Betrayed Then Seduced
The house was basically ours. Dad moved to London three years ago after the promotion, couldn’t stand the hallways where Mom’s perfume used to linger. Cancer took her five years ago. Dad left a year later. Christmas visits, birthday phone calls, the occasional guilt-soaked check in the mail. The last time I heard from Dad was 3 weeks ago, when he said his brother Mike would be moving into the guest room.
I spend most of my days sweating through my hi-vis vest at the Walmart distribution center, managing logistics, making sure trucks loaded on time, babysitting inventory reports, coming home with my knees aching and my brain fried. It’s honest work, but it wears you down. Sebastian’s got the cushier setup: graphic web designer, works from home three days a week in just a crop top and his underwear, only dragging himself into the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He’s always complaining about client revisions and tight deadlines, but I’ve seen his “home office” setup, laptop on the couch, coffee within arm’s reach, Spotify playing soft lo-fi. Meanwhile, I’m forklift dodging and pallet stacking for eight to ten hours straight, depending on the day.
I’d wake up, look at Sebastian as he slept, and just admire how beautiful he was.
God, his body. Every inch of it carved from those daily workouts in the home gym downstairs, shoulders broad and capped from pull-ups, arms thick and veined from curling more than I could ever manage. His back was a roadmap of muscle, lats spreading wide and tapering down to that narrow waist. And his ass. That perfect, round, sculpted ass I knew better than my own reflection. Two perfect globes of solid muscle, built from years of squats and lunges, bouncing with every step he took. I watched the way the sheets draped over the curve of it, how it rose and fell with his breathing, and felt my cock twitch just remembering the way his hole clenched around me when we fucked.
Mike arrived 2 weeks ago with his duffel bag and his stories about “getting back on his feet” after Aunt Simone took him for everything.
I’d pressed him about it once, just once, a few nights ago over beer in the backyard. He’d shrugged, flashed that easy grin, and said something vague about how they grew apart. But the facts didn’t add up. She got the house, the cars, the savings, everything. There was only one reason a woman took a man for all he had, and it wasn’t because things just fizzled out.
Infidelity. The word sat heavy in my gut every time I looked at him.
But how could I hold it against him?
Because that was Uncle Mike. The same Uncle Mike who’d shown up to my tenth birthday party with a new Xbox and a case of Mountain Dew, letting me stay up past midnight playing games he definitely shouldn’t have let me play. The same guy who taught me how to throw a spiral in the backyard when Dad was too tired, who smuggled me into a college party when I was seventeen and told me “what happens at Uncle Mike’s stays at Uncle Mike’s.” He was the cool uncle, the one who showed up on holidays smelling like expensive cologne, who told me dirty jokes under his breath when my mom wasn’t listening, who made every family gathering feel like an event just by walking through the door. He was a College Frat Jock that never grew up, still reliving his glory days. Dad thought marriage would mature Mike but he stayed the same. At 10, I thought he was the coolest; now, in my late 20s, Mike’s life seemed sad and directionless.
But he was family. He was hurting. And whatever he’d done, he deserved a place to land without me digging through the wreckage.
The tension in the house shifted the moment Mike dropped his duffel in the guest room. He wasn’t the handsome jock, loud-mouthed frat guy I remembered from my teens anymore, he’d filled out. Broad chest straining against old college tees, thick arms from what I assumed were still those weekend gym sessions he used to brag about, and a gut that had softened just enough to make him look like a man who’d lived hard but kept the muscle underneath. Salt-and-pepper stubble, easy smile that still worked on people who didn’t know better. He moved like he owned the place, or at least like he was trying to convince himself he did.
Sebastian noticed it too. I caught him watching Mike lift boxes out of the truck that first day, eyes lingering on the way Mike’s shorts rode up his thighs when he bent over. Seb didn’t say anything, but that night in bed his hands were rougher than usual, gripping my hips hard while he rode me, like he was chasing some image behind his closed eyes. I didn’t mind. I liked him like that, possessive, a little feral.
Days blurred. Mike settled in fast. He’d cook greasy breakfasts on my days off, eggs and bacon that filled the kitchen with smoke and nostalgia. He’d slap me on the back too hard, call me “champ,” and ask about work like he actually gave a shit. Evenings he’d crack open beers with us on the back porch, telling the same old stories about keg stands and road trips, laughing that big belly laugh that made the neighbor’s dog bark. Sebastian laughed along, legs tucked under him on the outdoor couch, his bare foot occasionally brushing mine. But sometimes I’d look up and catch Mike’s eyes on Sebastian instead, quick, appraising glances at the way Seb’s crop top rode up, exposing that smooth, toned stomach.
I told myself it was nothing Uncle Mike is straight.
One Thursday I came home early, knees screaming from a double shift covering for a sick coworker. The house was quiet except for the low thump of bass from the home gym downstairs. I kicked off my boots, grabbed a water from the fridge, and headed down to say hi.
The door was cracked.
