"I still can't believe you bought this place." Liam tossed the wrench onto the grease-stained workbench, the clang echoing through the cavernous garage bay. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a faint smear of oil. "Forty years old and you decide now to become a mechanic?"
Ethan grinned, leaning against the dented fender of a vintage Mustang. His worn grey t-shirt stretched tight across shoulders thickened by decades of farm work, same as Liam’s. "Always liked fixing things. Besides," he gestured at the dusty windows showing rolling Nebraska plains outside, "quieter than the feedlot." He paused, watching Liam meticulously clean a carburetor part. "You didn't have to come help."
Liam snorted, not looking up. "Who else? Mom worries you'll electrocute yourself rewiring that compressor." He scrubbed harder at a stubborn spot, knuckles whitening. The familiar scent of solvent mixed with prairie dust filtering through the open bay door.
Silence settled, thick as the July humidity — until Ethan’s voice dropped low, hesitant. "Been meaning to ask ... why'd you leave Denver?"
Liam froze. The question hung like a spark near gasoline. He kept his eyes fixed on the metal in his hands. "The same reason you bought this hole-in-the-wall garage, I reckon." His throat felt tight. "Got tired of pretending."
Ethan’s wrench clattered onto concrete. Liam finally looked up and saw raw understanding in his twin’s eyes — a mirror of his own decades-long ache. Ethan stepped closer, oil-stained fingers trembling slightly as he reached out. Not to take the carburetor, but to brush a smudge of grease from Liam’s jaw. The touch lingered, electric and terrifyingly gentle.
"All those years," Ethan whispered, voice rough. "You felt it too?" Liam couldn't speak. He just nodded, the movement small against the weight of confession. Outside, a meadowlark sang, oblivious to the fault line cracking open between them.
Ethan’s hand slid down to cradle Liam’s neck, calloused thumb tracing the frantic pulse beneath his ear. Liam leaned into the touch, forehead pressing against Ethan’s shoulder — a shelter built of muscle and flannel and shared loneliness. "Forty years," Ethan breathed into his hair, the words vibrating against Liam’s skin. "Watching you leave every damn family dinner early ... never knew it was because it hurt too much to be near me."
Liam gripped the back of Ethan’s shirt, fabric bunching in his fist. "I thought I was sick," he choked out. "Wanting my own brother."
Ethan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a tear tracking through the grime on his cheek. "Yeah," he said, simple as sunrise. "Me too." The admission hung between them, fragile and enormous, in the oil-scented stillness.
Liam’s fist uncurled slowly from Ethan’s shirt. He traced the familiar lines of his brother’s face – the crow’s feet deepened by sun, the slight crook in his nose from a childhood tumble off the hayloft. "Forty years," Liam echoed, voice thick. "All those women ... the pretending. I thought I was broken." He swallowed hard. "You ever ...?"
"Twice," Ethan admitted, gaze steady. "A college roommate. Then a rancher near Ogallala, five years back. Lasted six months. It felt like wearing someone else's boots." He wiped his cheek with his sleeve. "I kept seeing your face."
A startled laugh escaped Liam. "Jesus, Ethan." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ethan's again, the solid warmth anchoring him. "What do we do?" The question wasn't fearful, but wondering. A door had blown open, flooding the dusty garage with impossible light.
Ethan’s hand slid down Liam’s back, settling firmly at his waist. "We stop pretending," he murmured, rough thumb brushing Liam’s hipbone. "Right here." He tilted Liam’s chin up. "Right now."
The kiss wasn't tentative. It was decades of longing given shape – firm, desperate, tasting of sweat and relief. Liam groaned, fingers tangling in Ethan’s hair, pulling him closer until the Mustang’s fender dug into his back. The world narrowed to the scrape of stubble, the hammering pulse in his own throat, the quiet gasp Ethan made against his mouth. Outside, the meadowlark sang again, a bright, clear note piercing the Nebraska heat.
They broke apart, breathing ragged, foreheads pressed together. Ethan’s thumb traced Liam’s swollen lower lip. "Okay?" he rasped, searching Liam’s eyes.
"Okay?" Liam breathed, a shaky laugh escaping him. "More than." He glanced around the cluttered garage bay – the scattered tools, the grimy windows, the compressor humming softly. Reality crashed back, sharp and practical. "Christ, Ethan. What about ... everyone? Mom. The neighbors." The sheer impossibility of it settled heavily.
