I told her I’d found a last-minute weekend package at a nice hotel with a spa, two nights for her and a friend, breakfast included, and that she deserved it after everything. She looked at me like I’d grown a second head.
“You’re sure? Leaving you two alone for two days without my help?”
“I’ve got it. Calum’s fine. I’ll cook, keep him company, make sure he doesn’t lose his mind staring at the same four walls. Go. Relax.”
She packed a small bag that same evening. By Friday afternoon she was gone, kissing both our cheeks and telling us to behave like we were still teenagers. The second the door closed behind her, the house felt different. The air was heavier. Mine and his. We were not just brothers like when mum is around.
Calum was in the living room when I turned around, leaning against the back of the couch in adidas shorts and nothing else, ankle monitor blinking against his skin.
“What was that about?”
“You’re getting a night out,” I said. “Without leaving the house.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
I didn’t. I just pointed at the bathroom.
“Shower. Shave if you want. Then put on the clothes I left on your bed.”
He stared at me for a long second, then pushed off the couch and walked down the hall without arguing. I heard the water start. While he was in there I worked fast.
I moved the dining table to the center of the living room. White tablecloth. The good plates we only used at Christmas. Real wine glasses. I scattered candles across every surface that wouldn’t catch fire — windowsills, the coffee table, the low shelf near the TV. White and cream roses in two glass vases. Soft warm lights only. No overhead. The whole room looked like it belonged in a different life.
At six-thirty the sushi chef arrived with two coolers and a portable station. I’d found him online, paid extra for a private home service. He set up quietly in the kitchen while I finished the last details.
Calum came out of the bedroom ten minutes later and stopped in the doorway.
I’d left him a white button-down shirt, black tailored pants, and a thin black belt. No jacket. Shiny black shoes. Just that. Simple and classy like an upgraded version of what he was before jail, a beautiful preppy boy with no traumas. The shirt fit tighter across his chest and arms than it would have a year ago. The pants sat low on his hips. His buzz cut and the faint shadow of stubble made him look harder, older, dangerous in a way the old preppy version of him never had. He smelled nice, Burberry Hero Parfum, another gift from me.
He looked at the candles. The flowers. The table. Then at me.
“Ash…”
“Sit down.”
He did.
The chef worked in the open kitchen where we could see him. Piece by piece the plates arrived — otoro, uni, perfectly sliced salmon, scallops with yuzu, rolls I couldn’t even name. I poured the white French wine myself. Cold. Expensive. The kind we don’t drink regularly.
Calum ate slowly, like he was afraid it would disappear if he rushed. Every so often his eyes flicked up to my face, then away again.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said after the third plate.
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
I didn’t answer right away. I just refilled his glass and mine.
“Because you can’t leave. And I wanted you to feel like you did.”
Something moved in his expression. He looked down at his plate and didn’t speak for a while.
We finished the food and we talked about or childhood memories. Everything was amazing and seriously was worth every penny. The chef packed up quietly and left with a polite nod. The house was ours again. Candles still burning. Wine half-gone. The air thick with the smell of vanilla candles, flowers and the faint clean scent of Calum’s new intense masculine perfume from Burberry.
I stood up, walked to the speaker, and put on the song.
The opening notes of Bad Intentions filled the room.
Calum looked at me.
I held out my hand.
“Dance with me.”
He stared at my hand for a second like it might burn him. Then he took it and let me pull him up. I stepped in close, closer than dancing required, and rested my hands on his strong neck. His settled on my lower back. We moved slowly, barely shifting our weight, the music wrapping around us.
I leaned in and sang the lines against his ear, soft enough that only he could hear.
“We can stay up here until we figure it out
I don’t wanna go home, don’t wanna be alone, be alone
I got some damn bad intentions
I got some damn bad intentions
I got some secrets I forgot to mention
Haven’t learned my lesson
Woah, oh, oh, oh
I got some damn bad intentions…”
His fingers tightened on my back. I felt him exhale against my temple.
When the song started to fade I stepped back just enough to reach into my pocket. The small black box was warm from my body heat. I opened it between us.
A thin white gold chain. Simple. Clean. Two small initials engraved on the clasp — C & A.
Calum went completely still.
I lifted it out and held it up.
“I wanted you to have something that was only ours.”
He didn’t take it. He just looked at it, then at me, and something raw cracked open behind his eyes. He turned away suddenly, facing the window, shoulders tight.
My stomach dropped.
“Calum—” I stepped closer, voice already apologizing. “I’m sorry. I went too far. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not that.”
His voice was rough. He still wouldn’t look at me.
“Then what?”
He was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, the words came out low and stripped.
“I never felt anything like this. No one ever done this for me. All this. I never fucking felt this shit… Not for anyone, it’s scary. And I keep wishing we weren’t brothers. Because if we weren’t… I wouldn’t have to stop myself every fucking day.”
