Chapter 4: You talk to them my mouths busy
Hunter grabbed the last box from the cavernous moving van, the cardboard warm from the sun. He stacked it atop two others, hefting the precarious tower against his chest. The new cedar planking of the wraparound porch creaked under his weight as he maneuvered inside.
The great room was a cathedral of unpacked chaos. Light streamed through the massive windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust and the sharp, clean scent of lemon wood polish and drying paint. His mother’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, mingling with the lower timbre of Leo’s voice.
He dumped the boxes labeled “HUNTER – KITCHEN” with a grunt, the cardboard thudding on the polished concrete floor. A line of sweat traced a path down his spine. He grabbed the hem of his grey t-shirt, pulling it up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach to the cool, air-conditioned breeze.
He headed back out into the oppressive afternoon heat for one final sweep. The van was empty, a hollow metal shell. As he turned back toward the house, Adam rounded the corner of the porch, a single black hockey puck held loosely in his fingers. He was rolling it over his knuckles, a nervous, repetitive tic.
They stopped, ten feet of pristine new lawn between them.
“Boys!” Jane’s voice, bright and hopeful, cut through the stillness from the front door. She stood there, one hand shading her eyes, a smile plastered on her face. “The upstairs is all clear. Go on up and pick your rooms. Claim your territory.”
Without a word, Hunter moved first, taking the porch steps two at a time. He heard Adam’s footsteps behind him, a deliberate echo. The interior stairs were wide oak, still smelling of varnish. The upstairs hallway was long and bright, with three doors on one side and one on the other. A big one at the end off the hall, all standing open like silent invitations.
Hunter’s eyes went immediately to the door on the left. The light was perfect. He strode toward it.
He was two steps into the room, taking in the empty closet, the faint rectangular ghosts on the walls where previous pictures had hung, when a black blur shot past his ear.
Thwack.
The puck hit the far wall with a hard, satisfying crack, leaving a minor but definitive pale dent in the drywall, before dropping to the bare floor with a series of dwindling clicks.
Hunter turned slowly.
Adam stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. He wasn’t looking at the puck. He was looking directly at Hunter, his green eyes cool and unblinking.
“That’s my room,” Adam said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a finality that was somehow worse.
Hunter felt the familiar heat rise in his chest. He took a step forward. “You’re standing at that one.” He nodded toward the open door directly across the hall Adam leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m taking this one now,” Adam said. He didn’t move from the doorway, but his posture shifted, a subtle tightening of his lean frame. A challenge.
Hunter walked until they were separated only by the threshold. He could smell Adam’s detergent, something like clean cotton and ozone.
Adam took a step forward, crossing the threshold into the room. Hunter’s hand came up, palm flat against Adam’s chest to stop his advance. The firm muscle under his thin shirt was a furnace.
Adam grabbed either side of Hunter’s shoulders, his fingers digging in. He shoved him back into the room.
Hunter’s legs hit the low platform of the bare mattress. He landed with a heavy whump, his back against the uncompromising surface, the frame groaning under his weight. Adam was on him in an instant, one knee planted beside Hunter’s hip, the other wedged insistently between his thighs.
Adam’s hands stayed clamped on his shoulders, pinning him. He looked down, a familiar, infuriating smirk pulling at his mouth.
“Beg me,” Adam said, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in the empty space.
“Beg me like you want it badly,” he repeated, his gaze never wavering.
Hunter’s hands flew up, gripping Adam’s corded forearms. “Let go of me.”
Adam just moved his hands from Hunter’s shoulders to his chest, pressing down with his full weight, forcing Hunter deeper into the mattress. Hunter shoved at Adam’s shoulders, a panicked heave, trying to roll him.
Adam caught his wrists mid-push. He slammed Hunter’s hands back, pinning them above his head on the cool cotton bedcover. His grip was iron.
Adam looked down at Hunter’s face, then at his lips. He leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It was a hard, claiming press. Hunter’s body betrayed him instantly, his lips parting for a split second, kissing back before his brain caught up.
He wrenched his face away. “What’re you doing?” he gasped, mentally cursing himself as he felt a treacherous, undeniable heat pool low in his stomach, a thick, insistent pressure against his zipper.
Adam’s smirk deepened. He ran his hand under Hunter’s shirt, his palm scalding against the bare skin of his abdomen.
“Your body’s more honest than you are,” Adam murmured.
Hunter twisted, a surge of frantic strength breaking his wrists free from Adam’s slackened surprise.
“You want this room? Fine. It’s yours,” Hunter spat, the words tasting like defeat.
Adam looked down at him, his eyes tracing the obvious strain in Hunter’s jeans. The smirk vanished, replaced by something darker, more focused.