Ethan’s hand tightened on Liam’s waist. "We'll figure it out," he said, voice low but steady. "Slow. Quiet. Like we always do." He gestured vaguely towards the open plains beyond the bay door. "We got this place. Got each other. The rest?" He shrugged, a familiar, stubborn set to his jaw. "We'll handle it."
A sudden clatter echoed from the small office attached to the bay – the old coffee pot finishing its cycle. Liam jumped, a flicker of panic crossing his face. Ethan chuckled, pulling him back gently. "Just the pot. See?" He kissed Liam’s temple, a lingering press. "No one’s coming. It’s just us. For now." He stepped back slightly, picking up the rag Liam had dropped. "C’mon. Finish that carburetor. We got a Mustang to resurrect."
Liam stared at the gleaming metal part in his hand, then at Ethan wiping grease from his fingers with deliberate calm. The weight of forty years hadn't vanished — it had just shifted shape.
"Slow and quiet," Liam echoed, picking up the carburetor body. His fingers brushed Ethan’s as he passed it back. The contact sparked, but softer now. Familiar. "Like fixing this heap." He nodded at the Mustang. "Piece by piece."
Ethan grinned, tossing the rag aside. "Exactly. We know how to rebuild things." He grabbed a torque wrench, knuckles brushing Liam’s forearm as he leaned in to point at a bolt. "Start here. Tighten it down firm, but don’t strip the threads." His voice dropped, intimate in the garage’s hum. "Like us. Careful."
Liam worked the wrench, the rhythmic clicks grounding him. The compressor’s drone filled the silence, but it no longer felt heavy. Ethan’s shoulder pressed against his, warm and solid. "It’s mom’s birthday next week," Liam murmured. "Are you still going?"
"Of course." Ethan passed him a gasket. "We’ll be the same sons she raised. Just ... happier." He paused, watching Liam’s hands. "And we keep this bay door closed when we’re ... rebuilding." A sly smile touched his lips.
Liam laughed, the sound bright against the metal. "Deal." He fitted the gasket, fingers steady. Outside, a tractor rumbled past on the county road, distant and unconcerned. The world hadn’t ended. It had widened.
Ethan nudged him. "Hand me that fuel line." As Liam passed it, Ethan caught his wrist, thumb stroking the pulse point. "Love you, brother." The words weren’t whispered — they were clear, deliberate, hanging in the oil-scented air like a promise.
Liam met his eyes. "Love you too." Simple. Earned. He tightened the last bolt, then wiped his hands. The Mustang’s engine block sat complete, waiting. Like them — reassembled, tested, ready to roar. Ethan’s hand settled on the small of his back as they surveyed their work. No more hiding. Just the next turn of the wrench.
The coffee pot’s gurgle broke the quiet. Ethan poured two mugs, black. "So," he said, leaning against the workbench. "Denver." He slid Liam’s mug closer. "You left your job? Or just ... him?"
Liam wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. "Both. Marketing gig." He snorted. "Spent eight years selling tractors I’d never drive. Felt like fraud." He took a sip, bitter and grounding. "And Mark ... nice guy. Too nice. Kept asking why I flinched when he touched my shoulder." He met Ethan’s gaze. "Like yours."
Ethan nodded slowly. "Ogallala rancher was named Dale. Built like a bull. Thought roughness was passion." He traced a scratch on the bench. "I’d close my eyes, pretend ..." He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Silence stretched, comfortable now. Ethan pulled out invoices needing filing — mundane armor against the enormity. Liam grabbed a pen. They worked shoulder-to-shoulder, sorting papers. Ethan paused, tapping a vendor list. "Saw Hank’s Hardware has a sale on impact sockets." He nudged Liam. "Your favorite."
Liam chuckled. "Subtle." He scribbled ‘Sockets’ in bold letters. "We’ll go tomorrow. Early." He hesitated. "Together?"
"Obviously." Ethan bumped his hip against Liam’s. "Who else’d stop you buying the expensive ones?" He flipped a page. "Mom’s birthday cake. Still lemon?"
"Always." Liam wrote ‘Lemon cake’ below ‘Sockets’. The ordinary list felt revolutionary. "We’ll bake it here. Your oven’s better."
