Chapter 10: During the Night
The silence after the car door slammed was heavier than before. It pressed down on them, full of unasked questions. Ethan’s fingers were still tangled with Nate’s, their grip the only solid thing in the room. The sweat was cooling on their skin, making the air feel clammy. The scent of sex was overwhelming, a stark record of what they’d just done.
Ethan shifted, wincing at the sticky feeling between them. He pulled away gently, breaking the handhold, and rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, at a faint crack in the plaster he’d never noticed before. His mind was racing, a frantic scramble against the inevitable dawn.
He could feel Nate’s eyes on him. “Hey,” Nate said, his voice quieter than Ethan had ever heard it.
“Hey.”
“Come here.”
It wasn’t a command. It was an ask. Ethan turned his head. Nate had shifted onto his side, propping his head up. He looked younger like this, stripped of his performative swagger, just a guy in a messy bed. Ethan hesitated for a second, then scooted closer, letting Nate guide his head to rest on his shoulder. The position was awkward at first, two big guys fitting together on a narrow bed, but they adjusted. Ethan’s cheek pressed against Nate’s damp skin, the steady thump of his heartbeat a drum in his ear. Nate’s arm came around him, hand resting heavy on Ethan’s bicep.
For a long time, they just breathed. The adrenaline was leaching away, leaving Ethan hollow and strangely clear-headed.
“I know she still knows you better than I do,” Ethan said into the silence. The words were out before he could stop them, spoken to the dark hollow of Nate’s collarbone. “In that sense. The girlfriend sense. Which does kinda annoy me.”
Nate’s chest moved with a silent laugh. “Yeah.”
“But I used to hear you two.After. After the main event, I mean.” Ethan licked his dry lips. “Through the wall. It wasn’t just the fucking. It was the… after. The talking. The quieter stuff. You’d laugh sometimes.”
Nate’s fingers tightened on his arm. “You listen too damn much.”
“Hard not to.” Ethan lifted his head, meeting Nate’s gaze. The golden light cut across Nate’s face, illuminating one green eye. “So. Afterplay. What’s yours? After what just happened… what would you like me to do?”
A slow, real smile spread across Nate’s face. It was devoid of mockery. It was almost shy. “You’re serious.”
“My turn to take care of you,” Ethan repeated his earlier promise, his voice firm. “All the way. So tell me.”
Nate held his gaze for a beat, then looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. It was the most vulnerable Ethan had ever seen him. “It’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
Nate sighed, his body relaxing deeper into the mattress. “Feet,” he muttered, the word almost lost.
“What about them?”
“I like… fuck, it’s weird.” He ran a hand over his face. “I like when someone worships them. My feet. After I’ve come. When I’m all spent and sensitive. The attention. The… care of it.”
Ethan didn’t blink. He just processed it. This bruising, dominant, loud-mouthed guy had a thing for having his feet tended to. It made a bizarre kind of sense. A point of complete surrender, of being serviced in a way that demanded nothing back but acceptance. “Okay,” Ethan said simply.
He slid out from Nate’s arm and off the bed. The floor was cool under his feet. Nate watched him, a question in his eyes, but didn’t speak. Ethan walked to the end of the king-sized bed. Nate’s feet were there, long and bony, with high arches and neat, trimmed nails. They were athlete’s feet, a little calloused on the heels, surprisingly elegant. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his back to Nate, and picked up Nate’s right foot.
He heard Nate’s sharp intake of breath.
Ethan started slow. He just held the foot in his lap, feeling its weight, the warmth of the skin. He ran his thumbs firmly along the arch, applying pressure. A low, gratified groan came from the head of the bed. Emboldened, Ethan began to work in earnest. He kneaded the ball of the foot, rubbed each tendon, pulled gently on each toe. He used his thumbs to dig into the tight spots, the places that carried all the tension of a body built for performance.
“Christ, your hands are strong,” Nate breathed, his voice thick with pleasure.
