younger."

Hostile, violent thoughts ranged through Amy's sleepy head. Her dad had a hammer swinging from his belt. Perhaps she could kneecap him?

"Don't tell me you're too cool to hang out with your dear old dad?"

The hammer on his belt shifted, swinging idly at his hip and dragging her gaze inward, toward her father's crotch. His close-up, eye-level crotch.

Dang. That's a nice crotch.

With a jolt, she shook the thought from her addled mind. Her eyes snapped upward to her goofily grinning dad.

"Dad." Swiftly filing away her emotional response to the looming crotch, Amy fixed her most displeased, deadpan expression into place. "Get out of my bedroom."

John's heart broke. Foiled, and at the first hurdle. Amy didn't even want to consider the notion. He was too late. He'd lost her.

He dropped his gaze, eyes alighting on the freshly dropped toolbox at his feet.

Well that was probably my first mistake. Nice one, John. Wake her up with a bang! Nobody likes that!

Silently, he knelt to collect it, coming to rest alongside the bed. Now eye-level with his impassive offspring, he summoned a small and apologetic smile.

"Dad."

He looked to her mournfully.

"I need to get dressed. Then we can start fixing shit or whatever."

"Oh." He nodded. "Right. That makes sense. Oh. Also, watch your language."

At least he didn't look so forlorn now. But, be that as it may, it didn't change the fact that he was still kneeling right beside the bed.

Naked beneath the covers, Amy waited for John to move. And waited. And proceeded to wait a little longer still.

He's not going anywhere fast.

She shifted, stretching out a leg from her near-foetal position. The cool, smooth fabric slipped across her skin, and she tugged the sheet ever so tighter to her chest.

Something, somewhere deep within her, fizzed slightly. Her nudity. His proximity. It seemed, somehow... exciting.

She crooked an eyebrow at him.

She was trying to tell him something.

Well, something beyond what she'd said. About needing to get dressed. Yet still he knelt.

I remember putting her to bed when she was younger. Such a cute little thing. She'd always try to stay up till I got home. Bedtime was our special thing. Tucking her in and reading her a bedtime story...

Amy shifted some more beneath the covers. Both her arms were curled up against her chest, clutching the sheets close. Tugging the sheets tight, bunching them at her chest but pulling them taut across her hips, thin fabric adhering to her thighs.

John's mind flashes back to his younger years, before his marriage, before the kids, to memories of supple maidens quivering at his touch; the way they revelled in the feeling of his eyes on their bodies.

The way they clutched the sheets to their chests, tantalising him with the cloaking of their nudity.

Oh. Ohhhh. Yeah. I should go.

Straightening, clutching at his toolbox, he stood.

"I'll leave you to get ready, alright hon?"

He took a backward step, taking in the whole tableau. The sight of his eldest daughter, naked beneath her sheets. She wasn't even looking at him really, just toward the door. He licked his lips. He should go. He should say something, and he should go.

"Don't keep me waiting though! We've got a lot to do today!"

Walking backward, he slipped out the door. Pulling it closed behind him, he loosed a steadying breath.

That did not go as planned.

As her father rose to his feet, his crotch once again filled Amy's vision.

Once again, something fizzed. Or... more tingled. Her teeth found her bottom lip.

He'd been silent. Staring. And those keen green eyes were so sharp and clear. Amy rolled her hips slightly - for comfort.

Perhaps people had a point? Perhaps her dad did have some sort of x-ray vision?

Perhaps he'd seen her? All of her.

The tingle seemed to spread.

With a jolt, Amy came back to reality. He was gone now - stepped out of the room while she was distracted. One hand still clutched her bedsheets to her chest, the other... the other tugged pleasantly at a stiff, needy nipple.

Oh, f-fuck. Why am I... mm- why does this feel so good?

Amy flushed, warm and wet with this sudden inexplicable need.

She knew what it was. She wasn't stupid. She'd been aroused before; masturbated; watched porn and fantasised about boys before.

She just didn't understand how it all related to her dad.

Or... she did. She just didn't want to acknowledge it.

So instead she flung off the covers, suppressed the tantalising ache, and started getting dressed.

They'd made some good progress.

Amy had been a little subdued to start off with. John had apologised for the manner in which he'd woken her, which seemed to help somewhat, but Amy still seemed slightly reserved as they replaced the hinges on the bathroom door.

She did fire up a bit after she walked through the doorway while he was painting the lintel - she was definitely displeased about getting paint in her hair.

She settled as he helped her to wash it out, her back to the sink and pouting as he delicately shampooed and rinsed the affected area. Then he helped to dry it, and they sat on the side of the bath to comb it out.

"Hey Amy-doll, you do realise that was -not- my fault, right?"

Her pout intensified; hopefully for dramatic effect. He sat beside her on the lip of the bathtub, straightening her hair with long, slow brush strokes, holding it away from her back with one hand and combing with the other.

"Yeah..."

It was a begrudging admission, but it was enough. John smiled an easy smile as he continued his brushing.

"You have to keep an eye out for that sort of thing on a building site," he mused. "Situational awareness. Keeping track of who's doing what. Lot of practical skills to keep you sharp."

