Chapter 7: The Water's Confession: Part 2
The silence after Nelson left was a physical thing, thick and suffocating. They stood in the wreckage of the living room, the leather couch dark with sweat, their own smell hanging heavy in the air. Demon’s swagger was gone, replaced by a hollowed-out stillness. Devon just stared at the closed door, his breathing shallow. "He called us monsters," Devon finally said, his voice flat. Demon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We are." He walked to the shower and turned the water on, a loud, roaring invitation. Steam began to curl out into the cooler air of the apartment. Devon followed, his movements sluggish. They stood under the punishing spray, not touching, letting the water sluice the night from their skin. It didn’t feel clean. "No more Nelsons," Devon repeated, like he was convincing himself. Demon turned, water sheeting down his face. "Just us." He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow path through the water beading on Devon’s chest. "This is the line." Devon caught his wrist, his grip tight, almost painful. "And we just crossed it." He pulled Demon closer, their bodies aligning under the hot stream, a familiar heat rising through the numbness. "So we keep going," Demon whispered, his forehead resting against Devon’s.
Devon’s answer was a low groan that vibrated through both their chests. He slid his hands down Demon’s slick back, his fingers pressing into the dimples just above his ass, and pulled him into a grinding, water-slicked rhythm. Their cocks, hard again and trapped between their stomachs, found a desperate friction. “No more pretending,” Devon gasped into the crook of Demon’s neck, his teeth grazing the skin. “No more hiding in a crowd.” Demon’s hips stuttered, the truth of it hitting him as hard as any physical touch. He guided Devon back against the cool tile, the contrast of steam and ceramic sharp against his skin. The water beat down on Demon’s shoulders as he dropped to his knees, his world narrowing to the rigid line of his brother’s body. He took Devon into his mouth with a reverence that felt like violence, his tongue working a confession against the straining flesh. Devon’s head thudded back, his hands cradling Demon’s skull, not guiding but holding on as if he were drowning. “I’m gonna come,” Devon murmured, the words barely audible over the shower’s roar. “Me too,” Demon replied, pulling off with a slick sound, his own need a taut wire in his gut. “Let’s eat each other’s come,” Devon suggested, his intense eyes black with a challenge that erased the last shred of anything else. “That will be very tasty, I think,” Demon said, a wild, broken smile touching his lips. Then, in a second, both of them started to suck each other’s cock, a mirrored, frantic hunger. Devon came in Demon’s mouth, a hot, salty pulse, and Demon came in Devon’s mouth, a simultaneous release that shuddered through the stall. A lot of come spilled into their mouths; they had already been fucking each other for an hour now. They swallowed half of it and then shared each other’s half in a full, sloppy kiss, their tongues pushing the bitter, familiar taste between them. Devon got to taste his own sperm and Demon did too, a final, circular consumption that left them empty and complete. They hugged each other, water still cascading over them, while shoving tongues into the other’s mouth, a silent, wet vow. They stumbled out of the shower, dripping, and collapsed onto the rumpled sheets, their limbs a heavy, tangled knot. They fell asleep like that, mouths still close, the taste sealing a door shut behind them.
They fell asleep like that, mouths still close, the taste sealing a door shut behind them. Dawn cracked through the blinds, a sharp, unwelcome intrusion. Devon woke first, the weight of Demon’s arm a leaden bar across his chest. He saw the familiar lines of his brother’s naked back, the shaved scalp, and the memory of the night detonated behind his eyes. He thought, for a dizzying second, that the swallowed bitterness, the crushing pressure, the shared release, was just a sick, detailed dream. Then he shifted, and a deep, internal ache radiated from his core, a blunt physical report that contradicted everything. He dressed in silence, his movements clinical, and left for work without a backward glance.
Demon surfaced hours later to an empty apartment. "It was a fucking weird dream," he muttered to the stale air, pushing himself up on elbows. A dull throb low in his body answered him, a persistent echo. He dressed mechanically and left, the day stretching before him like a held breath. Neither twin reached for their phone; the silence between them was a new, fragile organism.
The key turned in the lock that evening with a sound like a gunshot. Devon was already home, sitting at the kitchen island, staring at a cold beer. Demon stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him sealing them in together. The air in the apartment felt used, still humming with the ghost of spit and sweat and come. "Hey," Demon said, dropping his keys on the counter. "Hey," Devon replied, not looking up from the bottle’s label. "My ass hurts like hell," Demon stated, the words too loud in the quiet. A faint, strained smile touched Devon’s mouth. "Yeah. Mine too." He finally looked up, his intense eyes searching Demon’s face. "So it wasn’t a dream." "No," Demon said, leaning against the counter, a breath’s distance away. "It wasn’t." Devon took a slow swig of his beer. "We didn’t text all day." "What would we have said?" Demon asked, his voice softer now. Devon shrugged, a tight movement. "I don’t know. ‘My dick smells like you?’" A startled laugh punched out of Demon, breaking the tension. "Yeah, that would’ve been a good start." He reached out, his fingers brushing Devon’s hand on the bottle. "We’re really doing this, then."
