When I started writing this story, I thought it would be just a single chapter. Yet here we are, finally at the end, with chapter 8! I want to thank everyone who has emailed me with comments and encouragement - I'm glad you got as attached to Anton and Brandon as I did!

I'm releasing this whole story as a free ebook on my itch.io store (where you can also find more of my writing): https://alexp336.itch.io/

I have a few more things I'm working on, so hopefully I'll be back soon with more to read. Thanks!

-Alex

p.s. If you enjoyed this story, Nifty needs your support to keep providing great reading material! You can donate at https://donate.nifty.org/

** My Sister's Boyfriend Needed A Ride - Chapter 8 **

Brandon almost tripped, as I half-shoved, half-dragged him down to the showers. Anger propelling me, now; fury reigniting every time I pushed him ahead and caught a glimpse of Ally's cum trickling down his back.

"Wash that shit off," I demanded, as I practically tossed him into a stall.

I was being hypocritical, and I knew it. That was the galling thing, the utterly infuriating part. I'd overreacted with Ally - it felt like I could still hear his laughter, at my explosive indignation - despite the obvious double-standard. It was ridiculous, to feel entitled to Brandon in some way, even though he was meant to be dating my sister.

He looked bedraggled, under the water. Hair plastered down, eyes still wide. Arms wrapped around his chest, as he stared at me.

"Y-you're angry at me?"

I grit my teeth, frustrated at the whole, stupid situation. One that could've been avoided, I knew, had I just ignored Ally's suggestion to go into the sauna. It wasn't like I didn't know the rumors about it: how, despite the risk, guys liked to hook up in there.

"No," I snapped, then frowned. "Well, no more than usual, fuckboy."

Brandon looked down, at the water swirling around his feet. "I wouldn't have done anything. With him, I mean."

It was stupid how just the suggestion of that - the denial of it - set my blood pressure spiking. I knew, too, that Brandon would probably be able to feel the displeasure radiating off me in waves.

"It was just... hot," he continued. "Having him watch me. Watch us."

"You want to get caught, is that it?" I clenched my fists. "So desperate, you'll do anything so guys will watch you? Are you gonna blame my sister for all this? For not paying you enough attention, or something?"

He made an unhappy face. "This doesn't have to be about her."

"Idiot!" It was so tempting to reach out, to grab him by the arm. To shake him; I could already picture how the water droplets would go flying. Only remembering to look around us, to check for other people in the shower, when I heard the echo of my furious hiss. Thankfully, we were on our own, at least for the moment. "Everything's about her, because she's the one you're cheating on."

"We," Brandon said, stubbornly meeting my eye. "We're cheating, you mean."

I shoved him back, against the tiles. Palm flat on his chest, fingers spread. His skin white from the pressure. "You need to watch yourself, fuckboy."

He blinked in the spray, but didn't look away. "Funny how you always say that, when I've already got your load leaking out of me."

Looking him up and down, I sneered at his mulish expression. "You think I couldn't have my pick of dumb, cum-hungry twinks in here? Don't flatter yourself, cheat."

Brandon glanced around us, pointedly, then down at my hand pressed into him. "And yet I'm the one you keep breeding, Anton. So which out of the two of us is really kidding himself?"

I stepped back, as if scalded. Watching him for a moment, somehow still defiant despite being naked and soaking wet. "You're trying to provoke me into fucking you again."

He shook his head. "Are you really angry at me, or are you angry because you know your friend saw right through your excuses?"

The rage was surging up through me, like a volcano erupting. It'd be so easy to let it out, too: wipe off that damn expression of his, in whatever way I could, so that I didn't have to think about all the things I'd done to provoke it.

My fists white with tension, I choked it down. Forced my face into as cold a mask as I could muster.

"Wash up," I told him, voice like dragging granite. "We're done, here."

I could feel Brandon's eyes on me as I turned from him. Watching, as I twisted the faucet in the cubicle next to him, and pushed my head under the steaming water.