“You’re not small,” Ethan said, not looking back. He focused on the foot, on the anatomy of it. The skin was softer on the top, with a faint dusting of dark hair. The ankles were strong, the bones prominent. He described it as he worked, his voice a low, steady murmur. “You’ve got these long fucking toes. Like a pianist’s, but they’re all fucked up from cleats, I bet. This one’s crooked.” He wiggled the second toe. “The arch is insane. I could literally fit my whole thumb in the space under it. And your feet are big. What are you, a thirteen?”
“Fourteen,” Nate admitted, a hint of pride returning.
“Of course you are.” Ethan switched to the left foot, repeating the process. He massaged deeper now, feeling the muscles give under his insistence. Nate was melting into the bed, his occasional sighs and muttered curses a soundtrack to Ethan’s focus. This was control of a different kind. Meticulous, generous, absolute.
After the massage, Ethan did something he hadn’t planned. He bent and pressed his lips to the inside of Nate’s arch, a dry, chaste kiss. Nate’s whole body jerked.
“Ethan…”
“Shhh.” Ethan kissed the top of the foot, near the ankle. Then, taking the big toe into his mouth, he sucked gently, running his tongue around the nail bed.
Nate made a sound that was pure unraveling. It was halfway between a sob and a moan. “Fuck. Fuck, yeah. Just like that.”
Ethan worshipped them. He lavished attention on every inch, with his hands, his mouth, his quiet, descriptive words. He told Nate how perfectly they were shaped, how the calluses spoke of discipline, how the size of them anchored his whole formidable frame. He made it an act of devotion, of study. He took his time. Minutes stretched. The light in the room faded from harsh gold to a deep, melancholy orange.
It went on for what felt like hours. Until Nate was boneless, breathing slow and deep, floating in a haze of afterglow and attentive care. Finally, Ethan lowered the foot gently back onto the sheet. He turned and crawled back up the bed, lying facing Nate. Nate’s eyes were closed, his expression peaceful in a way Ethan had never seen.
“Hey,” Ethan whispered.
Nate’s eyes fluttered open. They were soft, unfocused. “Hey.”
“Can I sleep here again tonight?”
Nate’s answer was immediate, slurred with near-sleep. “That was happening anyway.” He reached out, his hand finding Ethan’s hip, pulling him closer until their bodies slotted together, chest to back, Nate’s front against Ethan’s spine. He nuzzled into the back of Ethan’s neck. “I know she’s back tomorrow.”
The words hung there. The ‘she’ was a cold stone in the warm bed.
“But this doesn’t change,” Nate finished, his voice muffled against Ethan’s skin. The words were firm, a promise or a plea, Ethan couldn’t tell.
“What doesn’t change?” Ethan asked, his heart thudding slowly.
“This.” Nate’s arm tightened around him. “You and me. In here. It’s a thing now. It exists. Her being back… that’s a separate thing.”
Ethan wanted to believe that. He desperately wanted the world to be that simple, that compartmentalized. But he’d seen the conflict in Nate’s eyes. He felt it in the tightness of the arm around him. “Separate things have a way of crashing into each other.”
Nate didn’t answer for so long Ethan thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he spoke, his breath hot on Ethan’s neck. “Then let them crash.”
Ethan woke to the sound of the shower running in the en-suite. Gray, pre-dawn light leaked around the blackout curtains. He was alone in the bed, the sheets cold on Nate’s side. The room still smelled of them, a scent that was now painfully familiar. He lay still, listening to the water patter against the tiles. He imagined Nate under the spray, washing the night off his skin. The thought was a dull ache.
Last night felt like a dream, a deep, illicit dive into a private ocean. Now the surface was above them, and they had to breathe ordinary air again.
The water shut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out into the cooler room. Nate emerged with a towel slung low around his hips, his hair dark and dripping. Water droplets traced paths down the carved lines of his chest and stomach. He looked like a god stepping out of a cloud, and the sight sent a fresh, desperate pang through Ethan.
