Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The thirst woke him first—dry-mouthed, throat parched from too many shots at Mulligan’s. Kai blinked at the red glow of his bedside clock: **2:37 AM**. The house was silent except for the hum of the AC and the occasional creak of settling wood.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the hardwood floor seeping into his bare feet. The hallway stretched dark before him, the sliver of light beneath his mother and Michael’s door the only break in the black.
Kai padded toward the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Then he heard it.
A gasp. Low, bitten-off. Followed by the unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin—slow at first, then sharper.
His stomach tightened.
He shouldn’t look.
But his body moved before his brain could stop it, creeping closer to their door, the cracked opening just wide enough to spill a wedge of lamplight onto the carpet.
His breath hitched.
Michael had his mother pinned beneath him, her legs hooked over his arms, back arched off the mattress. The sheets were tangled around her waist, her fingers clutching at Michael’s shoulders as he moved inside her. His back gleamed with sweat, muscles flexing with each deep, measured thrust.
Kai’s mouth went drier.
His mother whimpered, nails digging into Michael’s skin. “God—*easy*—”
Michael didn’t slow. If anything, he pushed deeper, the angle shifting just slightly.
His mother let out a sharp cry, slapping his arm. “*Pull out*, Jesus—that *hurts*.”
Michael exhaled through his nose, stilling. His grip on her thighs loosened just enough for her to shift away, her breath ragged. “You okay?”
His mother pressed her palms to her stomach, wincing. “I *told* you—not so deep.”
Michael’s jaw clenched. He leaned down, kissing her shoulder—an apology, maybe, or just patience wearing thin. “Got it.”
Kai’s pulse hammered in his throat.
He’d known, abstractly, that they had sex. But hearing his mother *complain* about it, watching Michael hold back—*that* was something else.
Michael rolled onto his back, pulling his mother with him, her back against his chest. She settled into the curve of his body with a sigh, her fingers lacing with his over her stomach.
“You know I can’t take all of you like that,” she muttered, tipping her head back against his shoulder.
Michael kissed her temple. “I know.”
Kai’s stomach twisted.
*All of him.*
He’d felt it—every inch, every thrust that had left him breathless in the backseat. But his mother couldn’t handle it. *Wouldn’t*.
The realization sent a sharp, electric jolt through him.
Michael’s head turned slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door.
Kai froze.
For a heartbeat, he was sure Michael had seen him—could *feel* those dark eyes locking onto him through the crack. But then Michael just sighed, dragging a hand down his face before curling it around his mother’s hip.
Kai exhaled, stepping back.
He was back in his room before he could process moving, the door clicking shut behind him, his chest heaving.
The house stayed silent.
No footsteps. No confrontation.
Just the steady, taunting thrum of his own heartbeat.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking.
*She couldn’t take it.*
*He could.*
The thought sent heat curling low in his stomach. He should be disgusted. Should be *ashamed*.
But all he could think about was Michael’s voice in the dark—*I know*—like it was a sacrifice. Like he was settling.
Kai’s fingers edged under the waistband of his sweatpants before he could stop himself.
The house stayed quiet.
The house stayed quiet.
But Kai’s thoughts wouldn’t.
He lay there in the dark, sheets twisted around his legs, replaying what he’d just seen—Michael’s patience wearing thin, his mother’s discomfort, the way they’d settled for something lesser. Something *safe*.
The next night, he heard them again.
The low murmur of Michael’s voice first, coaxing. "*Just try. Let me stretch you a little more.*"
His mother’s nervous laugh. "*You say that every time.*"
Then the slow creak of the bed, the sharp intake of breath.
Kai’s fingers curled into his pillow.
His mother’s voice rose—not pleasure, not even close. "*Ow—Michael, stop. It’s too much.*"
A slap. Then another. Skin hitting skin.
Kai was out of bed before he could think, drawn to the strip of light under their door like a moth to flame.
Through the crack, he saw it—Michael kneeling between his mother’s thighs, his broad shoulders blocking most of her from view. But Kai could still see enough.
Her knees were clamped together. Her fingers dug into Michael’s arms, pushing. "*No. Not happening tonight.*"
Michael exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Then, without a word, he bent down, mouth moving between her legs instead.
Kai swallowed hard.
His mother’s hands fisted in the sheets, her breath shaky. She didn’t sound like she did in the car when Michael touched him—no bitten-off moans, no desperate whispers of *more*. Just silence, then a forced little sigh when Michael lifted his head.