Sebastian was on the weight bench, shirtless, sweat glistening down the deep valley of his spine. Mike spotted him on a heavy set of bench presses, standing close, thighs straddling the bench, hands hovering near Seb’s wrists. Too close. Mike’s voice was low, encouraging: “One more, big guy. Push it. Yeah, just like that. Fuckin’ beast.”
Seb’s arms trembled as he locked out the bar. His chest heaved, nipples hard from the exertion. Mike’s fingers brushed Seb’s forearm as he helped rack the weight, lingering half a second too long. Seb’s eyes flicked up, met Mike’s, and something passed between them. A smirk. A challenge.
I stepped back before they saw me, heart hammering against my ribs.
That night Sebastian fucked me like he was trying to erase whatever thought had crossed his mind in the gym. He pinned my wrists above my head, hips snapping hard, his perfect ass flexing with every thrust while he whispered filthy praise in my ear. I came so hard I saw stars, but when I looked at his face afterward, flushed and beautiful, I couldn’t shake the image of Mike’s hands on him.
Mike started joining our workouts. “Gotta stay sharp,” he’d say, winking at me. He’d strip down to gym shorts that left nothing to the imagination, thick thighs, heavy bulge shifting as he moved through deadlifts and squats. Sebastian matched him rep for rep, their banter getting louder, cockier. I lifted lighter just to watch them compete, the air thick with sweat and testosterone.
One humid Saturday afternoon, I walked into the gym to find them both shirtless, wrestling playfully over a resistance band. Mike had Sebastian in a loose headlock, laughing as Seb squirmed against him, their bodies slick and pressed together. Mike’s big hand splayed across Seb’s abs, holding him in place. Seb’s ass was backed right up against Mike’s crotch.
They broke apart when they saw me, both breathing hard, grinning like it was all innocent fun.
“Join us, champ?” Mike asked, eyes bright.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve dragged Sebastian upstairs and reminded him whose house this was. Whose man.
Instead I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
The air felt electric. Dangerous. Like the house that used to be ours was suddenly full of ghosts and new possibilities I wasn’t sure I wanted to name.
The door clicked shut behind me with a soft finality that made my stomach tighten. The gym smelled like sweat and metal, the bass from the old speaker still thumping low in the background. Mike and Sebastian broke apart quicker than I expected, almost too quick. Mike stepped back first, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened, that same easy, cocky grin sliding onto his face.
“Shit, kid. You’re home early,” he said, wiping his hands on his shorts. His voice was casual, but his eyes had that glint. The one I remembered from when he used to lie to my dad about where we’d been all night.
Sebastian straightened up, chest still heaving. A sheen of sweat ran down the groove of his spine and disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. He looked at me, and for a second there was something unreadable in his expression, flushed cheeks, parted lips. Then he smiled, soft and familiar.
“Hey babe. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
I nodded, forcing my shoulders to relax as I leaned against the doorframe. “Shift ended early. Dead zone at the warehouse.” My eyes flicked between them. Mike’s hand was still hovering near Sebastian’s lower back, not quite touching.
Mike chuckled, deep and rumbling. “Your boy’s been killing it down here. Real dedication. Been showing him some old techniques from my college days. Kid’s got power in those hips, natural athlete.”
Sebastian let out a short laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze for half a second too long. “Yeah, Mike’s form is… intense. I was struggling with the deadlifts again.”
I watched the way Mike’s thick thigh brushed against Seb’s leg as he stepped past him to grab a water bottle. It could’ve been nothing. Just two guys spotting each other in a small gym. But the air felt heavier than it should. Charged.
“You two seem to be getting along,” I said, keeping my tone light. I crossed my arms, trying not to stare at the obvious bulge still pressing against the front of Mike’s shorts or the way Sebastian’s perfect ass flexed when he shifted his weight.
Mike took a long pull from the bottle, throat working, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What can I say? Blood’s thicker than water, but good company makes the days go by easier. Seb’s been keeping me from going stir-crazy in this big empty house.”
Sebastian shot me a quick glance, almost apologetic, before turning to rack the weights. His crop top had ridden up again, exposing the smooth taper of his waist and the top curve of that sculpted ass I knew every inch of. Mike’s eyes followed the same path I was watching. Slowly. Appreciatively.
I felt my cock twitch despite the knot in my chest.
Later that evening, after showers and dinner, we ended up on the back porch again. Beers in hand, the summer night thick and humid. Sebastian sat between us on the wide outdoor couch, legs tucked under him like always. But tonight his knee kept brushing Mike’s thigh whenever he laughed at one of my uncle’s stories.
Mike was in full charm mode, talking about his glory days, the parties, the women, the “crazy shit” he used to pull. Every so often he’d reach over and clap Sebastian on the shoulder, letting his hand linger. Or he’d lean in to make a point, voice dropping low, their heads close together.
I nursed my beer and watched.
Seb was more animated than usual. Laughing louder. Touching his own stomach absentmindedly when Mike complimented his “gym gains.” When Mike stood up to grab another round from the fridge, Sebastian’s eyes tracked him across the yard, following the broad line of his back, the way his shorts clung to his thick ass and heavy thighs.
“You okay, babe?” I asked quietly once Mike was inside.
