Kent nodded, though he looked reluctant to let me go. His hands slid down to catch mine, threading our fingers together hesitantly. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  We moved to the couch, sitting close enough that our thighs pressed together. Kent kept hold of one of my hands, his thumb tracing patterns across my knuckles in the same way Trevor had done at the movies. But this time, it was downright distracting.

  “So,” I started, then realized I had no idea what to say. How did you navigate this? There wasn’t exactly a handbook for falling for your stepbrother. “Are… you gay now?”

  Kent pulled his hand away, his body language getting suddenly more closed off. “I… I don’t know.”

  I watched him retreat into himself, saw the familiar walls going back up, and I knew I had to tread carefully here. This was new territory for him in a way it wasn’t for me. I’d had years to come to terms with my sexuality, to work through the fear and shame and confusion. Kent was just starting that journey.

  “That’s okay,” I said gently, resisting the urge to reach for his hand again. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

  “But you need to know, don’t you? You need to know if this is just some... some experiment for me. If I’m going to wake up tomorrow and decide I made a mistake.” His voice was strained, and he still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Is that what you think this is?”

  “I don’t know what this is.” He finally met my eyes, and the vulnerability there made my chest ache. “All I know is that when I’m around you, I feel things I’ve never felt before. And yeah, maybe that means I’m gay, or bi, or whatever. But putting a label on it feels like too much right now.”

  I nodded, understanding more than he probably realized. “Okay. So we don’t label it. We just... see what happens.”

  “Just like that?” Kent looked skeptical.

  “Just like that.” I shifted closer to him again, emboldened by the fact that he’d kissed me back, that he’d admitted to wanting this. “Look, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t complicated. It is. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel whatever this is between us.”

  Kent was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was trying to figure out what to say. “I need this to stay between us,” he finally said. “At least for now. I can’t have anyone knowing about this. If it got back to my dad, or my friends from work, or my boss⁠—”

  “Kent.” I cut him off before he could spiral. “I’m not going to tell anyone. This is between you and me. Nobody else.”

  “Promise?”

  The desperation in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn’t just about being closeted. This was about fear. A real, bone-deep fear of what would happen if people found out.

  “I promise,” I said firmly. “Whatever this is, however far it goes, it stays private until you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. “Thank you.”

  We sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of what we’d just agreed to settling over us. This was risky. This could blow up in our faces in so many ways. But as I sat there next to Kent, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, I couldn’t bring myself to care about the risks.

  “So, what now?” Kent asked quietly.

  “Now?” I shifted so I was facing him more fully. “Now we take this one day at a time. No pressure, no expectations. We just... see where it goes.”

  “And if it doesn’t go anywhere? If I wake up and realize I can’t do this?”

  “Then we deal with that when it happens.” I reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. When he didn’t, I placed my hand on his knee. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the way you get all bristled when I talk about Trevor.” He bristled immediately, on cue. “And because of the way you’re looking at me right now.” I squeezed his knee gently. “Like you want to kiss me again but you’re scared to make the first move.”

  A flush crept up Kent’s neck. “I do want to kiss you again.”

  “So, kiss me.”

  He hesitated for just a second before leaning in, and this time when our lips met, it felt different. Less frantic, more deliberate. Like we were both acknowledging that this wasn’t just a moment of weakness or confusion. This was a choice we were making.

  His hand found the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I let myself get lost in the sensation. When we pulled apart this time, Kent’s eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with want. “I should probably go to bed,” he said, though he made no move to get up.

  “Probably,” I agreed, equally unmotivated to move.

  “Alone,” he clarified. “I should go to bed alone. This is all happening really fast and I… I don’t think I can keep my hands off you if we’re in the same bed.”

  “Do you want to keep your hands off me?”

  His eyes widened. I was baiting him, I knew it. But every kiss made me want him, made me crave him. I was still hard, still needy for his touch.

  “I… I don’t know,” he replied, his voice shaking. “All I can think of are those videos on your phone… the ones you sent to Trevor.”

  “I knew you were snooping through my phone,” I shot back, a grin pulling at my lips. “Did you see all of them?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Even the dildo one?”

  Kent went pale. “That’s the one I can’t stop thinking about.” Kent’s gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, and I could see his chest rising and falling more rapidly. “I watched it more than once,” he admitted, the words seeming to cost him something. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like if you were saying my name instead. I even… I jerked off to it.”

  The confession hung between us, electric and dangerous. My cock throbbed in my jeans, and I shifted slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure. Kent’s eyes tracked the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

  “Kent,” I said carefully, “if we do this—if we go there tonight—there’s no taking it back.”

  “I know.” His hand was still on the back of my neck, his fingers tightening slightly. “But I don’t know if I can stop this. I’ve already kissed you several times… and I don’t want to stop.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The moment our lips had met, something fundamental had shifted between us. We could pretend it hadn’t, could go to our separate rooms and try to forget this ever happened. But we’d both know. We’d both remember.