"*Handjob?*" Michael asked, voice rough.
She nodded, reaching for him.
Kai watched her struggle. Her fingers barely wrapped around him, her strokes awkward, uncertain. When Michael guided her head down, she barely opened her mouth before pulling back, coughing. "*I can’t—you know I can’t.*"
Michael’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. Just let her keep jerking him off, her touch so hesitant it was almost painful to watch.
Kai’s stomach twisted.
How had Michael settled for this? How did he *stand* it?
He crept back to his room before they could notice him, his pulse pounding in his ears.
The answer hit him as he slid under the sheets.
He was the reason Michael could.
Because Kai *could* take it. *All* of it.
The thought sent heat curling through him, shame and want tangling together until he couldn’t tell them apart.
Down the hall, the bed creaked one last time. Then silence.
Kai pressed his face into his pillow, biting back a groan.
Tomorrow, he’d do something about it.
He had to.
The shorts were barely there—soft pink fabric riding high on his thighs, the hem fluttering when he walked. Kai adjusted the waistband one last time in the mirror, watching how they clung to the curve of his ass. His mom had called them "playful" when she bought them, giggling at how he'd blushed trying them on in the store.
The kitchen smelled of burnt toast and coffee. His mother stood at the counter, humming as she spread jam on a slice. When she turned and saw him, her eyes lit up. "Oh my god!" The knife clattered onto the plate. "Look at you!"
Kai did a slow spin, the fabric riding up dangerously in the back. His mother clapped her hands. "I *knew* those would look adorable on you."
Michael sat at the table, coffee mug halfway to his lips. His grip tightened so suddenly the ceramic creaked. Kai saw his knuckles whiten, the tendons in his forearm flexing under tanned skin.
"You like them, Daddy?" Kai fluttered his lashes, voice sugary sweet.
Sarah laughed, swatting his arm. "Oh stop, you're embarrassing him."
Michael's throat worked as he swallowed. "Cute," he said, rough, like the word had been dragged out of him. His eyes didn't leave Kai's thighs.
The rest of the day unfolded in a series of failed provocations. Kai bent unnecessarily low to grab pool towels, letting the shorts stretch taut across his ass. He "accidentally" brushed against Michael while reaching for the orange juice, feeling the heat radiating off him. Each time, Michael's jaw clenched tighter, but he never took the bait.
By sunset, Kai was buzzing with frustration. He flopped onto the couch, legs sprawled wide just as Michael walked past. "Tired?" Michael asked, voice carefully neutral.
"Exhausted," Kai sighed, stretching his arms above his head. The movement made the hem of his shorts ride up another inch.
Michael's nostrils flared. He turned on his heel and walked away.
That night, the sounds started again. Kai pressed his ear to the shared wall, listening to the familiar rhythm—his mother's hesitant noises, Michael's frustrated grunts, the bedframe thumping against the wall in that same stilted pattern.
Then silence.
Kai counted to thirty before the whispers started.
"*We should try counseling,*" his mother said, voice thin.
A drawer slammed. "*We've tried that.*"
"*Then maybe we need to accept—*"
"*Accept what?*" Michael's voice cracked like a whip. "*That my wife can't stand me touching her, can’t handle me fucking her without it hurting too much for you to keep going?*"
Kai's stomach dropped. He'd never heard Michael sound like that—raw, stripped bare.
The faucet turned on in their bathroom, drowning out whatever came next. When the water stopped, his mother's voice was barely audible. "*You're not happy.*"
A long pause.
"*No,*" Michael finally said. "*I'm not.*"
The silence after Michael's admission stretched like a live wire. Kai pressed his ear harder against the wall, the plaster cool against his skin. His mother's next words came out quiet, measured—the tone she used when trying to diffuse one of Kai's teenage meltdowns.
"Then let's fix it." Sheets rustled. "I found this therapist—specializes in sexual compatibility. Not just marriage stuff."
Michael exhaled sharply. "You think that's the problem?"
"*I* think you're frustrated." Her voice hitched slightly. "And I hate that I can't... take you the way you need."
Kai's fingers curled into the sheets. He remembered the way Michael had groaned into his neck in the backseat, hips pistoning like he'd been starving for it. The thought sent heat crawling up his neck.
Michael was quiet for so long Kai wondered if they'd fallen asleep. Then—
"You really think some stranger telling us how to fuck is gonna help?"
