Home Grown - 1. Part One

“I can’t believe that you can watch that shit.” Reilly reached over to grab the remote, but Brayden was quicker. The television stayed tuned into the reality life show. Reilly flopped onto the long sofa and stretched out, hooking his feet over the padded armrest. Lazily, he toed off his boots and flung his ball cap towards the hook on the wall. He missed, but didn’t get up to tidy up. “Seriously, why do you do it?”

“It’s like staring at an unfolding car crash,” Brayden tucked his hair behind one ear in a gesture that Reilly found adorable. The boy’s hair was getting longer again, it hadn’t been cut since the beginning of summer and now the chocolate locks were long enough curl at the nape of his neck, “All these people lying and keeping secrets. The whole lot getting unearthed on TV in front of an audience, it’s funny.”

“Really?” Reilly yawned, a hand over his mouth, “I think it sounds awful.”

“I like trying to guess people’s reactions. And the stories are so convoluted. See this guy?” Reilly tracked on screen a fat redneck that had clearly let the beer get to him. “He’s been sleeping with the blond girl, but she’s gotten pregnant and he says it’s not his. The black dude has also been screwing around with her, but she says not, and then the fat guy’s little brother says the black dude’s been fucking him and all. They’re about to bring the parents on. It’ll be mad.”

“Remind me why I love you again?” Reilly thumbed open the fly of his work jeans and flapped the hem of his wife-beater shirt. Despite the ceiling fan going, it was just as hot as outside, “We need a good storm.”

“Suppose that means you don’t want sofa snuggles then?” Brayden was smiling, that slightly lopsided soft grin, teeth biting his bottom lip that Reilly had long ago learnt to associate with the younger guy feeling horny and romantic. He open out one arm and exhaled as Brayden fitted himself along his side, “Anyway. You’re just as bad. You watch that ‘New York Ink’ rubbish.”

“That’s because Ami James is hot.” Reilly ran a hand through his buzzed hair, wishing he could somehow cool down properly, “And I like the tats that girl Megan does.”

Brayden ran his fingers over the dark lines of Reilly’s most recent tattoo. The roses were dark but beautiful, spiky and excellently detailed, forming a cap over his left shoulder.

“So I’d be more attractive if I shaved my head and got tattoos?” Brayden punched his arm and Reilly grabbed the boy and pulled him onto his chest.

“No way. I like your hair,” He wrapped a hand around the back of the boy’s head, letting the silken locks slide through his fingers, “And you’re too young for tats.”

“I’ll be eighteen in like two months.” Brayden tried to pout, but he was smiling too much. He kissed the older boy, softly, and too chaste for Reilly’s liking.

“Yeah, too young. Just ‘cause I done got tattooed when I was sixteen doesn’t mean you should do it too.” On the screen, noise and the bleeped out sounds of expletives erupted as the parentage of the foetus was revealed. Reilly grabbed the remote and muted the television, “That’s god awful boy. What did you say the show was called again?”

“Pandora’s Box,” Brayden took the remote and turned off the set altogether, “You know, like after the Greek myth.”

“I know. I might not be smart but I did go ta school.” Reilly wrapped his arms more firmly around his companion and squeezed his butt.

“You’re plenty smart,” Brayden was blushing behind his tan a little bit, his eyes hooded and lustful. Reilly bent to kiss him, properly this time, and groaned under the onslaught of the other’s lips and talented tongue. “You smell like the outdoors.”

Reilly grinned, but his face fell when he heard the front door click. He sat up, keeping his arms around the boy who was now straddling his lap.

“Is today a good day to tell them?” He let Brayden go and the other boy fell back into the armchair. The television turned back on, “I smell like sweat and road dust. I’m going for a shower.”

“Hey boys.” In the doorway stood a middle aged but handsome women wearing a uniform for the local grocery store, bearing the name tag Eileen, “You’re back early Rei.”

“We had to get all the trucks in for a service down at Robson’s. I’mma gonna take a shower before dinner.”

“Alright, you too Brayden,” She smiled at them, warm and happy, “Both of you get washed up for supper before you’re Daddy gets home. Baby set the table while your brother takes his shower.”

Brayden turned off the television again and grumbled as he got too his feet, the act of playing grumpy teenage son covering for the sudden lack of privacy.

“Please tell me we’re not having meatloaf again?”

“Nope. We had steaks going cheap at work. Treat night guys.”

“Awesome.” Reilly grinned, and kissed his mother’s cheek as he mounted the stairs two at a time, “Peach cobbler for afters too?”

