Chapter 8: Morning After
The first thing Matthew became aware of was the weight of an arm across his ribs, the solid heat of another body pressed along his back. The morning light was thin and grey, filtering through the slats of the blinds and painting stripes across the tangled sheets. He remembered. The diner booth, the kiss on the gravel overlook, the frantic, silent journey back to Jake’s room, the desperate shedding of clothes in the dark. Jake’s mouth, his hands, the shocking, perfect friction of skin on skin. It all coalesced into a low, sweet hum in his veins, a secret music.
He lay perfectly still, listening to Jake’s slow, even breaths against the nape of his neck. Carefully, he shifted just enough to look. Jake was on his side, face softened in sleep, the sharp, pained intelligence of his features relaxed into something younger. Matthew’s gaze traveled. The line of his jaw, the vulnerable column of his throat, the stark collar bones. He let his fingertips, feather-light, trace a path down Jake’s chest. They drifted over the taut plane of his stomach, memorizing the topography of muscle and bone, the faint trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the sheet. This was a landscape he had only felt in the dark. Now, in the fragile morning light, it felt like a country he was being granted citizenship to.
Something had irrevocably shifted. The lonely, watchful boy who sketched on napkins and planned his escape was still there, but he felt layered over now, fortified. The ache of wanting had been met, not just physically, but with a recognition that shook him to his core. He felt grown. Not because of the sex, but because of the risk. He had chosen this. He had crossed a line with his stepbrother in a dusty car and he had no desire to cross back.
Jake stirred. His breathing hitched, and his arm tightened around Matthew’s waist. Dark eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep, then focused. They saw Matthew’s hand on his stomach, the intent look on his face.
“Hey,” Jake whispered, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
Jake didn’t ask what he was doing. He simply turned Matthew onto his back and leaned over him, casting a shadow that swallowed the morning light. He kissed him, and it was nothing like the hungry, frantic kisses of the night before. This was slow, deep, and tender, a silent conversation. Matthew sank into it, his hands coming up to cradle Jake’s face.
When they broke apart, Jake settled beside him, head propped on his hand. They didn’t speak for a long moment, just looked at each other. The air smelled like sleep and sex and Jake’s sharp cologne.
“You okay?” Jake finally asked, his thumb stroking Matthew’s hip.
“Yeah. Are you?”
A wry, tired smile. “I’m… present. That’s something.”
“I liked the stars you told me about,” Matthew said softly. “The myth stuff.”
“Cassiopeia. Andromeda.” Jake’s finger traced a constellation on Matthew’s shoulder. “Vain bitch chained up her daughter as a sacrifice. Nice stories.”
“You made them sound better.”
Jake chuckled, a low, warm sound. “You’re an artist. You see the pretty pattern. I see the dysfunctional family drama.” He sighed, his gaze drifting to the boxes in the corner, the ghost of his other life. “This is fucked up, you know. Me and you.”
Matthew’s heart tightened. “Does it feel fucked up?”
Jake looked back at him, his eyes searching. “No,” he said, the word simple and definitive. “It feels like the only thing that isn’t.”
He leaned in and kissed Matthew again, a soft press of reassurance, before throwing the sheet back. “Come on. You reek. I reek. Shower.”
The bathroom was small, tiles chilly underfoot. Jake turned the taps, and steam began to fog the mirror. In the full, unforgiving daylight now streaming through the small window, Matthew truly saw him. Naked. The long, lean lines of him, the athletic build worn thinner by stress but no less defined. The dark thatch of hair between his legs, his cock resting soft against his thigh. A pale, thin scar on his ribs. Matthew’s mouth went dry. It was one thing to feel in the dark, another to see. It was beautiful. It was intensely, overwhelmingly arousing.
Jake caught him staring and a smirk touched his lips, but it wasn’t cruel. It was knowing. He stepped into the spray and held out a hand. Matthew took it.
The water was scalding, a cascade that pounded the tension from Matthew’s shoulders. Jake pushed him gently against the slick tiles and kissed him, open-mouthed and wet, the taste of him mixing with the spray. His hands slid over Matthew’s shoulders, his back, down to the curve of his ass, pulling their bodies together. The heat of the water was nothing to the heat building between them.
“Look at you,” Jake murmured against his lips, his hand sliding between them. He took Matthew’s cock in his fist, already hard and leaking. “Fuck, you’re so ready.”
Matthew gasped, his head thunking back against the wall. “Jake…”
“I know. I got you.”
Jake’s own erection pressed against Matthew’s hip. He shifted his grip, wrapping one big, wet hand around both of their lengths, pressing them together. The sensation was electric, slick with water and pre-come. Jake began to stroke, a slow, tight glide that made Matthew see stars behind his eyelids.
“Is this okay?” Jake breathed into his ear, his voice gritty. “Tell me.”
“Yes—God, yes, just like that.”