Devon’s hand turned under his, their fingers slotting together with a shocking, unfamiliar gentleness. "Seems like it," he said, his thumb rubbing a slow circle over Demon’s knuckle. That small, deliberate touch felt more intimate than anything from the night before.
It unraveled something tight in Demon’s chest. "So what is ‘this,’ exactly?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I don’t know the name for it."
Devon stood, closing the small distance between them, their joined hands the only anchor. "It’s you smelling my come on your breath when you wake up," he said, his other hand coming up to trace the line of Demon’s jaw. "It’s me feeling that ache you left inside me and not wanting it to fade."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against Demon’s, their breath mixing. "It’s walking around all day with my skin feeling like it’s still wet from your spit." Demon shuddered, a full-body release of tension he’d carried for years. "It’s romantic as fuck, is what it is," he breathed, the admission a freefall.
A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped Devon. "Yeah. It’s disgusting and perfect." He pulled back just enough to look Demon in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "So let’s date, then."
"Date," Demon repeated, testing the absurd, ordinary word in their ruined, extraordinary world. "How does that even work for us?"
"We start tonight," Devon said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We order that terrible Thai food we both hate, and we eat it on the floor." He gestured to the clean, empty space away from the stained couch. "And we just talk. About anything that isn’t this."
"Okay," Demon agreed, a real smile finally breaking through. "But we’re gonna suck each other off after, right?" Devon’s grin was a mirror, bright and sharp. "Obviously. That’s the romantic part."
The food arrived. Demon killed the overhead lights, leaving the apartment lit only by the flickering candles he’d stolen from the bathroom. They sat cross-legged on the floor, the cartons of terrible pad thai open between them, steam mixing with the warm glow.
They ate in a silence that was no longer empty, but charged. A single noodle slipped from Demon’s chopsticks. He grinned, leaned over the container, and caught it with his teeth, leaving the other end dangling. Devon didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, took the other end of the noodle in his own mouth, and sucked.
They swallowed the shared strand until their lips met in a greasy, passionate collision. The cartons were knocked aside, sauce smearing the floor. They were all over each other then, a tangle of hungry mouths and seeking hands, their kissing messy and deep. Demon’s fingers fumbled with the button of Devon’s jeans, and Devon’s hand shoved roughly down the back of Demon’s sweats. They tore at fabric, needing skin.
Devon bit the cord of Demon’s neck, not gently, and Demon gasped, arching into it. “I love you,” Devon growled against his skin, the words vibrating into bone. “Not like a brother.” Demon stilled, his breath catching. He pulled back just enough to see the raw truth in Devon’s eyes, a truth reflected in his own. “I love you like you’re my fucking husband,” Demon said, the word hanging, immense and perfect, in the candlelit air.
The word seemed to ignite the air between them. Devon’s eyes flashed, a challenge and a surrender all at once. “Prove it,” he growled, and they moved simultaneously, a collision of muscle and intent.
They both jumped on each other trying to be in charge. It was a graceless, frantic scramble of limbs on the sticky floor, a silent battle where every grunt was a claim. Demon hooked a leg behind Devon’s knee, using his leverage to roll them, his back hitting the boards with a thud that stole his breath. Devon was on him instantly, a heavier weight pinning his hips, but Demon twisted, bucking violently, refusing to yield. They were two dominant males, and it was going to be nasty.
“You want it?” Devon snarled, his forearm pressing against Demon’s throat, not quite choking, just owning. “Then take it from me.” Demon spat, the moisture landing on Devon’s cheek, and used the shock of it to heave, reversing their positions. He stared down at his brother, both of them breathing in ragged gusts, their cocks hard and pressed between their sweating stomachs. This was it. Just the two of them. “I always take what’s mine,” Demon whispered, but Devon’s hand shot up, fingers digging into the pressure point behind Demon’s jaw, making him gasp and falter. In that split second, Devon surged up, wrapping him in a brutal headlock, using his raw strength to drive Demon face-down into the floor. Demon fought, elbows flying back, but Devon absorbed the blows, his weight an immovable anchor. He leaned down, his mouth hot against Demon’s ear. “You’re mine, husband.” He didn’t ask. He spat on his hand, slicked himself, and with a final, conquering shove of his hips, penetrated his cock into his brother’s ass.
He spat on his hand, slicked himself, and with a final, conquering shove of his hips, penetrated his cock into his brother’s ass. The breach vibrated through the entire apartment, shaking every loose floorboard on-impact. Demon’s body seized, a forced, collapsing gutturo unfolding between breaths.Devon pulled back the slammer distance into one punishing, synchronous rhythm. Demon was laying on his right side, while his left leg was up, Devon drilling him from behind, fucking him deep to his balls. Their two pairs of balls were hitting hard, more than before, even got some bruises on them. Demon moved his face to the left, right next to Devon’s. With his tongue searching Devon’s mouth, pushing tightly past his teeth.Devon felt his brother’s tongue on his chin and cheek, and he sent his own tongue out to make that final, electric connection. Their tongues were all over each other. Each hump made them closer.
