Chapter 2: The Walk of Shame and a Sticky Problem
The smell hit him first. Sex, sweat, and the faint, plasticky scent of the lotion. It clung to the sheets, the air, their skin. David lay perfectly still, the evidence of what they’d done cooling in a sticky patch on his stomach and between his thighs. Nathan’s breathing had evened out beside him, but David knew he wasn’t asleep.
Downstairs, the clatter of pans echoed up through the floorboards. Mom was making breakfast. The mundane sound was a surreal counterpoint to the ruin of his body and mind.
He swung his legs off the bed, the movement making him wince. A deep, bruised ache radiated from his core. He stood, and felt a warm, telltale trickle trace a path down his inner thigh. Nathan’s come. He froze, disgust and a shocking jolt of possessiveness warring inside him.
Nathan’s voice came from the bed, low and rough with sleep and use. “You okay?”
David didn’t answer. He walked stiffly to the door, every step a reminder. He grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and wrapped it around his waist, hiding the physical proof.
The hallway carpet was cold under his feet. The bathroom door swung shut behind him with a soft click. He locked it. Leaning against the sink, he finally looked in the mirror.
He looked wrecked. His hair was a disaster, his lips swollen, a dark bruise blossoming on his collarbone where Nathan’s mouth had been. His eyes held a hollow, shell-shocked look. He turned on the faucet, the water loud in the quiet. He soaked a washcloth in hot water, wincing as he brought it between his legs. The tender flesh burned at the touch. He cleaned himself methodically, watching the white streaks swirl down the drain. Each pass of the cloth felt like an erasure, and a confirmation.
A soft knock on the door made him jump.
“David?” It was Nathan. “You gonna be in there all day?”
“Give me a minute,” David croaked, his voice unfamiliar.
“I need to piss.”
David unlocked the door and stepped back. Nathan slipped inside, closing the door behind them. The small bathroom became instantly smaller, charged with the intimacy of what they’d just shared. Nathan was naked, utterly comfortable in his skin, his body a landscape of marks David had put there. He didn’t go to the toilet. He just stood there, looking at David in the mirror.
“You’re bleeding a little,” Nathan said, his gaze dropping.
David looked down. A faint pink smear colored the washcloth. “Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t.” The word was sharp. An apology made it something it wasn’t. An apology implied a mistake, not a choice they’d both devoured.
Nathan stepped closer. The heat from his body pushed against the cool air of the tiled room. He reached out and took the soiled washcloth from David’s hand, dropping it into the sink. His fingers, calloused and sure, brushed David’s hip.
“Let me see,” Nathan murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper, though the house was empty save for their mother downstairs.
“No.”
“David.” It wasn’t a request. It was a quiet command. Nathan’s hands went to the towel at David’s waist. He didn’t pull it away, just held the knot. His eyes locked with David’s in the glass. “I need to see what I did.”
The fight left David in a slow exhale. He gave a barely perceptible nod.
Nathan untied the towel. It fell to the floor. David was exposed again, but now under the harsh, fluorescent light. Nathan’s gaze was clinical, hungry. He looked at the reddened, used flesh between David’s cheeks, at the sticky traces he’d missed. A low sound escaped him. He pressed himself against David’s back, his own hardening cock nudging against David’s ass. David shuddered.
“Look at you,” Nathan breathed into his ear, his hands coming around to splay on David’s stomach, pulling him back tight. “Look what we did.” His right hand slid down, past David’s limp cock, over his balls, to the aching, sensitive pucker. He traced the rim with a single finger, feather-light. David’s knees almost buckled. A bolt of raw, shameful pleasure shot through him.
“Stop,” David gasped, but it was weak, his body arching back against Nathan.
“You don’t want me to stop.” Nathan’s finger pressed, just slightly, not entering, just applying pressure. “You’re still open. For me.”
In the mirror, David watched it happen. Watched Nathan, his brother, his lover now, bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Watched his own face contort, not in pain, but in helpless, unraveling need. The horror was still there, a cold knot in his gut, but it was being smothered by a hotter, more urgent fire. His body remembered the feeling of being full, of being owned, and it craved it again with a humiliating desperation.
Nathan reached for the bar of soap on the sink, working it into a lather in his hands. The clean, simple scent of Ivory filled the space, absurdly domestic. He soaped his fingers thoroughly, then brought them back down.
“Gonna clean you up proper,” Nathan whispered, and this time, his slick finger pushed inside.
