Brody moved through his shift at the coffee shop on autopilot, the hum of the espresso machine and the chatter of customers blending into a dull backdrop. His hands worked the register, steamed milk, wiped counters, but his mind was somewhere else—locked on Sean. Every thought circled back to him: the warmth of his voice over breakfast, the teasing weight of stud, the almost-confession that had hung in the air before Sean cut himself off. Brody’s chest felt tight, like his feelings were too big for his body, spilling over into every moment of the day.

He was wearing Sean’s jockstrap still, the fabric snug against his skin, a secret tether to the man who’d taken over his thoughts. He hadn’t changed it, hadn’t even considered it, despite the possibility of a stray whiff of musk, a knowing glance—but the truth was, he didn’t care. He needed it, needed that closeness to Sean, like carrying a piece of him through the mundane grind of his shift. It was reckless, intimate, and it made his heart race every time he shifted and felt the jock move against him.

His mind drifted to the gym, the plan to meet Sean there later. He pictured himself standing over Sean on the bench press, spotting him, their bodies so close—Sean’s face inches from his crotch, his breath warm and steady. The image was vivid, searing: Sean’s muscles flexing under the bar, his eyes flicking up to meet Brody’s, maybe lingering a little too long. Brody’s pulse quickened, a flush creeping up his neck. Would he be able to keep it together, or would his body betray him? He imagined the jockstrap doing its job, containing any evidence of his arousal, holding his feelings for Sean in check like a dam against a flood. It was a flimsy shield, but it was all he had—concealing the want that surged every time he thought of Sean’s hands, his laugh, his body.

“Uh, sorry ma’am, I was just thinking about something,” he said, snapping back to reality as a customer waved a hand to get his attention. Someone, his brain corrected sharply, and he felt a pang of guilt, like he’d been caught. “I know, I know,” he muttered under his breath, as if arguing with himself. He forced a smile, handed over the latte, and turned back to the counter, but the truth was undeniable. He’d never felt this way about anyone before—not the guys on the rugby team with their quick, no-strings hookups, not the fleeting crushes that fizzled out before they could take root. Those were boys, fumbling and unsure like him. Sean was different—a man, older, more developed, radiating a confidence and strength that made Brody’s stomach twist. He was solid, grounded in a way that felt like an anchor, and Brody couldn’t pretend anymore that what he felt was just brotherly. It was more—sharper, deeper, a pull that was equal parts thrill and terror. It couldn’t happen, right? But was it love? How could he fall in love with his brother, and could that love be returned in a healthy way?

His thoughts kept spiraling, each one more vivid than the last. He pictured Sean at the gym, sweat slicking his skin, droplets catching the light as they rolled down his neck, his chest, his abs. Brody could almost smell him again, that heady musk from breakfast, now amplified by exertion, filling the air between them. He twitched at the thought, a small, involuntary jolt that made him grip the counter to steady himself. He glanced around, half-expecting someone to notice, but the shop was busy, oblivious to the storm inside him. Every image of Sean—his biceps straining, his shirt clinging to his frame, the way he might grin up at Brody while catching his breath—sent another spark through him. It was maddening, how Sean had taken over every corner of his mind, how even the simplest tasks felt charged with anticipation.

Brody tried to focus, wiping down the espresso machine with more force than necessary. He’d always been good at compartmentalizing—shoving his feelings into a box to get through the day—but Sean was breaking that apart. Growing up in a house where emotions were either ignored or weaponized, Brody had learned to keep himself small, to avoid wanting too much. But Sean made him want—made him imagine things he’d never dared before, like being seen, being touched, being chosen. The gym loomed in his mind like a promise and a test. Would he be able to stand that close to Sean, to watch him move and breathe and sweat, without giving himself away? Would Sean notice the way Brody’s eyes lingered, the way his hands might shake when he passed him a weight?

He checked the clock—still a couple of hours left in his shift, then he’d be free to meet Sean. The thought sent a fresh wave of nerves and excitement through him, his body buzzing with it. He wanted to be there already, to step into that space where Sean was larger than life, where every glance and brush of contact felt like it could mean something. He wanted to smell him, to watch the way his body moved, to let himself feel the full force of this thing he couldn’t name yet. For now, though, he had to keep it together, to pour coffee and smile at customers and pretend his world wasn’t tilting on its axis. But as he rang up the next order, the jockstrap shifted against his skin, a quiet reminder of Sean, and Brody let himself hold onto that feeling, reckless and real, for just a little longer.