Ethan grinned. "Deal." He capped the pen. The compressor clicked off. In the sudden quiet, he turned, cupping Liam’s jaw. "This okay?" he murmured. "The ... touching?"
Liam leaned into the calloused palm. "More than." He covered Ethan’s hand with his own. "Just ... warn me before you kiss me near the open bay door."
Ethan laughed, bright and free. "Noted." He pressed a quick, firm kiss to Liam’s temple. "Bay door stays shut during ... maintenance." He grabbed a rag, tossing it at Liam. "Now clean that intake manifold. Daylight’s burning."
Liam caught the rag. Outside, gravel crunched under tires. A familiar blue pickup rolled into view — Old Man Peterson needing his baler fixed. Ethan squeezed Liam’s shoulder once, hard. "Ready?"
Liam nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Ready." He picked up the manifold, grease gritty under his nails. The world hadn’t ended. It had just gotten real.
Old Man Peterson climbed out of his pickup, hat pulled low against the afternoon glare. "Ethan! That baler’s actin’ up again —" He stopped mid-stride, squinting at them. "You boys okay? Look like you seen a ghost."
Ethan wiped his hands on a rag, stepping forward smoothly. "Just wrestling with this carburetor, Hank. Tricky bastard." He jerked his chin toward Liam. "Liam’s lending his city hands. Baler trouble?"
Peterson grunted, shifting his chew. "Yep. Knotter’s jammed tighter than a preacher’s wallet on Sunday." He eyed the Mustang. "You gettin’ that old girl running?"
"Slowly," Liam said, forcing a casual tone. He kept his gaze on the engine part, hyper-aware of Ethan’s proximity. "Just reassembling the fuel system."
Peterson scratched his chin. "Good. Hate to see junk rusting." He turned back to Ethan. "Got time to look at the baler? Need it for the second cutting."
Ethan shot Liam a quick glance — steady, reassuring. "Be right there. Grab a Coke from the office fridge while I finish up here?"
As Peterson ambled inside, Ethan leaned close, voice a low rumble. "See? Same as always." He squeezed Liam’s elbow briefly, the contact warm and anchoring. "Handle the carb. I’ll deal with Hank."
Liam watched him stride toward the baler parked outside, Peterson trailing behind. The compressor kicked on again, filling the bay with its familiar drone. He took a deep breath. Oil, dust, prairie wind. Real things. He tightened a fuel line clamp, the click-click-click of the wrench steadying his nerves.
Later, with Peterson’s baler diagnosed (a bent plunger knife, easily fixed), Ethan returned sweaty but grinning. "Hank paid cash. Enough for steak tonight." He tossed a wad of bills onto the workbench. "Hungry?"
"Starved." Liam wiped his hands. "Grill out back?"
"Perfect." Ethan grabbed two Cokes from the office, handing one to Liam. Their fingers brushed. No flinch. Just a shared glance, quick and electric. "After we eat," Ethan said, popping his tab, "wanna help me inventory the spare parts shed? Needs organizing."
Liam smiled. "Yeah. We’ll sort it." He took a long drink. Cold, sweet. Like possibility. Outside, the meadowlark sang again. This time, Liam heard it.
They ate thick ribeyes off paper plates on the cracked concrete apron behind the garage, watching the sunset bleed orange across the prairie. Grease smeared Ethan’s chin. Liam reached over and wiped it off with his thumb. Ethan caught his wrist, kissed the grease-streaked pad. No words. Just the sizzle of cooling meat and the crickets tuning up.
Inside the spare parts shed, dust motes danced in Ethan’s flashlight beam. Shelves groaned under bins of bolts, coils of wire, stacks of faded manuals. "Organize?" Liam snorted. "More like excavate."
Ethan grinned. "Found treasure." He pulled out a dented chrome hubcap. "For the Mustang?"
Liam shook his head. "Too flashy."
Ethan tossed it aside with a clang. "Practical as ever." He nudged Liam toward a stack of cardboard boxes. "Start there."
Liam lifted a lid. Inside lay a jumble of spark plugs, valve springs, and ... folded cloth. He pulled it out – a bolt of heavy, dusty velvet, deep sapphire blue. "What’s this?"
Ethan glanced over. "Oh. Forgot about that. It belonged to Mrs. Henderson’s old Packard seats. Before she junked it." He ran a hand over the fabric. "Still soft."