I hated feeling guilty, but I hated feeling weak even more. Despised that hollow, lonely feeling in the pit of your belly, when you realize you're not up to scratch, have fallen short.

It wasn't that I'd started going to the gym just because I was gay, and felt vulnerable because of it, but I'd be lying to myself if I didn't at least notice the overlap. The secret which had churned in me for years, becoming harder and harder to keep inside, keep hidden. As impossible to deceive myself - it's just a phase; it's just curiosity; all guys feel like this, you can still be normal - as it was to keep fooling the people around me.

I'd not so much stepped out of the closet, as slashed my way through it. Arms raised, fists clenched: looking for an excuse to lash out.

My parents being okay with it should've been a salve, reassurance, only it simply pushed the boundary of my fear out wider. Expanded it, the whole world a potential danger. And getting bigger myself - heading to the gym first two days a week, then three, then four or more - felt like a defense as much as a reshaping to what I thought other guys would find attractive. "Don't fuck with me, but we can fuck," distilled into benchpresses, and bicep curls, and pushups.

We'd left our towels in the sauna. Walked, dripping across the tiled floor, back to the lockers; Brandon on my heels, the wet sound of his footsteps saving me from needing to turn, to check on him. To see whatever stubborn expression might be shaping his face.

I tossed him a clean towel from the stack, trying not to watch as he dried his hair. Hating myself for being so fascinated by his lean torso and slim legs. A build I'd fled from myself, despising the slight young man in the mirror, even as I lusted for it stood in front of me now.

Hurriedly, I buried my face in my towel when he dropped his. Determined not to be caught staring.

Brandon wasn't so coy. As I moved on to my chest, it was to find he was watching me with a look somewhere between hunger and envy.

"Stop it," I told him.

He made a face. "Stop what?"

I frowned. "Looking at me like that. People are gonna see you."

Brandon gestured at the almost-empty locker room. "You don't come here, don't work out so much, to be attractive?"

Bending, I pulled my briefs up. "You don't get to have that conversation with me."

"Did you and Ally hook up?"

The sudden change of topic left my brain flailing for a moment. "What?"

"He looks at you, the way I'm not supposed to," Branden explained. "And you two seem... familiar, I guess."

I side-eyed him, as I reached for my shirt. "Once."

Brandon nodded. "So it was okay for you two to have sex, and then still be friends afterwards?"

I tossed him his backpack, startling him as he clutched it to his bare chest. "The difference being, he wasn't dating my little sister at the time."

Another nod. "But you got mad just now, when he wanted to fuck me?"

My lips tightened at the memory. At how Ally had stared at Brandon, brazen in his hunger. "It was... disrespectful."

He dropped the bag, kneeling to dig through its contents. "Disrespectful to Kirsten, or to you?"

A flash of something - anger, but a feeling beyond that, too - behind my eyes. Carefully, as though too fast a move could see me split down the middle and let the wild pressure come rushing out uncontrollably, I crouched down next to him. Elbows resting on my knees.

"Let's get one thing straight, you little shit. You're on borrowed time with my sister; we both know she's far, far too good for you. And as for me..." I swept my gaze down his naked body, my lip curled. "You're a way to get off that's mildly more convenient than my right hand, understand me? Not my friend, not my workout buddy. You're a hole: a cheating, lying, manipulative hole. Get it?"

He stared at me, with eyes that didn't seem quite focused. Grin lopsided, as he reached out to cradle the heft of my junk through my briefs. Gently squeezing.

"You look so good from this angle." It was practically a purr. "Your bulge is so fucking fat."

Hissing annoyance, I stood up, fast. Swept his towel off the bench, to slap against his chest. Gratified by Brandon's gasp.

"Get dressed," I snapped.

I refused to look at him, as he pulled himself upright. Focused on dealing with my own clothes, as Brandon dealt with his; waited, all simmering impatience, my foot tapping, as he eased on his Converse.

Ally, at the entrance to the locker room, spoiled my hopes for a clean getaway.