"It's worth trying." His mother's voice softened. "Unless you've got a better idea."
The bed creaked. Kai imagined Michael turning away, the muscles in his back tensing.
"Fine. Set it up."
Kai rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling fan's lazy rotation. The pieces clicked together with brutal clarity: Michael's patience wearing thin, his mother's desperate attempts to please him, the way they'd both settled for something less than what they wanted.
And him—stretched out in the backseat, taking everything Michael gave him without complaint.
A car door slammed outside, pulling him from the thought. He glanced at the clock—3:18 AM. Who the hell was leaving at this hour?
The garage door rumbled open.
Kai was at the window before he could think, peeling back the curtain just enough to see Michael's silhouette climbing into the Lexus. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the dark as he backed out too fast, gravel spraying under the tires.
Kai's pulse thudded in his throat.
Where was he going?
The taillights disappeared around the corner.
Kai stood there for a long time, the curtain still clutched in his hand. Down the hall, his mother's quiet sobs carried through the thin walls.
He should go to her.
He didn't.
Instead, he slid back into bed, the sheets cold against his skin. The first night of vacation played in his head on a loop—Michael's rough voice in his ear, the way his hands had claimed every inch of him. *"You're one of the best reasons I married her."*
Had he meant it?
Had he been waiting?
Kai pressed his palms to his eyes, the questions gnawing at him like hunger. Outside, the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the room in pale gray light.
He didn't sleep.
By the time the garage door rumbled again—6:03 AM—Kai was already dressed, perched on the edge of his bed like a coiled spring. Footsteps climbed the stairs, heavy with exhaustion.
Michael's shadow paused outside his door.
Kai held his breath.
The knob didn't turn.
The footsteps moved on.
Kai exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He needed air. Needed to *move*.
The kitchen was empty when he walked in, the coffee machine still cold. He grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, biting into it with more force than necessary. The juice ran down his chin, sticky and sweet.
The sliding door to the patio was unlocked.
Michael sat at the wrought-iron table, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn't turn when Kai stepped outside, but his shoulders tensed—just slightly.
"Since when do you smoke?" Kai leaned against the railing, the morning sun warm on his back.
Michael exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air. "Since last night."
The apple turned to ash in Kai's mouth. He tossed the core into the grass. "You left."
"Needed to drive." Michael tapped the cigarette, ashes drifting to the pavement. "Clear my head."
Kai chewed his lip. The question burned on his tongue. "Did you mean it?"
Michael finally looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot, the stubble along his jaw darker than usual. "Mean what?"
"That night. In the car." Kai's voice dropped. "About me being the reason."
Michael's fingers tightened around the cigarette. For a second, Kai thought he wouldn't answer. Then—
"Yeah."
The word landed like a punch.
Kai's breath hitched. "How long?"
Michael crushed the cigarette under his heel, standing so suddenly the chair screeched against the concrete. He crossed the patio in two strides, backing Kai against the railing. His hands gripped the metal on either side of Kai's hips, caging him in.
"Too fucking long."
The heat of him was everywhere—the scent of nicotine and leather, the sharp tang of sweat from his drive. Kai's pulse pounded in his ears.
Michael's gaze dropped to his mouth.
Inside, the coffee machine gurgled to life.
Michael stepped back like he'd been burned. "Your mom's up."
Kai stayed pressed against the railing, his skin buzzing. The sliding door opened behind him, his mother's sleepy voice floating out.
"Kai? You want pancakes?"
Michael didn't look at him as he brushed past, murmuring something about a shower.
Kai watched him go, his heart hammering against his ribs.
*Too fucking long.*
The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
He turned toward the house, forcing a smile. "Yeah, Mom. Pancakes sound great."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
But the truth?
The truth was so much worse.
Because wanting Michael wasn’t just some twisted fantasy anymore—it was real, tangible, sitting heavy in Kai’s chest like a stone. And the worst part? He knew Michael wanted him back. The way his hands had tightened around the railing that morning, the way his breath hitched when Kai wore those shorts—it wasn’t nothing. But none of it mattered if Michael wouldn’t *act*.
Kai picked at the pancakes his mother had made, syrup congealing on his plate. She hummed as she wiped down the counter, oblivious to the tension still vibrating in the air from Michael’s abrupt exit.
"You okay, honey?" She glanced over her shoulder, dishrag in hand. "You’ve barely touched your food."