  “Last chance,” I offered, even as everything in me screamed to pull him closer. “You can still back out. No hard feelings.”

  Kent’s response was to kiss me again, hard and demanding, his other hand gripping my hip with enough force that I knew I’d feel it tomorrow. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing with determination.

  “Stop giving me outs,” he growled. “I want this. I want you.”

  The words sent a shiver down my spine. I stood up, pulling him with me, and led him toward my bed without another word. My heart was racing, my mind spinning with the implications of what we were about to do. But my body knew exactly what it wanted.

  “Have you ever—” I started to ask.

  “No,” he cut me off. “Never. Not with another guy.”

  The admission made me pause. This wasn’t just about us crossing a line as stepbrothers. This was Kent’s first experience with another man. The weight of that responsibility settled over me, and I knew I needed to be careful with him.

  “We’ll take it slow,” I said, moving closer to him. “We don’t have to do everything tonight.”

  “Okay.” His hands found my waist, pulling me against him. “What should we start with?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He kissed me again, walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of my bed. I sat down hard, and he followed, his body pressing me into the mattress in one fluid motion. The new position pressed our erections together, separated only by layers of fabric, and we both groaned at the contact.

  Kent’s hands slid under my shirt, his palms hot against my skin as they explored my back, my sides, and my chest. His touch was hungry and unpracticed, and something about that combination made it even hotter. I rocked against him, grinding my cock against his, and his head fell back with a gasp.

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “James, I⁠—”

  I silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against his as I showed him what I wanted. At the same time, I reached down, undoing the button of my jeans. Lifting my hips, I slid them low enough so my cock sprang free at last. Kent pulled back just long enough to pull out his own cock, the heat of his skin pressing against mine deliciously.

  Without hesitation, I wrapped my hand around us both and began to stroke, our pre-cum mixing into a pleasant slickness that had us moaning into each other’s mouths.

  “Fuck,” Kent groaned, his hips seeking friction against mine. “Fuck James… that feels good…”

  I tightened my grip, increasing the pace as Kent’s breathing grew ragged against my neck. His hand came up to cover mine, guiding the rhythm faster, more desperate. The fact that this was his first time touching another man like this, being touched by another man, made everything feel more intense.

  “Is this okay?” I asked, my voice wrecked with lust.

  “Better than okay,” he panted, his hips thrusting into our joined hands. “God, James, I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

  I kissed him again, swallowing his moans as I worked us both toward the edge. His free hand gripped my shoulder hard enough to bruise, and I loved it. Loved the way he was coming undone beneath me, loved the desperate sounds he made, loved that I was the one making him feel this way.

  “I’m close,” he warned, his voice breaking. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

  “Let go,” I urged against his lips. “I want to see you cum.”

  That was all it took. Kent’s entire body went rigid, his cock pulsing in my hand as he came with a strangled cry. The sight and sound of it pushed me over the edge, my own orgasm hitting me like a freight train as I spilled over our joined hands.

  We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, foreheads pressed together as we came down from the high. My hand was sticky with our combined release, and I should probably have felt some kind of shame or regret. But all I felt was satisfied.

  “Holy shit,” Kent finally said, his voice hoarse.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, reluctantly pulling away to grab some tissues from my nightstand. I cleaned us both up as best I could, Kent watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

  “You okay?” I asked, suddenly worried that he was already regretting this.

  “I...” He paused, his face running the gamut of emotions. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay.” I reached out for him, but he pulled away. I dropped my hand, giving him space. “I know it’s a lot to process.”

  “I’m going for a walk,” he said abruptly, pushing himself up. He quickly pulled up his sweatpants and headed for the door. “I just need a minute to think.”

  “Do you want me to come with you⁠—”

  “No,” he snapped. Then he looked back at me, regret filling his eyes. “I mean… fuck.”

  Without another word, he grabbed his keys and left, the door slamming behind him.

  What had I done?

  Chapter 15

  Kent

  The night was cool, and the rain was already starting to fall. I hadn’t brought a jacket, but I didn’t dare turn back. Not now. Not after what I’d just done with my stepbrother.

  At first, all I felt was anger. I fell back into my old thoughts, blaming James for everything. If I hadn’t come to live with him, this wouldn’t have happened. My life and everything in it wouldn’t be upside down. Now I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted all because of James. If he’d just chosen to be normal, none of this would’ve happened.

  But then the other thoughts broke through. James didn’t choose to be gay. I knew that now. Because I hadn’t chosen to be attracted to him. It just happened. Why now and why him were still a mystery though.