"Go wait by the car," I told Brandon, coldly. My eyes fixed on my friend's knowing smirk.

"Finished for the day?" He'd waited, at least, until Brandon had turned the corner.

"Yeah."

He had a towel around his waist, skin still glistening with sweat. I figured he'd hung around the sauna after I'd stormed out. No confusing, either, the teasing press of his cock. A vague but unmistakable shape against the towel.

"So what the fuck was that, then?"

The words were harsh, though Ally's tone was light. Conversational, even.

"A mistake." Even I could hear how brittle my voice was.

I thought, for a horrible moment, he might ask me to clarify. To spell out which part, exactly, of what had happened amid the steam, that I considered a bad decision.

Ally just nodded, though. Still looking amused. "Well, I'm sorry for getting cum all over your boy's back."

"He's not my boy," I said, through gritted teeth.

I'd seen him do the eye-roll at clients, when they protested that adding another ten pounds was ridiculous.

"Borrowed boy, then," he corrected. "Which makes it even more cruel, really, that you refuse to share."

I made a conscious effort to unclench my fists. "Did you have a point to make?"

Ally sighed. "Fine, Anton. You win. You clearly have no feelings for that little twink, even though it's obvious you've been fucking him so much that - even with the biological hurdles - it's a goddamn miracle he's not pregnant already. And, despite the fact that you turn into a possessive Papa Bear if someone even looks at him twice, you're clearly above reproach in making sure he's the perfect little suitor for your sister."

"Fuck you, Ally." The words came out as a seething grunt.

"No, Anton, fuck you. Because we may only be gym buddies, but if that's the best answer you can come up with, you're utterly delusional." He gestured at the corridor. "But sure, walk out to where that cute kid who's clearly besotted with you is patiently waiting, and ignore everything inside you that's screaming you could feel the same way too. If you weren't such an uptight, whiny little bitch about it."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to fight down the urge to lash out, to scream at him that he was wrong. "Are you done?"

"Oh, I'm done." He waved me away. "But I'm pretty sure you're gonna keep doing the same shit, over and over, and act surprised each time that things aren't turning out differently."

I pushed past his shoulder, as I stormed out.

"Get in."

He was giving me that big-eyed stare, the one which said Brandon wasn't sure if I was gonna punch him or nail him, and I couldn't fucking stand it. Practically hurled my bag into the back seat, and then slammed the door.

"I... I can walk."

I glared at him, over the top of the car. Unable to shake the feeling that we were being watched from the lobby: that Ally was stood there, laughing at me. Convinced he could see right through me, and I couldn't even blame him for thinking it. Not when I'd overreacted in such a ridiculous way.

"Get in the fucking car," I snapped.

The tires squealed as I peeled out of the lot. Feeling Brandon's eyes on me, his nervous glances as I cut through traffic.

"What did he..."

"Bullshit," I interrupted. "He said a load of bullshit. You understand?" He hadn't even been there to overhear the conversation, but suddenly I needed him to disavow it, too. To agree with me that Ally had been utterly wrong.

Brandon nodded, the movement jerky. Flinched, as I smacked the steering wheel with the heel of my hand.

"A-Anton..."

I ignored him. Gunned the engine, cutting in front of a big rig to catch the light on the cusp of turning red.

"Anton!"

I grit my teeth. "What?" It came out as a snarl.

His eyes were wide, glassy. "You... you're driving so fast..."

Easing off the gas pedal, I let the car's speed ebb. Angry at myself now, too; no, even more angry, frustration compounded atop fury. And yet, even amid that, some kernel of temptation that said if only I could drive fast enough, I might be able to outrun the shit that Ally said I'd keep on repeating.

"You've got your seatbelt on, haven't you?" I snapped.

Brandon nodded again.

Annoyance bubbling over, I yanked the wheel to turn into a parking lot. Gravel scattering against the underside of the car, a haze of welcome white noise.