Liam rubbed the velvet between his fingers. Rich, dense. Unexpected. "Could reupholster the Mustang’s bench seat," he mused. "Make it ... ours."
Ethan’s eyes lit. "Yeah." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Something nobody else sees." Liam nodded, folding the velvet carefully. Their secret, wrapped in blue.
As they sorted bolts into labeled bins, Ethan paused. "Denver," he said quietly. "You ever miss it?"
"I missed you," Liam answered simply. "Every damn day." He scooped a handful of washers. "Missed the farm too. The quiet."
Ethan sorted nuts onto a tray. "Quiet’s better now." He bumped Liam’s shoulder. "Less ... empty."
Liam smiled, bumping back. "Yeah."
Later, sweaty and dust-caked, they stood in the bay doorway. The Mustang’s carburetor gleamed under the overhead light. Ethan draped the blue velvet over its fender. "Tomorrow," he said. "We’ll start the seat."
Liam nodded. "Tomorrow." He locked the bay door. The heavy bolt slid home with a solid thunk. Safety. Secrecy. For now.
Inside Ethan’s tiny apartment above the garage, they showered off the grime. Steam filled the small bathroom. Ethan scrubbed Liam’s back, strong hands working soap into tired muscles. Liam leaned into it, head bowed. "Still okay?" Ethan murmured.
"Better than okay," Liam breathed. He turned, water sluicing down his chest. Ethan’s gaze followed the trails. Raw. Honest. Liam reached for him. Skin slick against skin, heat radiating. No pretense. Just need.
They fell into Ethan’s narrow bed, sheets smelling faintly of detergent and engine grease. Tangled together, legs entwined. Ethan traced Liam’s collarbone. "Forty years," he whispered. "Wasted."
"No," Liam said firmly. He pressed a kiss to Ethan’s palm. "We’re here now." He settled his head on Ethan’s shoulder, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat beneath his ear. "Right where we belong."
Outside, the Nebraska wind sighed against the windowpane. Inside, warmth. Peace. Two hearts beating as one, finally in sync. Tomorrow, the Mustang. The velvet seat. The careful world. But tonight? Just this. Perfect. Quiet. Theirs.
Ethan’s calloused hand slid lower, tracing the hard line of Liam’s hipbone beneath the thin sheet. Liam shifted, turning onto his side to face him. Their eyes met in the dim light filtering from the streetlamp outside – a silent question, answered with a slow nod. Ethan’s fingers brushed the soft cotton covering Liam’s groin, a tentative exploration that quickly grew bolder. He palmed the thickening shape beneath, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric. Liam gasped softly, arching into the touch. His own hand mirrored Ethan’s, finding the solid, familiar swell of his brother’s cock already firming beneath his worn boxers. They moved in unison, hands sliding beneath waistbands, freeing themselves. Skin met skin, hot and urgent.
Liam groaned, fingers curling around Ethan’s erection. It felt thick and heavy in his grip, pulsing with heat against his palm. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing the slick bead of moisture already gathering at the tip. Ethan hissed, bucking his hips. His own hand tightened around Liam’s shaft, pulling a low moan from Liam’s throat.
They stroked each other slowly at first, relearning this intimacy without pretense, the rhythm deepening as desire surged. Ethan’s thumb circled the sensitive head of Liam’s cock, smearing the precome, making Liam shudder. Liam answered by sliding his hand down Ethan’s length to cup the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them gently, feeling Ethan tremble against him.
"Want you," Ethan rasped, voice thick. "Like this." He pushed gently at Liam’s shoulder. Understanding flashed between them. With a fluid twist, Liam shifted his body, moving down the narrow bed until his head rested near Ethan’s thighs. Simultaneously, Ethan slid down, positioning himself until his face hovered over Liam’s groin. Their legs tangled comfortably.
Liam inhaled the musky, intimate scent of his brother, a scent he’d known forever but never like this. He leaned forward, tongue flicking out to taste the salty-sweet drop clinging to the flushed head of Ethan’s cock. Above him, Ethan groaned, his own mouth descending onto Liam’s erection. Liam gasped as wet heat enveloped him, Ethan’s lips sealing around his shaft, sucking him deep.
