Brody pushed the last bite of pancake around his plate, the kitchen still humming with the warmth of their breakfast banter. His mind, though, was elsewhere—caught in the memory of Sean’s green eyes locking with his, the jockstrap swap, the word stud that still echoed like a challenge he didn’t know how to answer. The jockstrap he was wearing, Sean’s, felt like a secret pressed against his skin, making every moment in Sean’s presence feel charged, precarious. He was trying to act normal, to keep up the rhythm of their friendship, but the air between them felt different now, heavier with possibility.

Sean leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, like he was studying Brody in a way that made his stomach flip. “Well, do you want to go to the gym together?” he asked, his voice casual but carrying a weight that pinned Brody in place. “I was planning on going today anyways.”

Brody’s fork stilled, his heart giving a quick, unsteady thud. The idea of working out with Sean—being in that close, sweaty space, watching his body move, being near him in a way that was both familiar and newly overwhelming—sent a rush of heat through him. “Sh-sure thing,” he stammered, his voice betraying the flustered knot in his chest. He cursed himself silently for sounding so unsteady, like the 18-year-old kid he still felt like around Sean, the older guy who seemed to have it all figured out.

Sean’s lips curved into a half-smile, and he leaned closer across the table, closing the small distance between them. “Maybe you can spot me, hey, bro?” he said, his tone low and teasing, the word bro landing with a warmth that felt more intimate than it should.

Brody’s breath caught as Sean’s scent hit him—clean sweat, a hint of the same musk he’d inhaled from the night before, now vivid and real. It was comforting, grounding, like a tether to something safe, but it was also dangerously arousing, stirring the same restless ache he’d been fighting since yesterday. He couldn’t help it—he inhaled slightly, a quiet, instinctive pull, hoping Sean wouldn’t notice. The smell wrapped around him, pulling him deeper into thoughts he was trying so hard to push away: Sean’s body pressed close, their breaths mingling, the heat of skin on skin. His face warmed, and he stared down at his plate, hoping his reaction wasn’t written all over him.

If Sean noticed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he lingered there, his face close enough that Brody could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to catch the morning light. The moment stretched, heavy and unspoken, until Sean finally leaned back, breaking the spell. He stretched his arms over his head, the motion casual but deliberate, his shirt riding up to reveal a slice of taut midriff. Brody’s gaze snapped to it before he could stop himself—Sean’s abs, tight and defined, a testament to hours at the gym and a discipline Brody envied. The sight was magnetic, pulling at every fantasy he’d been trying to suppress. He longed to reach out, to trace the lines of muscle with his fingers, to feel the warmth of Sean’s skin under his hands. The thought was so vivid it stole his breath, and he forced his eyes away, focusing on the table, the pancakes, anything to anchor himself.  What was he thinking?  But every attempt to suppress it failed.

His mind was a mess, spiraling with want and guilt. He’d been thinking about Sean almost constantly since they’d met—since that first tackle on the rugby field only yesterday, when his weight had pinned Sean down, their laughter mingling in the grass. That moment had planted a seed, one that had grown thorns since Brody moved in, since the jockstrap swap, since every small gesture Sean made started to feel like it meant more. Now, sitting here, he was drowning in it. He wanted to be closer to Sean, to cross the line from brothers to something else, but the idea terrified him. He was still figuring himself out—barely out to himself, let alone anyone else—and Sean was older, experienced, a guy who could probably have anyone he wanted. What would he see in Brody, his kid brother! He was still piecing together a life that felt like it was always one step from falling apart, would Sean really consider it?  Was it wrong?

The worst part was how it was starting to bleed into everything. Brody had a shift at the coffee shop later, and he could already feel his focus slipping, his head too full of Sean to juggle orders or banter with customers. If he couldn’t get his act together, he’d fumble through the day, dropping cups or spacing out mid-conversation. He needed to get a grip, to lock these feelings away before they spilled over and ruined the one good thing he had going—Sean, the way he made Brody feel seen, cared for, in a way he’d never known before.

Sean lowered his arms, his shirt settling back into place, and leaned forward again, oblivious to the storm he’d kicked up in Brody’s head. “So, what time you free?” he asked, his voice pulling Brody back to the present. “I’m thinking late afternoon, give us time to mess around with some new lifts.”

Brody nodded, swallowing hard to steady himself. “Yeah, sounds good,” he managed, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. He picked up his fork again, stabbing at a piece of pancake just to have something to do with his hands. But as he glanced at Sean, catching the easy confidence in his posture, the faint curve of his smile, Brody felt that pull again—sharp, undeniable, and growing harder to ignore with every second they spent together.