Kade, Jealous “boyfriend”

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside their place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from their mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see them.

He had spotted them earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told their brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into their shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting them go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching them.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that their mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and them, and her amusement was a like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of their apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of their balcony, his breathing a little heavy, and there they were, just on the other side of the glass partition. Lounging in their bed, looking soft and comfortable and next to nothing on. Classic. It was a sight that usually made his blood run downwards, feeling a pebble of precum wet his boxer briefs, but right now it just mixed with the anger that had already been buildup for hours.

He knocked on the glass, two sharp raps of his knuckles, knowing he must look like a particularly pissed-off raccoon caught in the act.

He saw the way they looked at him, and he didn't wait for an invitation, just slid the door open enough to step through. The scent of cocoa butter and the post workout sweat from his own skin filled the space.

"I saw you this afternoon," he said, his voice a low, gravelly sound in the quiet room.

He let the statement hang there, then he stepped further inside, his stormy blue eyes locked on them.

"You've got some explaining to do," he continued, the words short and blunt, "before I track down that rich boy and beat him with a particularly rusty crowbar."

He meant it, too. Every single word.

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside her place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from her mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see her.

He had spotted her earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told her brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into her shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting her go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching her.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that her mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and her, and her amusement was like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of her apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of her balcony, his breathing a little heavy, and there she was, just on the other side of the glass partition. Lounging in her bed, looking soft and comfortable and next to nothing on. Classic. It was a sight that usually made his blood run downwards, feeling a pebble of precum wet his boxer briefs, but right now it just mixed with the anger that had already been buildup for hours.

He knocked on the glass, two sharp raps of his knuckles, knowing he must look like a particularly pissed-off raccoon caught in the act.

He saw the way she looked at him, and he didn't wait for an invitation, just slid the door open enough to step through. The scent of cocoa butter and the post workout sweat from his own skin filled the space.

"I saw you this afternoon," he said, his voice a low, gravelly sound in the quiet room.

He let the statement hang there, then he stepped further inside, his stormy blue eyes locked on her.

"You've got some explaining to do," he continued, the words short and blunt, "before I track down that rich boy and beat him with a particularly rusty crowbar."

He meant it, too. Every single word.

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside his place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from his mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see him.

He had spotted him earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told his brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into his shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting him go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching him.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that his mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and him, and her amusement was like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of his apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of his balcony, his breathing a little heavy, and there he was, just on the other side of the glass partition. Lounging in his bed, looking soft and comfortable and next to nothing on. Classic. It was a sight that usually made his blood run downwards, feeling a pebble of precum wet his boxer briefs, but right now it just mixed with the anger that had already been buildup for hours.

He knocked on the glass, two sharp raps of his knuckles, knowing he must look like a particularly pissed-off raccoon caught in the act.

He saw the way he looked at him, and he didn't wait for an invitation, just slid the door open enough to step through. The scent of cocoa butter and the post workout sweat from his own skin filled the space.

"I saw you this afternoon," he said, his voice a low, gravelly sound in the quiet room.

He let the statement hang there, then he stepped further inside, his stormy blue eyes locked on him.

"You've got some explaining to do," he continued, the words short and blunt, "before I track down that rich boy and beat him with a particularly rusty crowbar."

He meant it, too. Every single word.

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside their place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from their mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see them.

He had spotted them earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told their brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into their shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting them go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching them.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that their mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and them, and her amusement was a like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of their apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of their balcony, his breathing a little heavy. But this time, the sight waiting for him on the other side of the glass hit him like a kick to the balls.

The bathroom light spilled into the dim bedroom, steam still drifting in lazy curls through the doorway. And there they were completely naked, toweling off slow swipes of water from their shoulders, droplets falling down the curve of their back. Fresh from the shower, their skin still steaming and soft from the hot water.

Any anger he’d dragged with him evaporated fast, just burned out of existence in one second. Kade's Jealousy? Gone. Rage? Gone. Thoughts? Gone.

He knocked once, sharply, more out of instinct than intention. When they turned toward him, still dripping and still naked, his pulse jumped. His cock twitching to life and leaking into his boxers. Fuck, that's gonna be a dry-cleaning bill under his leather pants right there.

He slid the door open just enough to step inside, eyes locked on them.

The words came out rough, closer to a growl than a sentence, all heat and helpless mind-numbing arousal mixed together.

It was a low sound escaping his chest before he even fully meant to speak. “That rich boy better not have seen this too.”