Liam closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation flooding him – the velvet slide of Ethan’s mouth, the gentle scrape of teeth, the rhythmic suction pulling him deeper. He returned the favor, taking Ethan fully into his mouth, savoring the weight and heat. He traced the prominent vein with his tongue, explored the sensitive ridge beneath the head, hollowed his cheeks to draw harder. Ethan moaned around Liam’s cock, the vibration sending electric shocks through Liam’s core. Their pace quickened, a desperate, shared rhythm fueled by decades of pent-up longing. Liam felt Ethan’s thighs tense, heard his brother’s breathing hitch into ragged gasps. He sucked harder, deeper, urging him on. Above him, Ethan did the same, pulling Liam relentlessly towards the edge.
Liam felt the familiar tightening coiling deep in his belly, an unstoppable wave building. He sucked Ethan harder, fingers digging into his brother’s hips. Ethan’s muffled cry vibrated against Liam’s cock, triggering his own climax. Hot, thick spurts of sperm flooded Liam’s mouth as Ethan came, the salty-bitter taste filling his senses. Liam swallowed instinctively, greedily, feeling Ethan’s body shudder violently above him. Simultaneously, his own release surged, pulsing his jism deep into Ethan’s throat. He felt Ethan swallow convulsively around him, taking him in completely.
The intensity was blinding, a shared detonation that left them trembling, gasping for air against each other’s skin. Slowly, gently, they released each other, collapsing back onto the sweat-damp sheets, spent and utterly connected. Ethan’s hand found Liam’s, fingers lacing together. No words were needed. Just the shared warmth, the quiet hum of the refrigerator downstairs, and the profound, unshakeable rightness of being exactly where they belonged. Tomorrow would come. Tonight, they slept naked. Together.
*****
The Nebraska dawn bled grey light through the dusty windowpane, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. Liam stirred first, consciousness returning with the familiar ache in his lower back from Ethan’s narrow bed and the insistent pressure in his groin. Beside him, Ethan shifted almost simultaneously, a low groan escaping him as he stretched, the sheet slipping down to reveal his thick, unmistakable morning wood. Twin conditions.
Liam met his brother’s sleep-softened gaze across the pillow, a silent understanding passing between them. Wordlessly, they slid from the warmth of the bed. The chill of the worn linoleum floor bit at their bare feet as they padded the few steps to the small, utilitarian bathroom adjoining the apartment. Shoulder-to-shoulder before the toilet bowl, they relieved themselves in companionable silence, the rhythmic splash echoing in the quiet room. The simple intimacy of it felt profound, a shared ritual stripped bare of pretense.
Returning to the rumpled warmth of the bed, Liam rolled onto his side, facing Ethan. The raw vulnerability of the night before had settled into a profound certainty. He traced the line of Ethan’s jaw, rough with stubble. "Ethan," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, yet clear and deliberate. His thumb brushed Ethan’s lower lip. "I want to fuck you in the ass."
Ethan’s eyes, still clouded with drowsiness, sharpened instantly. He didn’t flinch or hesitate. A slow, deep breath expanded his chest. He captured Liam’s wandering thumb, pressing a kiss to the pad. "That’s good," he replied, his voice low and steady, resonating with a quiet intensity Liam felt deep in his own bones. "Because I want you inside me."
The simplicity of the admission hung between them, charged and electric, dispelling any lingering ghosts of doubt. It wasn’t just desire; it was a mutual claiming, a deliberate step into the heart of their forbidden intimacy.
Preparation was deliberate, unhurried. Ethan produced a half-used tube of petroleum jelly from the bedside drawer – practical, garage grease replaced by intimate necessity. Liam’s fingers, calloused from decades of labor, were gentle as he slicked himself, then pressed carefully into Ethan. He watched Ethan’s face, the slight furrow of his brow easing into concentration, then melting into a profound surrender as Liam’s thick finger worked him open, then a second. Ethan’s breathing deepened, his body yielding, pushing back slightly against the intrusion, seeking more.
"Okay?" Liam breathed, pausing, needing the confirmation.
Ethan nodded, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before opening, locking onto Liam’s. "Yeah. More. Now." His hand wrapped around Liam’s wrist, guiding him.
Positioning was awkward in the narrow bed, limbs tangling, laughter bubbling briefly before settling into focused intent. Ethan rolled onto his stomach, hips lifted slightly. Liam knelt behind him, lining himself up.