The confession sat between us like a live wire.
I swallowed. My hands were still holding the chain.
“Then forget the world outside,” I said. “At least for the next six months. Stay here with me… pretend this is normal.”
He turned around.
The look on his face was the same one he’d worn the night he came home — hungry, ashamed, desperate, and completely unable to walk away.
“I don’t wanna pretend, Ash.”
He crossed the space between us in two steps, gripped my waist, and lifted me onto the dining table in one smooth motion. The plates rattled. A glass tipped and rolled, spilling a thin stream of white wine across the tablecloth. Neither of us cared.
Calum stepped between my thighs, hands already working the buttons of his own shirt. He pulled it open and let it hang, the white fabric framing the hard lines of his chest and stomach. Then he took the white gold chain from my fingers and pressed it into my palm.
“Put it on me.”
I reached up with both hands. The white gold looked almost delicate against his skin. I fastened the clasp at the back of his neck. The initials rested just below the hollow of his throat.
“I’m not taking it off.” he said. “Never. I wish I can buy you something too.”
“I just need your body, big brother.”
Then he kissed me.
It was deeper than before. Slower. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. I opened for him immediately, hands sliding up the open shirt and over the hot skin of his back. He made a low sound into the kiss and pushed me further back onto the table until I was lying down, legs still wrapped around him.
He broke the kiss only long enough to pull my shirt over my head and throw it aside. Then his mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, the center of my chest. I arched under him. The candles threw moving shadows across the ceiling.
Calum reached for the half-empty wine bottle, tipped it carefully, and let a thin stream of cold white wine spill across his own abs. The liquid ran down the ridges of muscle, catching in the trail of dark hair below his navel. He looked at me, eyes dark.
“Clean it up, baby brother.”
I sat up just enough to lean forward and drag my tongue over his stomach. The wine was cold and sharp. His skin was hot. I licked slowly, following every line of muscle, tasting salt and wine and him. Calum’s hand settled in my hair, not pushing, just holding, while I worked my way lower. When I reached the waistband of his pants he was already hard, the thick shape of him pressing against the fabric.
I undid the belt. The button. The zipper. He helped me shove the pants down just far enough. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed. I didn’t take him in my mouth yet. I just looked at him while I wrapped my hand around the base and stroked once, slow.
“Ash,” he warned, voice strained.
I leaned in and licked the head, tasting the first bead of precum. Then I took him deeper, just for a moment, just enough to feel the weight of him on my tongue before he pulled me off by the hair and pushed me back down onto the table.
He dragged my pants and boxers off in one motion and threw them somewhere behind him. Then he was between my legs again, spitting into his palm, slicking himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against my hungry hole.
“Look at me.”
I did.
He pushed in.
The stretch pulled a broken sound out of my throat. Calum sank deeper in one continuous thrust until his hips were flush against me. We stayed locked like that for a few seconds, both of us breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. The chain hung between us, cool against my chest.
Then he started to move.
Slow at first. Deep. Every stroke dragged the full length of him in and out while he kissed me like he couldn’t stand not to. One hand braced on the table beside my head. The other gripped my thigh, holding me open. The wet sound of it filled the room. “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd was playing in the background.
Candlelight moved over his shoulders and the open white shirt still hanging off his arms.
“You feel that?” he murmured against my mouth. “That’s me. Only me.”
I moaned and clenched around him. He cursed and thrust harder. The table creaked under us. A candle flickered. Somewhere in the background the playlist had shifted — Chicago Freestyle started playing, Giveon’s voice low and aching, Drake sliding in underneath.
Calum fucked me deeper to the beat of it, mouth on my neck, the chain swinging between us with every movement. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist and pulled him in. He groaned like it hurt.
“I’m close, Calum…” I gasped.
“Me too, baby bro. Cum for me. I want to feel it.”
A few more deep strokes and I came hard between us, spilling over my stomach and his. The way my hole gripped around his cock pulled Calum over the edge right after. He buried himself to the hilt, forehead dropped against mine, and came. Heavy, animal, intense, jets of cum deep inside me. He was like a beast being hunted.
We stayed locked together afterward, both of us shaking and sweating, the music still playing. His cock twitched inside me with aftershocks. The chain rested against my skin, warm now from both our bodies.
Calum eventually eased out. I felt his load start to leak out of me onto the tablecloth. He looked at it for a long second, then pulled me up into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around me, face buried in my neck.
I held him back just as tight.
After a while I spoke against his temple, voice quiet.
“I’m going to find a way to get that monitor off you. I don’t know how yet. But I will.”
Calum didn’t answer with words. He just held me tighter, the white gold chain pressed between us, and breathed like a man who had finally been allowed to stop running.
Outside, the night kept going.
Inside, the house felt like it belonged to both of us.
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