It was quiet. A few other cars, near the entrance to the park, but nothing around us when I eased to a stop at the far end. Old trees drooping low, their trunks not just kissing the wrought iron fence, but in some places grown through it, and around it. Forever entwined.

"This has to stop," I told him, quiet over the sound of the ticking engine. Staring straight ahead, out of the windshield and between the thick trunks.

"You say that every time," Brandon pointed out, equally softly.

I squeezed my eyes shut, for a moment. Until not being able to see the uneven world seemed more terrifying than hiding from it. "It's true every time."

"This is because of your friend, because of Ally, isn't it." He sounded sullen, a sulking child.

I shook my head. "No, this is what I should've said in the first place. When you kissed me that night."

His knee was bouncing, twitching with nervous energy. "You kissed me back. What did he tell you; that you should dump me, or something?"

I chuckled, at his indignant tone, even though nothing about what was happening was funny. "There's nothing to 'dump,' remember. And actually, Ally said the opposite."

Brandon crossed his arms, grumpily. "Maybe he's right. Maybe you should listen to him."

"Maybe you'll say anything, to get your own way." I shook my head. "This is wrong, okay? For my sister, for me, for you."

"Kirsten wouldn't care!"

I laughed. "What did I just suggest, about you saying anything if you thought it'd get you what you wanted? You're proving my point, here."

He banged his fist down, on the edge of the seat. Frustration overflowing. "She wouldn't."

"Forgive me, if I don't take the word of a cheat, and a liar," I told him.

Brandon's glare was acidic. "Just like you're a cheat, and a liar, too, you mean?"

I shook my head. "And who made me that way?"

His expression was a cold sort of amusement. Like I'd just said something hopelessly naive, and he couldn't quite believe I was such a child. "Man up, Anton. I didn't make you do anything that you didn't want to do."

"Maybe," I said, evenly, "you want to watch your fucking mouth, around me."

Brandon smirked. "Is this the part where you threaten to tell my girlfriend?"

"Doesn't she deserve to know, that you're a fucking dirty little sneak?" I could hear the anger in my tone; knew he'd hear it, too. Guilt, and protectiveness, and other emotions all boiling up together, things I didn't want to acknowledge, or didn't even have the words to do so.

"Takes one to know one, Anton," Brandon spat. He unclipped his belt, then pulled at the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" I didn't even realize I was reaching for him, grabbing for his arm, until his bicep was in my fist.

He looked down, at my tight hold on him, then back up at my face. "I thought you said 'this has to stop,'" he reminded me.

I grunted annoyance. "Put your seatbelt back on, fuckboy."

Brandon pulled against my hand, as though testing my grip.

"I said, put your fucking seatbelt back on."

He reached for the door handle again.

"For fuck's sake!"

It was too much, too frustrating, too overwhelming. Ally's taunts, and Brandon calling my bluff, and the simmering, ever-present shame of what we were doing together. How I knew it could hurt someone important to me, someone in my own damn family, and yet despite that knowledge I still kept on making the same fucking mistakes, over and over. So many times, it stopped feeling like a mistake and just like the way the world had to be, thorns and pain and all.

I reached across him, grabbing the belt and yanking it back. Looping the flat, stiff fabric around him and the headrest, then pulling tight. Brandon's neck caught, pinning him to the seat.

He reached up, fingers clawing at the unexpected restraint. Glaring at me as he did it.

"You can breathe just fine, don't fucking start with me," I snapped at him. Only feeling more enraged by his fascinated stare.

"Definitely the behavior of someone who wants all this to stop." His sarcasm was so heavy, it was practically dripping.

I pressed my hand across his mouth. Watched his nostrils flare, Brandon's breath hot against my fingers.

Then looked down, at his hand pawing at my crotch.

Fingers wrapping around the erection I didn't even realize I had, a pointed sort of groping: my arousal impossible for either of us to ignore, to explain away. When I glanced across, it was to see the clear ridge of his own hardness pressing against the loose basketball shorts he'd pulled out of his backpack. The contours of his teen cock so obvious through the silky blue fabric, I knew immediately that he'd gone without underwear.