“I can take care of that for you right now,” Adam said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Hunter ran his hands down his face.
Adam’s hand moved, reaching down for Hunter’s belt buckle.
He unclasped it with a sharp, metallic click that was deafening in the quiet room. The sound seemed to trip a switch in Hunter, a final, thin wire of resistance snapping. He grabbed a fistful of Adam’s shirt and pulled him down into another searing kiss, all teeth and desperate heat.
Adam’s hands were everywhere. He took Hunter’s shirt off, pulling it over his head in one rough motion and tossing it to the floor.
He undid the button of Hunter’s jeans, his hand moving to the zipper. The slow, grating buzz of the zipper lowering was the only sound.
They heard feet padding up the stairs.
They broke apart, standing up. They were breathing hard, flushed, Hunter shirtless and fumbling with his fly as Leo and Jane appeared in the doorway.
Leo and Jane looked at them smiling. Jane’s eyes held a hopeful, maternal warmth that made Hunter’s skin crawl with guilt.
“If you both want the room you can share it,” Jane said, clearly misreading their charged silence as a peaceful stalemate.
“Mum, there’s only one bed,” Hunter said, his voice thick. He bent and snatched his shirt from the floor, pulling it on backwards in his haste.
“You two can stay up and talk, play games,” Leo added smoothly, his arm around Jane’s shoulders. “We can add another bed. The room’s big enough.”
“No, I’ll take the other room,” Hunter said. He walked out, his steps echoingly final on the hardwood, and went to the room directly across from this one.
He closed the door. The latch clicking into place felt less like an end and more like a trap sealing shut.
He started unpacking his things. The ritual of placing books on a shelf and hanging clothes in an empty closet was a desperate, mindless anchoring. His hands shook as he folded a sweatshirt.
Once he was done, he had a shower. The hot water sluiced over his shoulders but did nothing to cleanse the memory of Adam’s weight, his hands, his mouth.
He felt himself get hard under the stream, his body vividly remembering what his mind was screaming to forget. He shook his head and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
Water dripped from his hair onto the cool tiles. He leaned his forehead against the fogged mirror, the glass kissing his skin with a clammy heat. A low, frustrated sound escaped his throat, part growl, part surrender.
He opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the cooler air of his new bedroom.
He saw Adam sitting on his bed in black shorts, shirtless.
Adam’s eyes raked over him, from the dripping hair to the towel knitched at his waist. He let out a small, predatory smile. “Didn’t we agree?” Hunter asked, his voice still rough from the steam.
“Yeah,” Adam said, not moving.
“This is my room,” Hunter stated, tightening the towel. “Go back to yours.”
Adam made no move to leave. Hunter walked to the door, his bare feet silent on the wood floor. Just as he got there, Adam raced over, closing the door with a soft but definitive click. He leaned his back against it, blocking the exit. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere you’re not,” Hunter snapped, reaching for the knob behind Adam’s hip.
Adam caught his wrist. “Not happening.” He turned around, his body caging Hunter against the door, and locked it with a sharp twist.
The click of the lock was a gunshot in the quiet room.
“What’re you doing?” Hunter asked, his breath hitching.
Adam backed Hunter firmly against the door, his hands flat on Hunter’s chest. The towel provided no barrier against the heat of his palm. “Doing something we both enjoy,” Adam said, his voice a low hum that vibrated through Hunter’s sternum.
Hunter pushed Adam’s chest hard, making him stumble back a step. Adam surged forward instantly, pushing Hunter against the door again, his hands splayed possessively. Hunter went to push again, but Adam moved, leaning in and kissing him.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim.
Hunter’s mind short-circuited. Adam’s hands trailed down his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, dipping beneath the top edge of the towel. Hunter let out a sharp breath, his hand coming to Adam’s shoulder, pushing half-heartedly.
Adam grabbed him, his arms hooking under Hunter’s, and pushed him away from the door. He walked him backwards until the edge of the wooden desk hit the back of Hunter’s thighs.
He grabbed Hunter’s towel and ripped it off. It fell in a damp heap at their feet.
Adam leaned in, his face inches from Hunter’s. He smiled, a genuine, heated curve of his lips this time. He cupped Hunter’s cheek and kissed him again.
This kiss was different. Softer, deeper, a slow exploration that made Hunter’s knees weaken. He kissed back, his hands finding purchase on Adam’s bare hips, his fingers digging into the firm muscle there. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on his wet skin, a stark contrast to the furnace heat of Adam against him.
Hunter gasped, the full, hard length of Adam evident against his own. Every coherent thought dissolved into pure sensation.