Jake’s rhythm intensified. His thumb swiped over the heads on each upstroke, spreading the moisture, and the sound of his fist working their cocks was obscenely loud under the drumming shower. Matthew gripped Jake’s biceps, his nails digging in, his hips fucking up into that perfect, maddening friction. He was panting, little broken sounds punched out of him with each stroke.
“You feel so good,” Jake growled, his forehead pressed to Matthew’s. “So fucking good. Gonna make us both come.”
The coil in Matthew’s gut wound tighter, a screaming tension. He was hurtling towards it, helpless. Jake’s breath was coming in ragged gasps now, too. His strokes became faster, messier, perfectly imperfect.
“Come on, Matty,” he urged, his voice raw. “Let go. Come for me.”
It was the nickname, the possession in his voice, that tore it from him. Matthew cried out, a sound swallowed by the steam, as his orgasm ripped through him. Stripes of white shot over Jake’s fist and their stomachs, mingling with the streaming water. The intensity of it wrung him out, left him trembling.
Jake followed seconds after, his own release spilling hot over his fingers with a choked groan, his body shuddering against Matthew’s. They stood there, locked together, breathing hard under the cooling spray, spent. Jake slowly loosened his grip, his hand sliding away. He rested his forehead on Matthew’s shoulder, his breaths slowly evening out.
Eventually, he reached for the soap. He washed Matthew gently, thoroughly, and let Matthew wash him in return. It was quiet, methodical, an intimacy as profound as what had just happened. They stepped out, dripping on the mat, and Jake handed him a towel. Their eyes met in the fogged mirror, saying everything and nothing at all. The world outside the bathroom door waited, heavy with complications. But in that steamy, quiet space, they were just two bodies, clean and new, a secret that had, for now, weathered the dawn.
But in that steamy, quiet space, they were just two bodies, clean and new, a secret that had, for now, weathered the dawn. Dressing felt like putting on a costume. Matthew pulled his t-shirt over his head, the soft cotton at odds with the new, raw sensitivity of his skin. Jake watched him from the edge of the rumpled bed, already in his jeans, running a hand through his damp hair.
“They’re gone by now,” Jake said, his voice neutral. “Flight was at six A.M.”
Matthew nodded, remembering his dad’s clipped itinerary over dinner last night. Cancun. Seven days. The empty house yawned below them, a sudden, hollow freedom. His phone buzzed on Jake’s nightstand.
Adriana: Parents are being insufferable. Escape with me? Coffee? He held the screen up for Jake to see.
“You should go,” Jake said, but his eyes held something else—a flicker of want, or maybe fear of being alone with the silence of his unpacked boxes. Matthew walked over and kissed him, a slow, promising press of lips.
“I won’t be long.”
“Tell her you saw a movie.” Jake’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. “Or nothing at all.”
The kitchen downstairs was pristine, a note from Eleanor on the counter about frozen lasagna. The silence was immense, ringing. He got in his car, the driver’s seat still adjusted to his father’s longer legs, and drove towards the town square.
Adriana was already at their usual table outside The Grind, two iced coffees sweating in the heat. “You look weird,” she announced by way of greeting.
“Good weird?”
“Shifty weird. Like you robbed a bank and got laid, in that order.” She grinned, sipping her drink. “So? Spill. What did you do last night? You never texted back.”
They walked, aimless, across the street to the park. The old oak trees offered scant shade, and the grass was brown at the roots. Matthew’s heart began a low, rhythmic hammer against his ribs.
“I, um. Something did happen last night.”
Adriana’s eyes lit up. “Shut up. Did you finally talk to Beth from chem?”
“No. God, no.”
“Okay, then who? Was it someone from that party in Richardson? That girl with the gauges?”
“No, Adriana.”
“Give me a hint! Was it good?”
Matthew stopped walking, the words sitting like stones in his throat. He stared at a group of kids chasing squirrels. “It was… it was my first time.”
Adriana froze. Her mouth fell open, then curved into a dazzling, shocked smile. “Matthew! Holy shit!” She punched his arm. “Why are you saying it like you’re reporting a crime? Details, you bastard!”
The excitement in her voice almost broke him. He couldn’t look at her. “It wasn’t a girl.”
The words hung there, simple and irreversible. Her smile didn’t vanish, but it stiffened, recalibrating. “Oh,” she said softly. “Okay. That… actually makes a lot of sense.” She nodded, as if confirming a private theory. “So who was he? Do I know him?”
He dug his hands deep into his pockets, felt the grit of park pathway dust. “You know him.”
“Matthew, just say it.”
“It was Jake.”
For a full ten seconds, she was completely silent. The brain working behind her eyes was almost audible. “Jake,” she repeated, flatly. “Your stepbrother Jake. Jake who just got back from his mental breakdown at Harvard Jake.”
“Yeah.”
“You slept with Jake.” She said it like she was testing the grammar of an alien sentence. “You lost your virginity to your stepbrother last night.”