"I'm sharp!" She looked backward over one shoulder, a sulky, sultry profile. "I was just... kinda distracted."

"Oh yeah?" John quirked his lip into a smile. "What's got my little girl so muddled?"

Your stupid abs, dad.

"Nothing important. Just like, uni stuff."

Her stupid dad had been painting the stupid doorframe and his stupid shirt lifted up to show his stupid sexy muscles and she'd been staring and had walked closed without paying attention to the extremely stupid drippy paint.

She shifted her shoulders, feeling the way his hands coolly, calmly stroked her hair.

She'd never realised how hot it could be to have her hair brushed. The intimacy of it. The slow, rolling pleasure. The way his hand sometimes skimmed the small of her back as he gathered her hair for brushing.

But then again, maybe it wouldn't be quite the same without that... paternal element.

He's... my daddy. And he cares about me. And he loves me. And he... takes care of me.

"I want my daddy to take care of me."

The brushing came to an unexpected stop. Why would he stop? He was doing a good-

Ohshit ohshit ohshit ohshit. I said that OUT LOUD. That was an INSIDE THOUGHT.

John blinked, puzzled. It was quite a bold declaration. And delivered with such a wistful tone. And followed up by... silence.

Is she scared of the same things I am? Leaving? Moving on? Growing up? Oh, sweet pea...

Lowering her hair and his brush, John laid a hand upon his daughter's shoulder. With easy strength he turned her to him and, before she could say another word, pulled her to his chest.

"Amy, you're my daughter. No matter where you go, or what you do, I will always take care of you."

An initial tension slowly fades, Amy's face buried in his chest, her shoulders wrapped in his broad arms; and in its place, a tenderness flourishes.

With slow breaths, Amy brought her cheek flush against his chest and sidled closer to indulge in her fathers' embrace. Languidly, John stroked her arm, and her breathing grew steady and even.

"You're alright, hon. You can stay here as long as you like."

All Amy did was squeeze a little closer and nod, but that was all John needed to know.

Back with the stupid muscles again.

When he'd grabbed her shoulder, she'd panicked. Locked up, in fear of some accusation or animosity. But no, he went in for a hug.

And now here she was, bundled up in his burly arms, snug as a bug in a rug and even more flustered for it. She rolled her hips, feeling the first glimmer of wetness between her legs.

Not to mention what he'd said. Of course he didn't realise what she'd meant by her words, and thank god for that, but if he had then... well the implications resounded in her head, echoing downward through her core to further escalate her 'excitement' issue.

She nuzzled her head into his sturdy chest. Partially because she was embarrassed. And more partially because it felt good. His warmth seeped into her, and his scent - exacerbated by the manual labour he'd been performing all morning - inundated her senses. She licked her lips.

"Do you promise, Daddy?" she mumbled. "You'll... take care of me? If I need it? If I ask you to?"

"Whenever you need, Amy-doll. Just ask, and I'll be there. Anything you need."

Sploosh. But again, probably not what he meant.

She sighed. What was she doing? Dad was great and all, but he wouldn't... This was her problem to deal with. He just wanted to hang out and do home-repair. Painting. Varnishing. Woodwork.

Huh. There's a thought.

"Actually Dad, there is one thing you could do for me..."

Huh. It's... uhh... kinda nice holding her like this.

John idly stroked his daughter, her flesh warm and inviting compared to the comparative chill of the bathroom tiles. One of her hands had risen to rest against his chest, her delicate fingertips trailing across the skin at his heart.

She's... close.

The other hand, he realised, was trapped between the two of them. Probably somewhat uncomfortable for her. It began to shift, moving subtly, and Amy shuffled yet more closer.

Yep. Real close. And that hand is, uhh, also... getting close.

An entirely physiological reaction was occurring below his belt. John could feel the shift, the slow, traitorous engorgement of an organ that really ought to remain as it was. But his daughter was close, and her hand was getting closer by the second.

She drew it up, swivelling in her seat to face him at a better angle. John's breath stilled as her tender hand grazed its way across his burgeoning bulge.

Oh god. Oh god ye-NO.

But it did not stop. Instead, gliding up and past, her arm wrapped its way around him as Amy pulled herself in toward his lap. Her head tilted upward, exposing the long, sweet curve of her neck, and she brought her lips to his ear.

"~Daddy~"

Now, it is important to note at this juncture that Amy was -not- sitting -in- his lap. John's mind whirled around this exceptionally salient point. Both sitting on the edge of the inset bathtub, John's legs were split to either side, while Amy had both legs draped outward. This arrangement had served them well during the hair-combing period.

Now that Amy had shifted, she was seated firmly upon the wall of the bath directly between her father's legs. Not -in- his lap. John grappled with a sense of intense relief coupled with an inadmissible remorse as Amy failed to make direct, irrefutable contact with his tumid loins.

So disconcerted by this turmoil, he altogether failed to hear what Amy had said.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Eyes rolling and breath exasperated, Amy repeated her request.

"Oh. Right. Yeah, that sounds great honey. How about how we head to your bedroom and get started?"

CHAPTER THREE

"You're lucky I had everything we need in my truck."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, otherwise we would have had to head to the store to get certain things."