Hunter’s head fell back with a soft thud against the wall beside the desk. His eyes screwed shut, a surrender.
Then Adam’s mouth was on his skin, a hot, open-mouthed trail down the center of his chest. He kissed down the tense plane of Hunter’s abs, his lips leaving a searing path through the damp trails of shower water. Hunter’s breath hitched, a sharp intake that felt like his only anchor.
Adam got on his knees on the hardwood floor, his eyes locked on Hunter’s as his mouth enveloped him.
Hunter groaned quietly, the sound stifled behind the fist he bit down on. His head tilted back, eyes shut tight against the sight, against everything. The cool, solid wall was a stark contrast to the consuming heat between his legs.
His hands flew to either side of the desk, gripping the hard edge until his knuckles screamed white. “Fuck,” he groaned, the word strained and fraying at the edges.
His hips thrust slowly, a shallow, instinctive rhythm timed perfectly with Adam’s movements.
A choked sound escaped him, a broken fragment of Adam’s name. He forced his eyes open, looking down.
The sight was obscene and beautiful—Adam on his knees, that defiant blonde head bobbing up and down his length, those green eyes looking up through dark lashes. Hunter’s grip on the desk edge tightened, the wood biting into his palms, a fragile point of stability in the freefall. A ragged breath tore from his chest, part groan, part prayer.
A sharp knock rattled the door in its frame.
Both of them froze. Adam didn’t pull away.
“Hunter, Adam, are you okay?” Jane’s voice came, muffled but clear, from the other side of the wood.
Hunter’s entire body went rigid. “Wait, stop,” he whispered, the words a strangled plea.
Adam ignored him, taking him deeper.
“Guys, are you okay?” Leo’s voice now, firmer, right beside Jane’s.
“You talk to them,” Adam said, his voice a rough vibration that shot straight up Hunter’s spine. He looked up, meeting Hunter’s wide, panicked eyes. “My mouth’s busy right now.” Then he enveloped him again, deeper.
Hunter gripped the desk hard, his other hand flew to his own mouth, mashing against his lips to mask the guttural groan that clawed its way out. “Mum, we’re fine,” he called out, his voice miraculously even, just breathier than normal.
“Then what was that noise?” Jane asked.
Adam chose that exact moment to deep-throat him, his nose pressing into Hunter’s skin. Hunter’s hands flew to Adam’s head, holding him there for one breathtaking, terrifying second as he fought for control. His fist hit the desk. “Fuck,” he groaned, the sound quiet but desperate.
“We’re playing a game,” he said quickly, the lie tumbling out.
The door handle rattled, a jarring, metallic sound. “Why is the door locked?” Leo asked.
Hunter brought one hand back to his mouth, biting the fleshy part of his palm as another wave of sensation threatened to unmask him. His other hand stayed in Adam’s hair now, not pushing, just tangled in the soft strands, a silent anchor. “It was an accident,” Hunter managed, forcing lightness into his voice. “We couldn’t find the key.”
“You sure you guys are okay?” Leo pressed.
“Don’t worry,” Hunter said, each word measured against the rhythm of Adam’s tongue. “We’re doing just fine.”
His hand came back to his mouth, the other hand remained buried in Adam’s hair, feeling every movement. A stifled, shaky breath escaped him.
“Okay,” Jane said, her voice relenting. “Have fun.”
Their footsteps receded down the hallway, a fading percussion of normalcy. Hunter listened until the silence was absolute.
He removed his hand from his mouth, a long, shattered moan finally escaping. “Fuck.”
Adam’s gaze was a physical weight. Hunter’s head shot back, his eyes closing. His hips started moving again, a shallow, desperate rock forward into that maddening heat. Adam increased his pace. The wet, rhythmic sound in the quiet room was obscene.
Hunter bit down on his own forearm to stay silent, the pain a sharp counterpoint. “Stop,” he gasped, his body betraying the plea, thrusting deeper. “We have to stop.”
Adam pulled off with a soft, deliberate pop. He looked up, his lips swollen, his breathing ragged. “You don’t mean that.”
“They’re right downstairs,” Hunter hissed, his chest heaving. He was still achingly hard, throbbing in the cool air.
Adam stood up in one fluid motion, his own need pressing blatantly against his shorts. “So?, You liked it. Almost getting caught.”
Hunter shoved him back, a solid push to the chest. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re a liar.” Adam caught his balance, a dark smile playing on his lips. He closed the space again, his hand wrapping around Hunter, his thumb swiping over the head. Hunter’s knees buckled. A broken sound ripped from his throat.
“See?” Adam’s whisper was triumphant. He started stroking him, a slow, punishing rhythm. “Your body knows the truth.”