“Not again!” Brayden growled, “Anything but peaches.”

“Sorry little brother.” Reilly used the phrase that was guaranteed to get him the cold shoulder later, if only for a little while, “But it’s my favourite.” He left his younger sibling to his grouching, and dashed into the shower.

That had been close. It was getting close every time now. If they hadn’t turned the television off and if Ma hadn’t called out to them, there was no guarantee that either of them would have heard her arrive home. They’d have been caught cuddling on the sofa like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

We are lovesick teenagers… Reilly spent about two minutes flogging himself over the situation before casting the guilt aside. One of these days they were going to get properly caught and not the lucky escape like back at Easter, when he’d managed to convince his Father that he’d just been rough housing his brother. That had earnt him a hard flogging with the belt, but it had been worth it to keep Brayden safe. Rei, he told himself sternly, stepping into the shower, one of these days you’re not going to be able to protect him anymore.

*

Shower done and dusted, Reilly scrubbed at his hair for about ten seconds, then pulled on one of his two pairs of good jeans and a fresh t-shirt for dinner. He would never be allowed to eat in his work clothes, fresh from working with the road crews. Friday meant payday, and Reilly found the roll of green in his pocket, peeled off a couple of notes to give to his mother, then re-rolled the cash and lifted his mattress. Tucked down the back was one of Brayden’s long high-school PE kit socks. Reilly stuffed the money deep into the sock and placed it back under the bed.

He’d saved everything. Sure he went out, but rarely, kept his drinking to a minimum, never spent more money on gas than he needed. He had saved damn near all of every pay check he’d earnt since he finished high school, and a damn lot before that too. He’d started saving the first time he’d realised that what he had with his brother wasn’t some weird teenage experimentation for either of them, and wasn’t going to end anytime soon. That day, lying in the bluffs by the river, nothing but the sound of crickets and his younger brother’s breathing, the distant hum of farm machinery hauling in cotton and corn, seventeen year old Reilly had realised that one day everything was going to come out in the open, and that he’d better have a bloody good way of taking care of the boy he loved. If they had to get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry, then he needed to be equipped to do it.

There must be damn near twenty thousand dollars in that sock, Reilly ran a hand through his hair again, and straightened the covers on his bed. It’d better be enough.

The sound of an engine cutting off in the driveway meant that they’re Father was back, so Reilly hustled himself downstairs, and was just in time to take the cut glass water jug and the glasses from his mother and carry them to the table where Brayden was setting out cutlery.

“Evening darlin’,” Father put down his briefcase and hugged his wife with one arm, kissing her temple, “Boy, Bray.”

“Evenin’ Sir.” Reilly replied, with a quick nod of his head. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had actually used his name. Then his eyes fixed on the figure behind his father, “Uncle Travis.”

“You joining us for dinner Travis?” Eileen called from the kitchen, “There’s plenty to go around.”

“As long as you don’t mind Eileen.”

“Course not. Brayden lay an extra place for your uncle.” As Brayden started to shuffle the place settings, Reilly kicked out a chair and sat down, never taking his eyes from his uncle face. The man hadn’t been expecting to see him.

“I missed your truck out there Son.” Travis said, settling himself down in what would have been their mother’s chair, “Something happen to it?”

Reilly could barely stop himself from snarling. He dug his short fingernails into his other arm, just to keep from lashing out.

“It’s at the shop with all the fleet trucks. Made sense, service was due any day anyway.”

“Smart boy,” Father clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed, sitting at the head of the table, “Everything go well today?”

Reilly busied himself with the manly small talk of work and haulage, which was all he and his father seemed to have in common these days. He kept an eye on his uncle at all times. He hated to think that he was related in any way to the greasy scum, who in fact looked anything but in his neat shirt and jeans. Father was the smarter of the two brothers, the accountant for the big farm and feed supplier where Travis worked on the floor, selling corn and fertiliser. Reilly didn’t know where his uncle had developed his taste for debauchery, underage boys and rape, but he’d never been subject to it. Built big and broad shouldered like his father, football player in high school and keen to get out and do things with his hands, he’d obviously been neglected by his uncle’s tastes. Brayden on the other hand…

Eileen and Brayden served everyone and when his mother took the seat next to him, Reilly nearly snarled. Brayden ended up sitting next to Travis, where he looked deeply uncomfortable and picked at his food, even though he loved steak and pepper sauce. Reilly ate quickly, not tasting anything at all. He kept his eyes on his brother, and when he was sure that everyone else was distracted mouthed ‘I love you’ across the table. Brayden blushed into his plate. They chatted about the food, Travis praised his mother’s cooking and Father praised the home grown vegetables. Reilly managed to keep up a semblance of normality. When everyone was finished, Reilly helped to clear plates and reluctantly walked with his mother to the kitchen to help serve out the cobbler. Here he was, being a good and dutiful son, and unable to protect his brother.