  The rain started coming down harder, soaking through my shirt within minutes. I welcomed the cold, the discomfort. It felt like penance for something, though I wasn’t sure what. For jerking off with my stepbrother? For liking it? For running away after?

  I walked without direction, my feet carrying me down streets I barely registered. The sidewalks were empty, everyone else smart enough to get out of the rain. But I kept walking, letting the water plaster my hair to my forehead and drip into my eyes.

  The helpline counselor’s words echoed in my head. Sexual orientation can be fluid. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for who you are.

  But what if I didn’t know who I was? What if twenty-five years of thinking I had myself figured out were just a lie I’d been telling myself?

  I thought about Brittany. About all the girlfriends before her. Had I actually been attracted to them, or had I just been going through the motions? Playing the part I thought I was supposed to play?

  The answer made my stomach churn. Because now that I’d felt what it was like to touch James, to have his hands on me, to hear him moan my name… everything else felt like a pale imitation. Like I’d been living in black and white and suddenly discovered color existed.

  And that terrified me.

  I stopped walking, finding myself in front of a closed convenience store, its fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows through the rain. My reflection stared back at me from the window. My hair was plastered down, shirt clinging to my chest, and I looked exactly as lost as I felt.

  “What the fuck am I doing?” I muttered to myself.

  I’d left James alone in his apartment, probably thinking I regretted what we’d done. Probably thinking I was disgusted with myself, with him. And maybe part of me was. But it wasn’t the part that mattered.

  The part that mattered was the one that wanted to turn around and go back. The one that wanted to crawl into his bed and kiss him until neither of us could breathe. The one that didn’t give a shit what my father thought, or my coworkers, or anyone else.

  But could I be that person? Could I let go of everything I thought I was and embrace this terrifying new reality?

  Thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain intensified, coming down in sheets now. I was completely soaked, shivering in my thin t-shirt. I should go home. I should go back to James and figure this out like an adult instead of running away like a scared kid.

  But my feet wouldn’t move.

  Whatever this was… it had to stay a secret. For now at least. Nobody could know.

  I pulled out my phone, water droplets sliding down the screen as I stared at it. No messages from James. Not that I expected any. I’d been the one to storm out without explanation, leaving him with nothing but confusion and probably a healthy dose of hurt.

  My thumb hovered over his contact. I should text him. Tell him I was okay, that I just needed space. But what would I even say? Sorry for freaking out after we got each other off, just having a minor identity crisis in the rain? It sounded so melodramatic.

  I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  The street was deserted, just me and the relentless downpour. A car drove past, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and I caught a glimpse of the driver’s face, warm and dry inside their vehicle, probably heading home to their uncomplicated life. I envied them.

  My mind kept circling back to the same moment. James’s hand wrapped around both of our cocks, the heat of his skin, and the way he’d looked at me. Not Kent the disappointment. Not Kent the closeted mess. Just... Kent.

  And I’d run.

  “Fucking coward,” I muttered, kicking at a puddle. Water splashed up onto my already-soaked sweatpants.

  But wasn’t that what I’d always been? A coward hiding behind heterosexuality and toxic masculinity because it was easier than facing the truth? I’d spent years tormenting James for being brave enough to be himself, and here I was, twenty-five years old and still too chickenshit to admit what I wanted.

  What I wanted was him.

  The realization should have felt like a revelation, but it didn’t. Because deep down, I’d known it for days. Maybe longer. I’d just been too scared to acknowledge it.

  Another crack of thunder made me flinch. The rain was coming down so hard now I could barely see three feet in front of me. I needed to get out of it, find shelter somewhere. But the thought of going back to the apartment, of facing James after the way I’d left, made my chest tight with anxiety.

  What if he didn’t want me anymore? What if I’d ruined everything by running? What if he’d decided this was too complicated, too messy, and he wanted nothing to do with me?

  I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

  I kept walking, my shoes squelching with every step. The cold was starting to seep into my bones, making my teeth chatter. I wrapped my arms around myself, but it did nothing to ward off the chill.

  This was stupid. I was being stupid. Standing in the rain like some tragic character in a bad movie wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t going to make me any less gay, or bi, or whatever the hell I was. It wasn’t going to change what had happened between James and me.

  And it definitely wasn’t going to make me stop wanting him.

  I thought about my father’s face at dinner, the disgust barely concealed when James had mentioned Trevor. That would be me if anyone found out. That look of disappointment and shame would be directed at me. My boss Derek would hear about it eventually. The industry I worked in wasn’t exactly known for being progressive. My friends would make jokes, or worse, they’d get quiet and uncomfortable around me.

  My whole life would change.

  But hadn’t it already changed? Wasn’t I already different than I was a week ago? Two weeks ago, I’d been in a relationship with Brittany, living a life I thought I wanted. Now I was homeless, confused, and jerking off with my stepbrother.