Nate’s eyes found him, awake in the bed. Something shifted in his expression. The softness from the night was gone, sanded away by the morning. The confident mask was being fitted back into place, piece by piece. But it wasn’t perfect. Ethan could see the seams.
“Hey,” Nate said, his voice morning-rough. He walked to his closet, his back to Ethan.
“Hey. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Nate pulled on briefs, then jeans, zipping them up without looking back. “She’s picking me up for breakfast at eight. Wants to ‘reconnect.’” He said the word with a faint, mocking edge, but it sounded forced.
Ethan sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. The reality of it was a physical blow. Mia was picking him up. He would get in her car. They would go to some diner. She would touch his arm across the table. He would probably kiss her. “Right.”
Nate turned, pulling a tight black t-shirt over his head. He ran a hand through his damp hair, making it stand up in chaotic spikes. He looked at Ethan, really looked at him, and the conflict was right there, swimming in the green of his eyes. “Last night…”
“Was last night,” Ethan finished for him, his own voice flat. He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it came out that way. “Separate thing. I remember.”
Nate crossed the room in two strides and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t touch Ethan. “It was last night. And it was fucking incredible. And it is a separate thing from her. But that doesn’t mean it’s nothing.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “It means it’s ours. It stays in this room. It doesn’t get talked about over pancakes. You understand?”
Ethan understood. He understood perfectly. He was a secret. A locked-room experience. A side-piece to his own stepbrother. The humiliation was hot and sharp, but it was entwined with a terrifying, addictive pride. He had done that to Nate. He had made him surrender, made him sigh, made him ask for his feet to be kissed. Mia didn’t have that. She had the public claim, the girlfriend title, the breakfast dates. But Ethan had the truth of him in the dark.
“I understand,” Ethan said, meeting his gaze. He allowed a hint of challenge into his own eyes. “Just like I understand that when you’re with her later, all cleaned up and playing boyfriend, you’ll be thinking about how I fucked you senseless six hours before.”
Nate’s jaw tightened. A flash of heat, of anger, or maybe just raw truth, crossed his face. He didn’t deny it. He just stared, and the look was a confession. He leaned in suddenly, catching Ethan’s mouth in a hard, claiming kiss. It tasted of toothpaste and desperation. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged. “Yes. I will. Now get out of my bed before I say fuck breakfast and keep you here all morning.”
Ethan got up. He gathered his clothes from the floor where they’d been discarded. He dressed in silence, feeling Nate’s eyes on him the entire time. It wasn’t a sexual gaze now. It was possessive, measuring, fraught.
At the door, Ethan paused, his hand on the knob. He didn’t turn around. “Separate things crash, Nate. You said to let them. Just be ready for the wreckage.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. The hallway was bright, clean, ordinary. His own room felt like a stranger’s. He stood in the middle of it, the silence roaring in his ears. He could still smell Nate on his own skin.
Down the hall, he heard Nate’s phone buzz with an incoming text. A moment later, the familiar, bright ringtone he associated with Mia chirped. Nate answered on the second ring, his voice shifting into a smoother, easier register. “Hey, babe. Yeah, just getting ready. Can’t wait to see you too.”
The door was closed, but the sound carried. Ethan stood frozen, listening to the one-sided performance. The affectionate tone, the light laugh. It was like hearing a recording of a ghost. The guy on the phone was the stepbrother, the boyfriend. The guy in the rumpled bed, begging for the touch of a mouth on his feet… that was someone else. Someone who belonged, for now, to Ethan.
He had to get out of the house.
He grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet. As he passed Nate’s door on the way to the stairs, he heard Nate say, “Love you too. See you in twenty.”
The words were a knife twist, clean and deep. Ethan didn’t run. He walked down the stairs calmly, out the front door, into the cool, mocking freshness of the morning. He got in his car but didn’t start it. He just sat there, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
He had wanted complicated. He had wanted dangerous and real. He’d gotten it. And now it was eating him alive from the inside, a glorious, terrifying cancer. The crash wasn’t coming. It was already happening, and he was sitting right at the epicenter, waiting for the ground to split open beneath him.