Kai forced a smile. "Just tired."
"Late night?"
"Something like that."
She frowned but didn’t push.
Michael didn’t come down for breakfast. The shower ran for twenty minutes, the pipes groaning through the walls. Kai imagined him under the spray, water sluicing over his shoulders, his hands braced against the tile—maybe thinking about Kai pressed against the railing, maybe not thinking about him at all.
The thought made his stomach twist.
Enough.
He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. His mother startled. "You’re leaving?"
"Gonna meet Jake."
Her face brightened. "Oh! Tell him I said hi."
Kai didn’t answer. He was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
His room smelled like stale sweat and the lingering sweetness of the apple he’d eaten earlier. He yanked open his dresser, digging through the mess of clothes until he found what he wanted—the shorts Jake had drunkenly complimented last summer, the ones that barely covered his ass, and a cropped shirt that left his stomach bare.
He dressed quickly, ignoring the way the fabric clung to his thighs, the way his reflection in the mirror looked like someone *trying* too hard.
Good.
Let Michael see. Let him *watch*.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
**JAKE: Mulligan’s tonight?**
Kai smirked. Like clockwork.
**KAI: Be there at 9.**
He didn’t wait for a response.
———
Mulligan’s was already packed when he arrived, the air thick with the scent of spilled beer and fried food. Jake waved him over from their usual booth, a pitcher of something amber already half-empty between them.
"Took you long enough," Jake said, sliding a glass toward him.
Kai knocked it back in one go, the burn of cheap whiskey settling low in his gut. "Had shit to do."
Jake’s gaze raked over him, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed by his shirt. "New outfit?"
"Old one." Kai poured himself another drink. "You just never noticed."
Jake laughed, low and rough. "Oh, I noticed."
The admission hung between them, charged. Kai remembered high school—Jake’s hands lingering when they passed a joint, the way he’d stare at Kai’s abs when they changed for the pool. He’d never acted on it. Until now.
Jake’s knee bumped his under the table, warm and solid. "You look good."
Kai met his eyes. "You gonna do something about it?"
Jake’s grin was sharp.
An hour later, they stumbled out of the bar, Jake’s arm slung around Kai’s waist, his breath hot against his neck. "Your place or mine?"
Kai’s pulse jumped. "Yours.”
The Uber smelled like pine air freshener and the ghost of someone’s forgotten fries. Kai barely had the door shut before Jake’s hands were on him—rough palms sliding up his thighs, calloused fingers digging into the soft skin above his waistband.
“Fuck, I’ve thought about this,” Jake muttered against his neck, teeth scraping just hard enough to sting. His breath reeked of whiskey and spearmint gum.
Kai tilted his head back, letting Jake mouth at his throat. The streetlights flickered past the window, painting Jake’s face in flashes of neon yellow and red. He looked older like this—jaw sharper, eyes darker, the faint scar above his eyebrow more pronounced under the uneven glow.
The driver cleared his throat.
Jake pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sorry, man. Celebrating.”
Kai snorted. “What, my graduation?”
“That. And finally getting my hands on you.” Jake’s thumb traced the seam of Kai’s shorts, dipping just beneath the fabric. “Been waiting since, what, sophomore year?”
Kai remembered the party where Jake had dared him to shotgun a beer, the way his fingers had lingered on Kai’s lips a second too long. He’d written it off as drunkenness. Now, with Jake’s knee pressing between his thighs, he wondered how much he’d missed.
The car jerked to a stop.
Jake’s apartment building loomed over them, its brick facade crumbling in places, the fire escape rusted and groaning in the wind. The Uber driver didn’t say goodbye.
Jake fumbled with his keys at the door, his other hand still anchored to Kai’s hip. “Roommate’s probably up,” he slurred, shoving the door open with his shoulder. “Ignore him.”
The living room was a graveyard of pizza boxes and beer cans, the TV playing some infomercial at low volume. Jake’s roommate—Mark? Mike?—lounged on the couch in just his boxers, a bong balanced on his stomach. His eyebrows shot up when he saw them.
“Damn,” he drawled, taking a lazy hit. “Kai Nichols. Knew you’d cave eventually.”
Jake flipped him off, dragging Kai down the hall. “Don’t listen to him.”
Kai barely had time to register the mess of Jake’s room—clothes piled in the corner, a skateboard propped against the window—before Jake pushed him onto the bed, crawling over him with a grin.