“It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just sex.” The defense leapt from him, weak and needy. “We’ve been talking. For weeks. He gets it. He sees me. I think I’m…”
“Don’t say you’re in love with him.” Her voice was sharp, a lawyer’s tone. “Matt, come on. He’s a mess. He’s literally hiding from his life in your dad’s house.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” he shot back, heat rising to his face. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel invisible your whole life and then have someone actually look at you.”
“I know what it’s like to watch you be lonely!” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. Her anger was laced with panic. “And I’m glad you’re not, okay? I am. But this? The complications here are nuclear. Your dad. His mom. The whole town. He’s your stepbrother.”
“It doesn’t feel like that.” Matthew’s voice was small.
Adriana exhaled, a long, weary sigh. The fight left her shoulders. “Of course it doesn’t. It wouldn’t. That’s what makes it so dangerous.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m on your side. Always. You know that, right? But you have to be so fucking careful. Saul will lose his mind.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“No.” The answer was instant, a reflex born of a thousand dinners under his father’s stern gaze. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
She nodded, accepting the burden. “Then it stays with me. But you have to promise me you’ll think. Not just feel. Think.”
“I promise.”
They finished their loop around the park in a different, heavier silence. When he dropped her off, she leaned in and hugged him tight. “I’m happy for you,” she whispered. “And also terrified.”
He drove back through the grid of familiar streets, past the high school, past his mother’s old clinic. The weight Adriana had named settled onto him, physical and dense. It was the weight of the secret, yes, but also the weight of Jake’s history, his pain, the scar on his ribs, the singed acceptance letter. It was the weight of his father’s certain fury and Eleanor’s certain heartbreak. He had crossed a line in that car on the gravel overlook, and now he was living in the new territory on the other side. It was beautiful, and it was lawless, and there was no map. The house came into view, looking less like freedom now and more like a container for something too large and too fragile to hold. He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, sitting very still as the truth finally, fully, crashed over him.
The silence of the car was a shell around him, thick and absolute. He could still see Adriana’s worried eyes, could still feel the phantom press of the shower tiles against his back. He got out, the Texas sun a physical weight on his neck, and walked to the side door where the lock was always busted.
The kitchen was exactly as he’d left it, cold and still. He heard the faint, melancholic strain of a vinyl record from upstairs—Jake’s mother’s old Tom Waits, the one about closing time. He climbed the steps, each one a conscious effort, and pushed open the door to Jake’s room.
Jake was at the window, back turned, a silhouette against the dusty glare. He turned, and his guarded expression dissolved into something softer, relieved. “You’re back.”
In three strides, Jake closed the distance. He wrapped his arms around Matthew’s waist, pulling him close, and kissed him. It was hungry, claiming, a reset button after the long hour apart. Matthew sank into it for a second, his hands finding Jake’s shoulders, but the stiffness in his own spine betrayed him.
Jake pulled back just enough to search his face. His dark eyes, usually so opaque, were scanning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word was automatic, brittle.
“Bullshit.” Jake’s thumb brushed Matthew’s lower lip. “Your whole body is screaming it. Talk.”
The dam cracked. “I’m just… I’m scared.” The admission left him deflated. “Of what happens now. What if they find out? My dad, your mom… they’ll freak. And what happens in August when I get on a plane to D.C.?” The questions tumbled out, messy and raw. “This feels too big to hide.”
Jake’s hands slipped from his waist. He took a half-step back, his face shutting down, the softness replaced by a wary, calculating chill. “Are you having regrets about last night?” His voice was flat. “About the car, the shower, any of it?”
“No.” Matthew reached for him, but Jake stood rigid. “God, no. It’s not regret. It’s just… reality. I’m nervous. This is all…”
“It’s too late to go back now.” Jake cut him off. He moved in again, but it wasn’t an embrace. He put his hands on Matthew’s shoulders, firm, almost pinning. His gaze was relentless. “You crossed that line with me. We’re in this. You don’t get to be nervous about the consequences now.”
The intensity in his eyes and voice was new—a hard, possessive edge that felt less like protection and more like a warning. It sent a cold trickle down Matthew’s spine. This was the dangerous streak Adriana had seen, the one born from breakdowns and burned letters. It should have made him pull away. Instead, a treacherous part of him leaned in, intrigued by the ferocity, by the sheer, uncompromising want.
“I’m not going back,” Matthew whispered, holding that dark gaze.
The tension in Jake’s jaw unclenched. He drew Matthew in, kissing him again, slower this time. It was an apology and a promise. “We’ll work it out,” he murmured against Matthew’s mouth. “We have time. We have this.” He gestured at the empty, silent house around them. “We just have to be careful.”
He led Matthew to the bed, and they lay down in the stripe of afternoon sun, fully clothed. Jake tucked Matthew’s head under his chin, his fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. They didn’t speak. The record had ended, leaving a profound quiet in its wake, a bubble of stolen time. Matthew listened to the steady thump of Jake’s heart, trying to memorize its rhythm, trying to convince himself this fragile, impossible world they’d built could last.