One hand clamped to his lips, I reached across with the other to yank the lever that sent his seat tilting back. Brandon still noosed to the headrest, his pupils inky swells as he panted against my grip. No resistance, as I reached under his ass and tugged the back of his shorts.

His skin was soft against my knuckles as I bared him. Pushing his knees to the side, against the door, I muscled my way into the gap between his body and the dashboard. My dick pressing against his cheeks through my sweats.

"Not one fucking word," I told him, and pulled my hand away.

Instantly, Brandon reached for me. Hands greedy, tugging at my waistband until I slapped them away.

I shoved my sweatpants down to mid-thigh, then my briefs. Already leaving snail-trails of precum across his skin, where I brushed against him in the tight confines.

Spitting in my hand, I dug my fingers between his cheeks. Rough with him, and knowing he wouldn't complain; wasting no time in pressing two digits inside.

Brandon hissed between clenched teeth, squirmed in the seat. With my other hand, I tugged on the belt, pulling it a fraction tighter around his neck. Watched his eyes narrow at me, lust and grudging obedience.

"One last time," I promised him, and got the nod I knew I would. The jerky, hungry gesture that was grounded in disbelief: Brandon had seen me make that promise a lie, before, after all.

He was still soft from the sauna, still pliant. My fingers twisting in him easily, Brandon wriggling as he tried to press further onto my hand. Hissed frustration when I tugged free of him, even as I was leveling the sticky head of my cock against his hole.

I sunk into him in one, smooth stroke. Savoring the heat of him, the way he squeezed around me.

The angle was different, Brandon twisted at the waist. My strokes gouging into him from fresh angles, as I pushed his legs further back, closer to his chest. His cock was trapped between those clenched thighs, balls tight. Drooling slick, as the car filled with the smell of musk and sweat.

There was something powerful about it, something indescribable. About having him contorted in front of me, ass bared, cock straining. His face flushed, and the black of the seatbelt stark across his neck. Brandon had reached up, gripping the headrest as if to brace himself against my motions.

It was wrong, like it was always wrong, but dangerous, too. Quiet, in the parking lot, but not isolated; no guarantee that some other car might not pull in alongside us, or some hiker or dog walker stroll past and glance inside.

Part of me wanted to be caught, even if I didn't have the full words to explain why. Couldn't encapsulate the perverse urge to be dragged into the light: exposed, my secrets with Brandon laid bare. I knew that, for all I'd threatened him, berated him, I could never bring myself to tell my sister what he'd done. What we'd done. Never willingly make myself the monster that had ruined her relationship.

Guilt saw me stab my hips forward, harder and more aggressive. Brandon's body rocking under me, the noises he made growing guttural, animal. Sweat dripping from my face onto his, as the heat in the cabin grew stifling. The sauna all over again, only this time no Ally to witness my lust, to call me out on it.

I twisted the seatbelt around my hand, pulled it tighter. Watched Brandon's mouth fall open, heard the breath catch as he tried to tilt his head back further.

He didn't try to stop me, though. Had never tried to stop me, and it was that thought, that terrifying liberty, which toppled me over the edge.

The sounds shifting, his hole louder and squishier as I dug at him. Brandon gasping as I released the tension around his neck, hands reaching for my head - cradling my ears in his palms - as I unloaded inside him.

A yelp, as I yanked my cock free. Premature, too, the last spray of cum lacing over his gaping hole.

It was difficult, almost impossible, to drag his hips up. Brandon's back sliding down the seat, eyes wide in surprise and confusion. Chest compressed, legs flailing - his bare knees sliding against the side glass - as I leaned on brute force rather than finesse to upend him.

And then a mewl of shock, as I ducked to lap across him. Tasting myself and his sweat; lavishing long strokes of my tongue between his cheeks, and alternating that with digging into his loosened, sloppy, cream-slicked entrance.

"Anton!"