Sebastian blinked, turning to me with that beautiful, slightly guilty smile. “Yeah. Just… it’s nice having someone else around. The house felt big after your dad left.” He leaned in and kissed me softly, his hand resting high on my thigh. Reassuring. Or distracting.
Mike came back out carrying three more beers, whistling. When he sat down, he spread his legs wide, one knee pressing firmly against Sebastian’s. Neither of them moved away.
I kept my suspicions to myself, letting them simmer.
The next few days followed the same pattern. Little things. Mike accidentally walking in on Sebastian changing after a shower, lingering in the doorway with a joke. Sebastian offering to spot Mike during solo workouts when I was at work, the sounds of their grunting and encouragement carrying up from the basement. Mike was cooking shirtless in the kitchen, sweat shorts hanging dangerously low, while Sebastian helped chop vegetables and stood a little too close.
Every night Sebastian fucked me harder than usual. Like he was pouring all that extra energy into me. Like he was trying to prove something.
But when he came, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent moan, I wondered who he was really seeing behind his eyelids.
I didn’t say anything. Not yet.
The house was still ours. For now. But the tension was thickening every single day, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cut it… or let it snap.
The week dragged on in that strange new rhythm. Mike had been with us for about ten days total now, and the house had settled into a new, uneasy normal. He contributed where he could, mowing the lawn without being asked, fixing the loose railing on the back steps, keeping the fridge stocked with beer. Always that same loud, back-slapping energy. Always just a little too present.
But something in Sebastian had shifted.
At first I chalked it up to the extra body in the house throwing off our groove. We’d always had a healthy sex life. Sebastian used to be insatiable. A fucking animal. Every morning without fail, I'd wake up to his mouth wrapped around my cock, those hazel eyes looking up at me with desperate hunger, begging for my load before I'd even fully opened my eyes. He'd grind against my leg while he sucked, whining until I grabbed his hair and fucked his throat. Prone bone before coffee was our ritual, me pinning him down, his ass pressed tight against my hips, that shameless moan he always let out when I pushed inside.
"Need you, Si," he'd gasp first thing, still half-asleep, cock already hard and leaking against the sheets. "Breed me before work. Please, I need it. "
And I'd give it to him. Every single day. We'd go through lube like it was tap water. He'd ride me while I made breakfast, bounce on my lap during lazy Sunday afternoons, bend over the kitchen counter the second I walked through the door. Three years of that. Three years of my perfect, slutty boyfriend needing my cock like oxygen.
Now? Nothing.
It had been five days since he last touched me like that. The last time we fucked, he’d seemed distracted, going through the motions even as his body performed. He came, but it felt mechanical. After that… radio silence. No morning blowjobs. No evening “come shower with me” looks. When I’d reach for him in bed, he’d kiss me back softly, affectionately even, but then roll over with a tired murmur about being sore from the gym or having a big deadline in the morning.
“I’m just wiped, babe,” he’d say, giving me that same soft, slightly guilty smile. “Mike’s been dragging me through these brutal workouts. My whole body’s wrecked.”
And yeah, they were still working out together almost every day. I’d come home to the familiar sounds from the basement, clanging weights, deep grunts, Mike’s encouraging growls carrying up the stairs. Sometimes I’d pause at the top, listening. Sebastian sounded… different down there. More alive. More vocal.
I started coming home earlier when I could, finding excuses. One afternoon I walked in to find them both shirtless again, Sebastian bent over the weight bench doing Romanian deadlifts while Mike stood directly behind him, hands on Seb’s hips “correcting his form.” Mike’s thick fingers dug into the waistband of Sebastian’s shorts, pulling them up slightly as he gave instructions in a low voice.
“Keep that back flat, big guy. Drive through your heels. Yeah… just like that. Good boy.”
Sebastian’s breath hitched audibly on the last rep. When he stood up, his face was flushed deep red, nipples tight, and there was a very obvious bulge in his shorts. Mike clapped him on the ass, loud and friendly, and laughed.
“See? You’re getting stronger every day.”
Sebastian glanced toward the doorway and saw me. The flush deepened. “Hey. You’re early again.”
Mike just grinned wider. “Your man’s turning into a beast, champ. Should be proud.”
That night, when I tried to initiate, Sebastian gently pushed my hand away from his cock.
“Not tonight,” he whispered, kissing my forehead. “Legs are destroyed. I can barely move.”
He fell asleep quickly, turned away from me. I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional creak of the guest room floorboards upstairs. Mike was still awake.
The suspicions I’d been carrying around were getting heavier. It wasn’t anything blatant. No smoking gun. Just a thousand tiny cuts: the way Sebastian’s eyes lingered when Mike walked through the living room in just a towel. The way their laughter from the gym sounded a little too intimate. The way Sebastian’s sex drive—the thing that used to light up the second we were alone, had completely flatlined the longer Mike stayed.
I didn’t confront him. Not yet.
Instead I watched. And waited. The tension in the house was like a wire pulled tighter every single day, and I could feel it starting to vibrate.
To be continued...
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