The first press was met with tight, hot resistance. Ethan hissed, knuckles white on the sheets. Liam paused, breathing hard, letting Ethan adjust.
"Slow," Ethan gritted out. "Slow and careful." Liam obeyed, pushing forward with infinite patience, inch by excruciating inch, until he was fully sheathed, buried deep within his brother’s heat. The sensation was overwhelming – tight, consuming, impossibly intimate. He stilled, forehead pressed against Ethan’s shoulder blade, feeling the tremors running through Ethan’s body beneath him.
"Christ, Ethan," Liam gasped, the words ripped from him. "You feel ..."
"Complete," Ethan finished, his voice muffled against the pillow, thick with emotion. "Move, Liam. Please." Liam withdrew slowly, then pushed back in, setting a deliberate, deep rhythm. The slap of skin, Ethan’s ragged gasps, the creak of the cheap bedsprings – these were the sounds of their world narrowing to this single, blazing point of connection.
Ethan pushed back against him, meeting each thrust, a low, continuous moan vibrating through his chest. Liam gripped Ethan’s hips, anchoring himself, losing himself in the heat, the friction, the profound, terrifying rightness of being joined so completely to the other half of his soul. Outside, the Nebraska wind picked up, whistling past the window, oblivious to the quiet earthquake happening within.
"Harder," Ethan gasped, twisting his head sideways against the pillow. His voice was rough, stripped bare. Liam obeyed, driving deeper, feeling the tight clench and release of Ethan’s body around him, the slick slide amplified by the petroleum jelly’s thick glide. He focused on the details: the flex of muscles in Ethan’s lower back, the tremor in his thighs, the damp flush spreading across his shoulders. Liam leaned forward, pressing his chest to Ethan’s sweat-slicked back, burying his face in the crook of his brother’s neck. He inhaled the scent of clean sweat, sleep, and the faint, lingering tang of engine grease trapped beneath fingernails – uniquely Ethan, uniquely theirs.
"Feel you," Liam groaned against Ethan’s skin, the words thick. "Everywhere." He slid a hand beneath Ethan’s torso, fingers seeking and finding the hard, leaking length trapped against the mattress. He wrapped his hand around it, slick with pre-cum, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. Ethan cried out, arching sharply, pushing back onto Liam’s cock while pressing forward into his fist. The dual stimulation pulled ragged breaths from them both.
"I’m close," Ethan choked out, the word strained. "So close, Liam." Liam felt the telltale tightening deep within Ethan’s body, the rhythmic clench intensifying around his shaft. He sped his hand on Ethan’s cock, thumb circling the slick head. His own thrusts became shorter, harder, driving relentlessly towards the precipice Ethan was already teetering on.
Ethan’s release hit him like a seizure – a strangled shout ripped from his throat as his body bowed, hips lifting off the mattress. Hot pulses of semen shot onto Liam’s fist and the crumpled sheet beneath. The powerful contractions around Liam’s cock were the final trigger. Liam buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as his own climax tore through him, a white-hot detonation that spilled his sperm deep into Ethan’s welcoming heat. He gasped Ethan’s name, a raw sound lost against his brother’s shoulder, riding the waves of aftershock that shuddered through them both.
Slowly, gently, Liam withdrew, collapsing onto his side beside Ethan. They lay tangled, breathing hard, the only sound their ragged gasps and the wind outside. Ethan rolled onto his back, turning his head to look at Liam. His eyes, still dark with spent passion, held a quiet, profound peace Liam had never seen before. He reached out, his calloused thumb brushing a stray tear track Liam hadn’t realized was there from the sheer intensity.
"Okay?" Ethan asked, his voice a soft rumble.
Liam managed a shaky nod, his hand finding Ethan’s thigh, resting there. "Yeah," he breathed. "More than." He traced the line of muscle. "You?"
Ethan’s lips curved into a small, exhausted smile. "Whole." He covered Liam’s hand with his own. "Finally." Silence settled again, comfortable and deep. Downstairs, the ancient refrigerator kicked on with a familiar hum. The world outside kept turning. Inside, wrapped in warmth and the scent of their joining, they drifted back towards sleep, bodies fitting together as naturally as they always had, but now, irrevocably changed. The Mustang, the velvet, the careful world outside the bay door – it could all wait. For now, this was enough. More than enough.
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