My name a squeak, a breathless whimper. Disbelief in there too, only I knew from the way his cock throbbed - trapped and weeping precum behind his tightly pressed thighs - that it was pleasure that was overwhelming him.

Nothing graceful, nothing refined about my feasting. Muscling him into an uneasy balance, practically teetering on his shoulders, so that I could slide fingers in alongside my tongue. Pulling him and stretching him, as if it might be possible to reach the same depths my cock had as I railed him.

A cough, of overwhelmed disbelief, as his untouched dick erupted. Spraying cum along the backs of his legs, erection throbbing and twitching as Brandon sobbed beneath me. Overloaded, practically gibbering, as I licked up the underside of his swollen shaft - the sweet torment of my tongue snaking around the flinching tip, as firm as ripe fruit - to gather his ill-aimed boy-slime and then transfer it, glazed across my lips, to his tender hole.

Eventually, I sat back. Banged my head against the roof of the cabin, laughing at the clumsy reality of it, of life reinserting itself. Brandon not so much unfolding, as slumping in whatever way his body might fit. Still panting, words beyond him.

A car had parked up, not that far from us. Apparently I'd been so occupied, I hadn't even noticed.

Pulling my sweatpants up, I eased back over to the driver's seat.

"We should go," I told him. Remembering the last time I'd said those words, and feeling like a foregone conclusion. Predictable, just like Ally had accused me of being. "Get dressed, okay."

He tugged at his shorts with clumsy hands.

"Seatbelt," I reminded him. Softer now, much softer.

"Anton..."

Looking across was a bad idea, a terrible one. "Seatbelt," I repeated.

A sigh, and then the click of the buckle.

"Can we just talk," Brandon tried.

I put the car into reverse, and pulled us out of the space. "There's nothing to talk about."

It wasn't going to be a clean break, I knew that. Resigned myself to ignoring him, whenever Brandon was around to see my sister. To spending more time out of the house; figuring this would maybe be the year I really took my lifting to the next level.

I needn't have worried, it turned out. No sign of him that first night, or the day after.

I'd thought that would make it easier, less annoying. Instead, I just had a ball of tense anticipation deep in my chest.

Kirsten was at the kitchen counter, on her phone, when I walked through to raid the refrigerator. Fingers quickly tapping and sliding at the screen, her drink seemingly forgotten in front of her.

"Hey," I said, twisting the top off a bottle of Gatorade.

She glanced up, clearly distracted. "Hey yourself."

Normal Anton would make a joke. Something about how gratifying it was to have these heartfelt conversations, maybe, and then we'd both laugh, and go on with our lives.

"No Brandon?" I found myself asking, instead. Hating myself, even as the words left my lips.

Kirsten flashed me an uneasy smile. "Uh, no. No Brandon."

It was another opportunity to walk away. Not like she and I had the sort of brother-sister relationship where we talked about our love lives.

I leaned back against the counter. "Something up?"

If she knew, what he and I had been doing, this wouldn't be her reaction. I was sure of that. There'd be shouting, and accusations, and teenage fury to contend with.

That knowledge didn't leave me feeling any more reassured.

"Travis is coming over later," she said, with a mildness that seemed forced.

I frowned. "Travis?"

For a few, long seconds, I thought she wasn't going to reply. Simply sit there, staring at her phone, waiting for me to lose interest and walk away.

I knew I should just walk away. But I didn't.

Kirsten sighed. "I'm seeing him. Travis, I mean. Brandon and I broke up."

There were about sixty questions jostling in my brain, but only one word managed to actually make it to my mouth. "Why?"

She made a face, like that was the last thing she wanted to answer.

"Kirsten?"

Locking her phone, she slapped it down on the counter. "Look, he was a nice guy, but it's not like we were really serious."

Serious enough, I wanted to point out, to be doing a solid impersonation of people practicing for their mouth-to-mouth certification every time I walked into the room. Serious enough for me to be carrying around a smoldering ember of guilt, for the part I'd played in that boyfriend's betrayal. I didn't mention either.