“Seriously,” Jake said, nipping at Kai’s lower lip. “Been obsessed with you since, like, fucking homecoming. You had those tight pants—”
Kai laughed, breathless, as Jake’s hands shoved his shirt up. “That’s what did it?”
“That,” Jake said, sucking a bruise just below Kai’s collarbone, “and the way your stepdad always watched me like he knew.”
Kai’s stomach dropped.
Jake didn’t notice. He was too busy mouthing down Kai’s chest, his fingers popping the button on Kai’s shorts. “Dude was *terrifying*. Thought he’d break my kneecaps if I looked at you wrong.”
Kai forced a chuckle, arching into Jake’s touch. “He’s not that bad.”
“Bullshit.” Jake yanked Kai’s shorts down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips at the sight. “Man’s built like he eats nails for breakfast.”
The comparison was unavoidable. Michael’s hands were bigger, rougher. His chest was broader, his shoulders wider. Even now, with Jake’s mouth hot around him, Kai couldn’t stop thinking about the way Michael had groaned into his neck in the backseat—like he’d been starving for it.
Jake pulled off with a wet sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You okay?”
Kai blinked. “Yeah. Just—keep going.”
Jake’s grin turned wicked. He flipped Kai onto his stomach with surprising strength, his knees nudging Kai’s thighs apart. The condom wrapper tore loudly in the quiet room.
“Gonna make you forget all about Daddy,” Jake teased, pressing in with one smooth thrust.
Kai bit his lip, the stretch familiar but not quite enough. Jake was thick, but not *Michael* thick. The difference was maddening.
Jake set a brutal pace from the start, his hips slamming forward like he was trying to prove something. The bedframe knocked against the wall in a steady rhythm, the headboard rattling with each thrust.
“Fuck,” Jake panted, fingers digging into Kai’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Knew you’d feel like this.”
Kai buried his face in the pillow, the friction just shy of what he needed. He reached back, gripping Jake’s thigh to pull him deeper.
Jake cursed, his rhythm faltering for a second before he snapped his hips harder, faster. “Shit—you’re gonna make me—"
Kai clenched down, and that was all it took. Jake came with a choked-off groan, collapsing onto Kai’s back, his breath hot and damp against Kai’s shoulder.
Silence settled over them, broken only by Jake’s ragged breathing.
Kai rolled onto his side, wiping his stomach with the corner of the sheet. His own release had been—fine. Satisfying in a detached, physical way. Nothing like the all-consuming fire Michael ignited with just a look.
Jake flopped onto his back, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “So. That just happened.”
Kai snorted. “Yeah.”
“We good?” Jake turned his head, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Like—I don’t wanna fuck up being friends.”
Kai leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Jake’s stubbled cheek. “We’re good. Just don’t get clingy.”
Jake laughed, shoving him lightly. “Bitch.”
They lapsed into easy silence, the kind that only came with years of friendship. Outside, a car alarm blared, then cut off abruptly.
Jake stretched, cracking his neck. “You staying?”
Kai shook his head, already reaching for his clothes. “Nah. Gotta get home.”
“Stepdad’ll worry?” Jake waggled his eyebrows.
Kai rolled his eyes, yanking his shirt back on. “Something like that.”
The walk home was quiet, the night air cool against his flushed skin. He could still feel Jake’s hands on him, the ghost of his mouth, but the memory was fading fast—replaced by something sharper, darker.
The house was dark when he got back, save for the dim glow of the porch light. Kai slipped inside, toeing off his shoes as quietly as possible.
The living room couch creaked.
Kai froze.
Michael sat in the shadows, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The ice cubes clinked as he lifted it to his lips, his eyes never leaving Kai’s.
“Have fun?”
Kai’s pulse jumped. He could smell Jake’s cologne on his skin, feel the stickiness between his thighs. There was no hiding it.
He met Michael’s gaze head-on. “Yeah. I did.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. He took another slow sip, the glass trembling slightly in his grip.
Kai turned toward the stairs, his heart pounding.
“Kai.”
He paused, glancing back.
Michael’s expression was unreadable in the dark. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”
The words sent a shiver down Kai’s spine.
He didn’t answer. Just climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
His mother’s door was shut, the soft sound of her snores drifting through the crack.
Kai lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his skin still buzzing.
Jake had been good.
But Michael?
Michael was *everything*.