It was a slow, deliberate invasion. The soap stung, a sharp contrast to the lotion, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled again. David braced his hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, his head hanging down. He watched in the mirror as Nathan fingered him open, his expression one of focused fascination.
“So tight,” Nathan muttered, working a second finger in alongside the first. “Even after taking all of me. Fuck, David.”
The stretch burned, but the pleasure was brighter, sharper. Nathan scissored his fingers, curling them, searching. When he found that spot, David’s vision whited out for a second. A choked cry was torn from his throat, his cock jerking to full, aching hardness against the cool ceramic of the sink basin.
“There it is,” Nathan growled, fucking him steadily with his fingers, his own hips grinding his thick erection against David’s ass. “That’s the spot, isn’t it? The one that makes you lose your fucking mind.”
David could only nod, panting, his knuckles white. The shame was dissolving, burned away by a purely animal need. He pushed back against Nathan’s hand, fucking himself on his brother’s fingers, the wet, obscene sounds filling the small room.
Nathan withdrew his fingers. David whimpered at the loss, the sound pathetic and hungry. Nathan pumped his cock a few times, slicking it with more soap. He lined up the broad head, pressing it against David’s loosened entrance.
“Tell me you want it,” Nathan demanded, his voice strained.
David met his gaze in the mirror. His brother’s face was flushed, his eyes dark with lust. There was no trace of the uncertain boy from last night. This was someone else. Someone he had created.
“Fuck me,” David said, the words leaving him like a vow. “Do it, Nathan. Fuck me raw.”
With a single, powerful thrust, Nathan sheathed himself inside. The burn was intense, glorious. David threw his head back, a guttural shout echoing off the tiles. Nathan didn’t pause. He set a brutal, pounding rhythm, his hands gripping David’s hips hard enough to bruise. Each slam drove David into the edge of the sink, the pain a bright counterpoint to the overwhelming fullness.
“Yeah, take it,” Nathan grunted, his rhythm faltering, losing all finesse, becoming a frantic, driving need. “Take your brother’s cock. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?”
David could only moan, a stream of broken affirmatives. “Yes, fuck, yes, I feel it, don’t stop…”
The angle was different, deeper. Nathan was claiming him in a new way, in this sterile, bright room. It was dirtier than the bed. It was more real. David reached a hand down, frantically jerking his own cock in time with Nathan’s thrusts. The pleasure built, a coil wound impossibly tight.
Nathan’s movements became jagged, erratic. He buried his face in David’s shoulder, his teeth sinking into the muscle. “Gonna come inside you again,” he snarled, the words hot and wet against David’s skin. “Gonna fill you up so you leak me all day.”
The filthy promise was the final trigger. David’s orgasm ripped through him, silent and violent, ropes of white streaking the white sink and the mirror. His body clamped down on Nathan’s cock in intense, rhythmic pulses, milking him.
With a final, deep grind, Nathan came, a raw shout muffled against David’s back. David felt the hot rush flood him, a searing claim that made his spent body shudder.
They collapsed against the sink, a mess of shaking limbs and shared breath. The water was still running in the sink, a quiet rush beneath the sound of their panting. Slowly, Nathan softened and slipped out. David felt the immediate, embarrassing trickle of their combined release down his thighs.
For a long moment, they just stood there, propping each other up. The reality of their situation crashed back in, colder and heavier than before. They were in their parents’ bathroom. Their mother was downstairs making pancakes.
Nathan reached over and shut off the faucet. The silence was deafening. He grabbed a fresh washcloth, ran it under warm water, and gently cleaned David. The gesture was oddly tender, a stark contrast to the animal fury of moments before.
David finally straightened up, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. He saw the new bite mark on his shoulder, vivid and purpling. A brand.
“We’re gonna need a lot more lotion,” Nathan said, his voice quiet, almost rueful. He tried for a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And maybe some fucking Febreze.”
David didn’t laugh. He turned, facing his brother. “What are we doing, Nathan?”
Nathan’s gaze was steady, but David saw the flicker of the same fear that was churning in his own gut. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He cupped David’s jaw, his thumb rough against his cheekbone. “But we’re doing it.”
A heavy thump came from downstairs—the oven door closing. “Boys! Pancakes are ready!”
The normal world was knocking, insistent and oblivious. Nathan dropped his hand. He picked up his towel from the floor and retied it around his own waist. He left the bathroom without another word, leaving David alone with the evidence in the mirror and the warm, aching fullness inside him that felt, terrifyingly, like a new beginning.