Ex-boyfriend, anyway, some quietly treacherous part of my brain reminded me.

"So, you break up with him one day, and you start things with this Travis guy the next?"

A pause. Kirsten looked away.

"Ah." An audible click, almost, as my brain put the obvious pieces together. "You were already seeing him, before you broke things off with Brandon."

She flashed me a glare, as if daring me to say something.

I shrugged. "Just working out the timelines, sis. No need to bite my head off."

Kirsten opened her mouth, then closed it again. Took a deep breath. "You think I'm a bitch."

Another shrug. "Life happens. I'm not gonna judge you for it."

Not least because it would make me a hypocrite of the worst order.

She grimaced. "I mean, he's nice. Sweet. But Travis..."

"Is a hot jock?" I suggested.

Kirsten frowned. "How did you..."

I laughed, despite everything. "Just a good guess."

There was no way I would tell Ally he was right. He'd never let me forget it.

"Anyway," she continued, "It wasn't like it came as that much of a shock, really. Brandon knew about Travis."

It was my turn to frown. "Wait, what?"

My sister rolled her eyes. "A mutual friend saw us together, and told Brandon. About a week ago, I guess."

The mental math was hard, or maybe my head just wasn't in any fit state to calculate it. To piece together the timeline, of what'd happened that first night in the park, and this fresh revelation.

"He knew?"

"Yes, okay, he knew." Kirsten sounded exasperated, though I got the feeling it was less at me, and more at how she'd handled the situation. "And he was the perfect gentleman about it all, and that made me feel like an even shittier person."

Carefully, I screwed the lid back on my drink. The sugar was making me jittery, suddenly.

"You're not a shitty person," I told her, choosing my words slowly. "You're just... figuring stuff out."

"You really think so?"

It was strange, having her look at me with such clear hope. Enough to make me feel like a real big brother, albeit one still wracked with secret guilt.

"You're eighteen. I think it's kinda expected that you act without thinking everything through, once in a while."

Kirsten made a skeptical face. "As opposed to you, old enough to never screw up."

I thought about Brandon, sprawled across the hood of my car. Gasping as I fingered him from both ends; his glazed eyes as I kissed him hungrily, feeding him back his own load. How he'd looked standing in my bedroom doorway, nervous and antsy. Bouncing from foot to foot, unable to tear his eyes away from my nearly-naked body. And the intensity with which I'd wanted him each time, but refused to admit that. To him, or to myself.

He'd started things, sure, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't taken full advantage of that. Forced things on my terms, and used the specter of his relationship with my sister to demand his compliance.

A specter I hadn't really understood, it turned out, but which Brandon had apparently decided was still worth going along with. Because you make concessions, compromises, in order to get what you really want.

"You can't pick every ending," I told her, nausea settling back down on my stomach, "or please everybody, all the time."

Getting his number had been the easy part; I hadn't even needed to ask Kirsten. Our mom's "emergency contacts" list had grown, over the years, into a sprawling sheet of just about anybody our family had come into contact with. Travis' cell wasn't on there yet, but it was only a matter of time for my sister's latest squeeze.

No, the tricky part was deciding what to actually say in my message.

Finally, I did what I always did whenever something was proving too stressful: put it off, for as long as possible. Which meant driving over to Brandon's house and parking just down the street, hoping my brain would think of something inspired by the time I got there.

It hadn't. I wrote "come outside, we need to talk," and hit send.

I felt too antsy in the car, too contained. Got out, only to feel conspicuous as I waited: a strange young man in a strange vehicle, instantly suspicious in someone else's slice of suburbia. It felt like eyes were on me from all directions, as I leaned against the trunk and tried to remember what casual people looked like.

Seeing Brandon appear at the end of his driveway - glancing left, then right, in curiosity - replaced one sort of nerves with another. I lifted my hand as he spotted me, as if to wave, then dropped it again, feeling ridiculous.

There was a caution there, as he walked along the sidewalk. A wariness.

"Hey," I said. Quieter than I meant to be, but I knew that repeating it would only sound weirder.