Hunter grabbed Adam’s wrist, but he didn’t pull it away. His fingers just tightened, a white-knuckled brace. “Fuck you.”
“Later,” Adam promised, his voice thick. He drove Hunter back until his legs hit the bed. Hunter caught himself taking a step forward. They kissed, Hunter’s hand pulled down Adam’s shorts just enough.
Their hands wrapped around each other they both groaned.
The sound was raw, unfiltered. Hunter’s fingers dug into the tense muscles of Adam’s back, feeling the shift and flex beneath damp skin.
They moved together, a frantic, clumsy migration onto the bed. The new mattress sighed beneath them, a foreign sound. Hunter rolled, pinning Adam beneath him, their positions reversed from the other room, from the storage locker.
He looked down, his fluffy brown hair falling across his forehead. Adam’s gaze was a challenge, his lips parted, chest rising fast. Hunter kissed him again, deeper, trying to consume the taste of himself on Adam’s tongue, to erase it and claim it all at once.
His hand slid between them, wrapping around Adam. Adam arched off the bed with a sharp gasp, his hips pushing up into the friction. “Jesus,” he breathed, the word dissolving into another groan.
The rhythm between them was a messy, perfect syncopation, each of Hunter’s thrusts into Adam’s hand. His own hand answered by Adam’s thrust. Hunter buried his face in the curve of Adam’s neck, inhaling the clean, sharp scent of him that now lived in this house too.
Adam kept his hand around Hunter’s cock, keeping the pace Hunter had around him. “Fuck.” Hunter groaned, his hips moving himself in and out of Adam’s hand.
“That’s it,” Adam rasped, his own rhythm faltering. His head pushed back into the pillow, tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief. “Don’t stop.”
Hunter couldn’t have stopped if the house were on fire. The coil in his gut wound tighter, a blazing wire about to snap. He was anchored by the sight of Adam coming apart beneath him, by the feel of that sure hand on him.
Hunter’s world narrowed to the frantic rhythm of their hands and the broken sounds escaping Adam’s throat. A tremor started deep in Adam’s stomach, vibrating through Hunter’s own body where they were pressed together.
“I’m close,” Adam gritted out, his voice shredded. His fingers tightened almost painfully around Hunter.
“Me too.” The admission was a hot breath against Adam’s neck. Hunter’s own strokes grew sloppy, desperate. The coiled wire inside him glowed white-hot, fraying.
Adam’s breath hitched, stuttering. His hips jerked off the mattress. Hunter felt the first hot pulse against his own stomach. The sensation, the raw proof of Adam’s loss of control, was the final trigger.
Hunter’s release slammed through him with a force that blurred his vision. A silent, sharp cry was torn from him as he spilled over Adam’s clenched fist. His body locked, shuddering through the waves, hips still pushing mindlessly forward.
They both release together.
Hunter’s weight settled fully onto Adam for one last, lingering moment, his forehead resting against Adam’s collarbone. Then, with a deliberate effort, he pushed himself up and off the bed.
The cool air hit his skin, raising goosebumps over the sticky mess on his stomach. He didn’t look back as he walked to where his discarded towel lay. He used it roughly, cleaning himself off with mechanical, efficient swipes before tossing it toward the laundry hamper in the corner.
He found his black boxers in the still-unpacked box by the closet and stepped into them. The soft cotton felt like a feeble armor. He walked over to the sleek, modern desk under the window, his back to the room and to Adam.
Behind him, the bedsprings creaked. He heard the soft shuffle of fabric. Adam pulled his black shorts back on and followed him, standing a few feet away, leaning against the bedpost.
Hunter stared out the window at the too-perfect backyard, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the desk edge. He finally turned. Adam was watching him, that infuriating, unreadable calm already settling back over his features, though his hair was still a wreck and his chest flushed.
“Now that we’re going to become stepbrothers,” Hunter said, his voice low and gravelly but terrifyingly clear, “consider this a warning.” He held Adam’s gaze, forcing every ounce of his crumbling resolve into the words. “We can’t cross the line again.”
A beat of silence hung between them, charged and fragile.
Hunter didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and headed straight for the bathroom, each step measured. He closed the door behind him with a quiet, definitive click and turned the lock.
The sound of the shower starting soon followed, a hollow rush of water through new pipes.
Adam stood alone in the center of Hunter’s room, amidst the faint, unmistakable smell of what they’d just done. A slow, humorless smile touched his lips. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair.
“I’m not letting you off that easily,” he said to the empty, echoing space.
He turned and headed back to his own room across the hall, closing his door just as quietly. The new house settled into a silence that felt less like peace and more like a held breath.