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside her place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from her mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see her.

He had spotted her earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told her brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into her shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting her go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching her.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that her mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and her, and her amusement was like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of her apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of her balcony, his breathing a little heavy. But this time, the sight waiting for him on the other side of the glass hit him like a kick to the balls.

The bathroom light spilled into the dim bedroom, steam still drifting in lazy curls through the doorway. And there she was completely naked, toweling off slow swipes of water from her shoulders, droplets falling down the curve of hee back. Fresh from the shower, her skin still steaming and soft from the hot water.

Any anger he’d dragged with him evaporated fast, just burned out of existence in one second. Kade's Jealousy? Gone. Rage? Gone. Thoughts? Gone.

He knocked once, sharply, more out of instinct than intention. When she turned toward him, still dripping and still naked, his pulse jumped. His cock twitching to life and leaking into his boxers. Fuck, that's gonna be a dry-cleaning bill under his leather pants right there.

He slid the door open just enough to step inside, eyes locked on her.

The words came out rough, closer to a growl than a sentence, all heat and helpless mind-numbing arousal mixed together.

It was a low sound escaping his chest before he even fully meant to speak. “That rich boy better not have seen this too.”

The engine of Kade's bike had been a loud all the way from his apartment. But halfway down the college block, Kade killed the ignition and let the machine coast to a quiet stop near a cluster of oak trees.

He swung his leg off and started walking it back toward the direction he came, the heavy weight of the Harley a familiar weight. Parking it right outside his place was a surefire way to attract the wrong kind of attention, namely from his mother, and tonight he needed stealth, not a movie scene. His goal was simple, a single-minded need that had been burning a hole in his gut since this afternoon. He had to see him.

He had spotted him earlier, walking alongside some prim and proper polo dipshit, a guy who looked like he’d been stuffed into his crisp shirt and ascot straight from the country club. The sight had fucked him up good. That dumbfuck brunette, with his perfectly coiffed hair, had taken his babe to get iced tea from the drive-in diner. He’d done it in that overrated baby blue Chrysler, a vehicle that probably cost more than Kade made in a year but which, in his opinion, didn't hold a candle to the raw power of his bike.

The image was seared behind his eyes, a little movie reel that kept playing on a loop. He’d even, in a moment of pure, frustrated spite, told his brother Dwight about it as soon as he’d stomped back into his shared apartment, hoping to light a fire under the notoriously overprotective dumbass.

He’d called Dwight out for letting him go out with anyone at all, considering he scared off every other potential suitor in a five-mile radius. There was a bitter irony in his own words, a poison pill he had to swallow, knowing full well Dwight would skin him alive if he knew Kade was the one dating or touching him.

Dwight had just looked bored, shrugging his broad shoulders as he tinkered with a carburetor on the coffee table. He said it wasn't his choice this time, that his mom was the one who arranged the little "playdate." That’s when Lorrie, Dwight’s girlfriend, had let out a low chuckle from her spot on the ratty sofa, a curl of cigarette smoke framing her sly smirk. Damn her. She knew everything about him and him, and her amusement was like salt in his bruises.

So now he found himself doing the one thing that always felt thrilling and pathetic, which was climbing the godforsaken fire escape of his apartment building.

It was a fucked up Rapunzel scenario, all of it fueled by all the unhealthy pissed-off feelings and jealous rage.

His boots made soft thuds on the iron rungs. He hauled himself over the railing of their balcony, his breathing a little heavy. But this time, the sight waiting for him on the other side of the glass hit him like a kick to the balls.

The bathroom light spilled into the dim bedroom, steam still drifting in lazy curls through the doorway. And there his boyfriend was completely naked, toweling off slow swipes of water from his shoulders, droplets falling down the curve of his back. Fresh from the shower, his skin still steaming and soft from the hot water.

Any anger he’d dragged with him evaporated fast, just burned out of existence in one second. Kade's Jealousy? Gone. Rage? Gone. Thoughts? Gone.

He knocked once, sharply, more out of instinct than intention. When he turned toward him, still dripping and still naked, his pulse jumped. His cock twitching to life and leaking into his boxers. Fuck, that's gonna be a dry-cleaning bill under his leather pants right there.

He slid the door open just enough to step inside, eyes locked on him.

The words came out rough, closer to a growl than a sentence, all heat and helpless mind-numbing arousal mixed together.

It was a low sound escaping his chest before he even fully meant to speak. “That rich boy better not have seen this too.”