"Hey, Anton."

Silence. I wondered if he was intentionally making it hard for me; if this was payback, of a kind. Brandon's chance to retaliate, even if I didn't think he understood my reticence now.

Or maybe, some voice at the back of my head suggested, he's scared. Because you've always been an asshole to him, or at least, you have since he tried to kiss you that first night.

"I heard about you and my sister," I said, because speaking was better than listening to my brain.

Brandon frowned. "Yeah, I figured."

I waited, for him to tell me she'd cheated first. That, even on that first time we'd hooked up, she'd already struck the first betrayal. To wield that knowledge as a sign of his redemption; or, if not quite that, then a justification, at least. His one act of disloyalty against a family of cheats: "an eye for an eye," translated into the lives of eighteen-year-olds.

He didn't, though. Just watched me.

"You knew, though."

Only the vague outline of it, but his expression told me my meaning was clear enough.

"About Travis? Yeah." He shrugged. "He's hot."

"You're hot."

I bit my lip, silently cursing my lacking self-control. This wasn't meant to be some grand declaration; hell, I didn't even have those feelings to declare, not really. No matter what Ally might think, I was so sure I didn't.

Only a week, since he'd kissed me, and I'd kissed him back, and called it a mistake. The alternative was too much for me to even begin to think about.

Brandon shrugged. "Sometimes you just want something... different."

I nodded, slowly. Took the opportunity to look him up and down.

"I hate that fucking cardigan."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know."

Silence. For a beat, anyway.

"We couldn't date," I told him, abruptly. "It'd be..."

"Weird," he finished for me. It wasn't clear if it was agreement, or a question.

"Yeah."

Brandon tilted his head. "But..."

It was my turn to shrug. Not because the words wouldn't come, but because I couldn't be sure it was safe to let them out. Safe to open that particular door.

"But you think I'm hot," Brandon said, because I apparently couldn't.

I shifted slightly, feeling awkward. Transparent. Saw the way his gaze instantly dropped to my crotch; to the heft of my junk through the gray sweatpants.

"Did you wear those for my benefit?" His voice was thicker than a moment before. Eyes still glued to my bulge.

"I know what you like," I agreed. "And I think you know what I like, too."

A nod, slow and thoughtful. "Do we still get to work out together?"

The question wasn't what I expected. Not that the thought of Brandon straining against the weights as I watched him, and then standing next to me in the showers, was an unpleasant one.

"Sure, if you want."

He smiled, just a little. "So, not dating, but..."

"Friends," I suggested.

"Friends," Brandon echoed, "with benefits?"

Dangerous, still. Even without my sister in the picture. But a little more danger couldn't hurt, I decided, and trying to predict the future after that was a fool's game.

It'd only been a week, after all.

I nodded agreement.

"And what if someone else hits on me? Are you gonna go all rage-Anton at them?"

I grit my teeth. It wasn't exactly fair, expecting him to reject other people if I hadn't promised anything more than friendship. Only I knew how my mind worked.

"No," I choked out.

Brandon laughed, though not unkindly. "You're an idiot."

Guess he knew how my mind worked, too.

I thought back, to his comments in the shower. After Ally had hit on him so bluntly. "But maybe they can watch," I added.

His smile spread. "I can live with that."

I grinned back at him. He looked good, in a polo and tailored shorts. Especially if you knew about the tight little body hiding underneath it all. Delicious; if you ditched the cardigan, anyway.

Digging in my hoodie pocket, I pulled out the bottle and tossed it to him. Watched him catch it, against his chest, and then hold it up to read the label.

Brandon was smirking when he met my eye again. "And this is because..." He brandished the lube.

I stood up, took a step closer to him. Pleased by his expression as he looked up at me, all nerves and anticipation. Enjoying the way his tongue darted out, flickering across his lips. The feeling of promise.

"Get in the back, hole, and get yourself ready," I told him, jerking my head toward the car. "We're taking a ride."

** The End **

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