*

The first time… The first time Bray had run into their room and slammed the door, Reilly had put down his American History text book and sighed; ready to berate his brother for whatever was making him snivel.

“What’s the matter, you not catch any fish? You fell in the river?” When Brayden hadn’t answered, just stayed with his front pressed to the door, shaking, Reilly had sat up, bare feet on the floor and frowned, “Bray? Bud, what’s up?”

The mumble that followed made no sense.

“Huh?” Reilly had gotten up and walked the length of their top storey room to the door. One hand against the door, keeping it shut, “Tell me.”

“Do you think that if I was stronger, I’d be safe?” the words were barely audible, and Reilly turned his brother around to look at him. At fourteen years old, Brayden was skinny and a bit on the pale side, but he was shaking like a cotton ball in the throes of a gale. Reilly looked down into pale sky blue eyes that matched his own and frowned. Brayden still smelt of the river, his hair was a mess, his shirt rumpled. Salt tracks down his cheeks made it obvious that he’d run home crying.

“What happened?”

Brayden hid his face in Reilly t-shirt, snuffling into the fabric, and told him.

“Uncle Travis took me fishing. He was helping me r-r-reel in a fish. He stood behind me…” Brayden sniffed and gulped, and Reilly found himself stroking the back of his brother’s hair, hugging him like he hadn’t done since they were little kids. “H-h-he s-stood behind m-m-me and he put his a-arms around me and started t-t-touching me…” Reilly growled as his brain reeled forwards and finished his brother’s sentence before he got there, “And he was rubbing himself against me and telling m-m-me w-what a g-g-g-”

“Don’t.” Reilly pulled his younger brother into a tighter hug, “You don’t have to finish. Come on, let’s get you washed and dried before mom and Father get home ‘kay?”

By the time Reilly had waited, sitting on the lid of the toilet while his brother showered, helped him dry his hair, and gotten him dressed again and filled him full of ice cream from the bottom drawer of the freezer, he’d fully worked through what his brother had told him. Their uncle Travis, his Father’s brother, had touched Brayden’s cock and balls. Violated him a in a private manner. Reilly thought of that face smiling at him from across the dining table last Thanksgiving and wanted to smash something. He’d been a good brother to Brayden, protected him, stood up for him, even helped him with his homework. He’d teased his little brother, they’d fought over toys and stupid shit and all the usual things. And now he’d failed to protect him. That day, Reilly had sworn that he’d never leave Brayden alone with the man ever again.

He was jolted out of the memory as he returned to the dining room. How no one else saw it, he didn’t know, but Travis was sitting, chatting to his father about stock intake and sales, with his hand under the table. He was squeezing and kneading Brayden’s thigh, close to his crotch, and Brayden was staring at the table, visibly shaking and looking sick. Reilly managed to knock his elbow hard against Travis’s skull as he passed.

“Whoops.” He put the dishes down with a thud, “Sir, I was going to go hang out with the guys tonight.” He grinned over at his mother, “And this time they even said that Bray could come and hang out with us. I swear, no drinking.”

“Like I believe that,” Father shook his head. “You can have one, each. Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir.” The brother’s intoned automatically. Reilly bolted his dessert, took his bowl to the kitchen, and grinned into the sink as he felt his brother’s presence arrive next to him.

“Shit.” Brayden’s whisper was so low even Reilly could barely hear it over the noise of the tap and the clinking dishes, “Thanks.”

“Grab your keys Bray. Let’s bounce.”

They made it to the end of the road before Reilly reached over and killed the engine. Brayden was shaking so bad that he could barely drive. He put the battered SUV in park and sat back in the seat with a deep sigh. Reilly reached out and cupped his hand around the back of Brayden's neck, cradling him.

“C’mere sugar.”

It took Brayden no more than ten seconds to remove his seat belt, climb over the central console and straddle his brother’s thighs. His spine sagged, and he ended up boneless and cuddly in Reilly’s lap.

“Feel better now Bray?” Lips on the side of his neck told him that he was right, “I’m sorry. I should never have left you.”

