Luca
Family game nightsare a big deal in the Adler-Hart household. Anytime we’re all together, we have one. Thanksgiving is no different.
We’re done eating dinner and Dad is cleaning up the kitchen while the rest of us decide what game we want to play. Board games are always a crowd favorite, which is why we all unanimously decide on Monopoly. Our game nights tend to get heated, as almost everyone at the table is insanely competitive.
My grandparents went to bed already, but everyone else is going to participate in the game. Branson and I make ourselves Jack and Cokes, with more Jack than Coke. Our parents aren’t too strict about drinking, since we’re adults and it’s done in the house. Dad is having one too.
Whenever we play, I am always the dog and Branson is always the top hat. Don’t ask me why; it’s been like that for years. Everyone else chooses their pieces, and the game begins. Branson and I are sitting across from one another at the card table, and I can’t help but steal glances at him from time to time.
Dressed comfortably, he’s in gray sweatpants and his black WSU sweatshirt. He’s also wearing a backwards Nike hat, and fuck if it doesn’t look good. He doesn’t wear hats too often, but it fucking works for him.
He takes a drink from his glass, and I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down while he swallows. It really shouldn’t be as mesmerizing as it is. Setting the glass on the table, he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and that damn tongue ring makes an appearance. I’ve been finding myself staring at him more frequently these days. Like I’m unable to control myself.
Even if we refuse to voice it, things have changed between us. We’re clearly trying to fight it, but if I can feel it, he has to too. Our gazes last a little longer than they used to, we find any excuse to brush up against one another, and we’ve spent almost every waking moment here together. Hell, even when we sleep. I don’t know if Branson knows that I remember him coming into my bed last night, but I do.
This was the second time we have slept in the same bed together, but the first time that I got to fall asleep in his arms. It was amazing and thrilling, and I’ve never felt so safe before. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t disappointed when I woke up this morning alone, but I get it.
I’m finally admitting to myself that he means something to me, more than a stepbrother. It’s wrong, but I care about him on a deeper level.
I want to be able to sleep in his arms every night, know what it’s like to kiss him, feel his tongue ring massage my mouth. Explore all parts of his body extensively, give myself to him fully. Let him own me.
I’m not even gay… or submissive, but I want it anyway.
Realizing I’m zoning out, staring right at him, I look across the table and see Sarah watching me. She doesn’t seem concerned or like she’s judging.
She seems curious.
I know she has seen me staring at him other times since we arrived yesterday. I should probably be more careful.
I look like a creep.
Deciding to step away from the table for a minute before I climb across and do something crazy, like mount him in front of our family, I clear my throat and say, “I’m getting a refill, anyone want one too?”
“I’ll take one,” Branson says with a smile. “Thanks, man.”
Dad drinks the rest of his. “Put me down for one too, Son. Thanks.”
I’ll be making mine a double.
Bringing our drinks back, we resume playing. Game nights always last a while, especially Monopoly. Things quickly become tense between the guys. Sarah always laughs at our extreme competitiveness.
By the time we finish the game, it’s almost eleven. Sarah is crowned the champion because, of course, the least competitive one wins. We’re all tired after the long day and the drinks we’ve had, so we decide to call it a night. I’m so exhausted that I don’t think I will have any trouble falling asleep.
Branson’s grandparents head off to the guesthouse, and our parents head to their room. The master is on the main level of the house, while our rooms are upstairs. Branson and I go our separate ways once we reach the top of the stairs, and every part of me wants to follow him into his bed and stay there all night.
* * *
Lying down in a bed that isn’t mine, I can’t sleep. I want to go home. I’m uncomfortable, my stomach is in knots, and I want to hide.
Heavy footsteps sound outside the door. I can tell they’re coming toward the room I’m in, and stomach twists painfully. I already know what’s coming. Lately, he always shows up when I spend the night. He waits until everyone else is asleep.
He hasn’t always been like this. He only started coming into my bed at night recently. He says it’s because I’m becoming such a good, handsome boy. I don’t know why, but that makes me feel icky.
The door quietly opens, and his large body enters the room. It’s completely dark in here, so all I really see is the outline of him. Slamming my eyes shut, I pretend I’m asleep.
Maybe he’ll go away.
Maybe tonight will be different.
When I feel the bed dip with his weight, I know tonight will be no different.
I smell him before I feel him.
He smells like a mix of onions and laundry soap. It makes my nose scrunch up.
“I know you’re awake, Luca.” His gruff voice and the hands he’s running through my hair cause me to jump. I hate his hands on me. It feels so wrong.
“I’m here to make you feel good, boy.”
He always says this. He’s here to make me feel good, but he doesn’t make me feel good. He makes me feel bad.
With my eyes still shut, I quietly plead, “I really want to go to sleep. Can I just go to sleep tonight? Please?”
He shifts on the bed so he’s fully lying beside me, dragging my body up against his.
Shivering, I swallow down the bile threatening to come up my throat. The smell of him is overwhelming and I can feel something hard against my body.
He’s still petting my hair and running one hand down my back.
“Please, I’m so tired. I’ll be a good boy and sleep.”
Rubbing his lower body against my legs, I feel the hard thing again. He groans, his stinky breath fanning my face.
No, no. I don’t want this.
I never want this.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this.
I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter as his hand slides up my stomach, underneath my shirt.
NO.
PLEASE.