Each hump made them closer until there was no distance left at all, just the slick, pounding union of their bodies on the floor. They collapsed into a heap of spent limbs, the only sound their ragged breaths mixing in the candlelit dark. The sticky pad thai sauce had cooled into a gluey patch on the floorboards beside them. Demon traced the fresh bruise already blooming on Devon’s hip, a twin to the one he knew was on his own. "So we’re husbands now," he said, the word still foreign and too big for the quiet room. Devon’s chest rose and fell under Demon’s palm. "Guess so." A long silence stretched, comfortable and terrifying. "How are we going to tell Mom and Dad about that?" Demon asked, his voice barely a whisper. Devon went very still. He let out a slow breath. "We’re not." Demon propped himself up on an elbow. "We have to tell them something. We can’t just… disappear into this apartment." "We tell them we’re roommates who never bring anyone home," Devon said, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "We tell them we’re busy. We tell them nothing’s changed." "They’ll know," Demon insisted. "Moms always know." "Let them know," Devon replied, his tone flat and final. "But they will never hear it from us. They’ll never see us touch. Not a hug, not a fucking handshake." The reality of that hidden life settled over them, colder than the drying sweat. "And everyone else?" Demon asked. "What will they think?" A hard, mirthless smile touched Devon’s lips. "They’ll think we’re two freak twins who are too close. They already do." He turned his head, his eyes meeting Demon’s in the gloom. "Let them think it. It keeps them away." He pulled Demon back down against him, their hearts hammering the same frantic, secret rhythm against the silent world outside.
He pulled Demon back down against him, their hearts hammering the same frantic, secret rhythm against the silent world outside. "FUCK YOU DEVON," Demon screamed, the sudden violence of his voice shredding the quiet, and he rolled, pinning his brother beneath him on the sticky floor. He rubbed his rigid cock against Devon’s stomach, a brutal, claiming friction, then shoved him onto his side.
Demon opened Devon's ass cheeks with both hands, spreading him wide, and started rimming his hole with a frantic, wet pressure. "FUCK YOU BRO, YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE," Devon gasped, his body arching, fingers scrambling against the floorboards. Demon pulled his tongue out to a point and tried shoving it inside Devon's hole, the tight ring of muscle resisting then yielding.
Half of Demon's tongue was inside and Devon didn't know what to do with himself, a broken cry catching in his throat as his hands fisted in his own hair. Somehow Demon opened his brother's ass so wide he could slip his entire long tongue into it, a deep, impossibly intimate violation that made Devon shake. "I LOVE YOUR TASTE MAN," Demon said, his words muffled against Devon's skin, the salt and musk of him flooding his senses.
In the meantime Devon tried to put his hand on Demon's hard cock and he got it, his fingers wrapping around the slick, straining heat. Devon runs his fingers over his brother's slick length and told him, "I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE WE ARE FUCKING LIKE THAT," his voice a mix of awe and ruin. Demon withdrew his tongue with a wet sound, rising up over him, guiding his cock to replace it.
He pushed in slowly, watching Devon’s face dissolve. "Believe it," Demon breathed, seating himself fully, their bodies locking into the same truth Nelson had seen. "It’s just us now." "Only us," Devon agreed, his eyes closing, his hips pushing back to take him deeper.
"Only us," Devon agreed, his eyes closing, his hips pushing back to take him deeper. Demon’s thrusts settled into a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hand wrapping around Devon’s cock with a familiar, possessive grip. He stroked him in time with his own drives, harsh and strong, twisting on the upstroke just the way he knew Devon craved. Devon screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound that bounced off the empty walls, his body bowing against Demon’s. "I love your cock," Demon whispered into the sweat-damp shell of his ear, the words a hot confession against the backdrop of slapping skin. "I love your cock, too," Devon gasped back, the admission ripped from him by the twin sensations of being filled and gripped. Demon’s pace didn’t falter, a brutal, loving piston. "I'm going to text my manager I'm sick for tomorrow," he said, his voice ragged with effort. "I am going to stay with you here," Devon panted, pushing back onto him, "it's like I can fuck with you for hours."
Then Devon came, a hot, pulsing rush over Demon’s fist and his own stomach, his body seizing tight around Demon’s driving cock. Demon caught all of it in his cupped hand, and without breaking stride, aimed his slick fingers to Devon’s mouth. Devon turned his head, his tongue laving over his brother’s palm, swallowing his own spend with a desperate, greedy hunger. The sight tipped Demon over the edge, and he exploded inside him with a final, shuddering thrust before pulling out. He lowered himself immediately, his tongue lapping at the messy proof of his release now leaking from Devon’s body. They both had sperm in their mouths when they finally crawled together, collapsing side-by-side on the ruined floor. They locked eyes, their breaths mingling. "When we had that foursome," Demon said, his voice quiet and sure, "I knew exactly when I was blowing you." "And I knew exactly when I fucked you," Devon added, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips, "and didn't say shit." Demon nodded. "We both want it to happen." They kissed passionately then, mixing each other's spend on their tongues before swallowing it whole.