“You can’t be with me every hour of every day Rei.” Brayden ran his fingers over the back of his brother’s short hair and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“Love you too, bro.” Reilly hugged his younger sibling against his chest, tightening his arms in the way that Brayden liked. He liked to be reminded that he was strong, solid, and real. Reilly hugged him until his arms hurt, then kissed him softly until Brayden’s eyes lit up again. “So you wanna go hang out with the guys, or d’you wanna go somewhere else?”

“One beer?” Brayden wriggled his hips suggestively, before sliding back over to his side of the car, “And then maybe a trip out past the cotton fields?”

“Anything you want cher.” Reilly laid his arm along the back of the seat and rubbed the back of his lover’s neck.

Brayden drove them out to the old drive-in where every teenager from sixteen to twenty went to drink and smoke and muck around in the late summer evenings. They sat on the hood of the car, drank their beers, and chatted with their friends. Matt had a new girlfriend from out of town, Noah’s car was featuring in yet another non-fatal road traffic collision, and Tommy Lee had managed to lose his job, his guitar and his girl all in one day. Reilly kept close to his brother, but not close enough that anyone could mistake the nineteen year olds attitude for anything other than friendly, brotherly, concern. One beer down, Reilly grabbed the keys from his brother and jostled him back into the car.

“Gotta get the kid home boys. Catch ya over the weekend.”

“See ya Rei!”

Reilly waved goodbye to his friends, and readjusted the seat so that he could drive comfortably, and floored the ancient SUV all the way out past the little town, onto back country roads that ended in fields and rough dirt paths. When there was nothing but the two of them and the sound of crickets in the fields, Reilly killed the engine and turned off the lights.

“I wish we could have taken your truck Rei,” Brayden was staring out of the window, chin in his palm, “The view’s better. We could have watched the fireflies from the back.”

“I like the car,” Reilly answered, “Back’s seats are comfy.”

“Do you ever think with anything other than what’s in your pants?” Brayden arched an eyebrow at him and Reilly reached out and grabbed his younger brother, pulling the seventeen year old firmly into his lap.

“Nope.” The kiss was hot and hungry as both boys tried to overshadow the evening’s previous events, “You taste like peaches.”

“Only for you big guy.”

They made love in the back of the SUV. At least, it started out that way. Reilly was all up for being a caring and considerate lover, but with Brayden whining and whimpering, moaning between his teeth, nipping at his neck and chest and writhing in his lap, that rather quickly morphed into the sort of hard and fast fucking that they both needed. Brayden shouted when he came, messily, all over himself and his brother, and Reilly snarled, practically ripped the upholstery from the back seats as every muscle he owned went tense. Naked and sweaty, Reilly cracked open the back window to let in cooler air and the sound of the crickets, and snuggled his brother against him.

“Oh, that was good.”

“Mmm…” Reilly moved his fingers in lazy patterns over the smaller boy’s spine, tracing the hollow of his back, “You need to tell them Bray.”

“No.” Bray’s voice was quiet and hush, “No. I can’t.”

Reilly hugged his brother to his chest tighter, not caring about the sticky mess between them.

“You’re his favourite son. He’s going to believe you over Travis. I hate to feel that I can’t protect you sometimes.” Reilly buried his face in his brother’s longer hair. He smelt like summer and home, “What if one of these days he gets you alone and tries to…”

“Then I’ll deck him.” Brayden sat up, his shoulders strong for a moment, “I’m not fourteen anymore Reilly, I know how to throw a punch.”

“You ain’t never gonna be a bruiser Bray.”

“Well that’s ‘cause I got the brain in the family.” He smiled at his sibling, “Look, if I tell, at some point doctors are gonna get involved right? And even though I’ll tell them the truth, that he never managed to, y’know, back there. They’ll still check.”

“OK…”

“They’ll see I’m not a virgin! They’ll know someone’s been back there and then it’ll only be a matter of time. How long do you think Father is gonna put up with the idea that his favourite son is gay? He’ll wanna beat seven shades of shite outta whoever I’ve been sleeping with, and I ain’t letting that happen to you!” Brayden shoulders sagged, and Reilly could see that he was close to tears, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Hey, hey…” Reilly sat up too and kissed his lover’s cheeks, brushing away the tears, “It’s not gonna happen babe. I’mma take care of you. Protect you like I promised.”

Crickets scratching filled the silence for a while as both boys breathed each other’s air in the back of the car, their hearts slowing to match each other once again. Brayden giggled.

“We could be on that show y’know.”

“Huh?”

“Pandora’s Box. Our family is convoluted enough.”

“Don’t say that. That show is for idiots.”

“Two brother’s from the South fall in love,” Brayden spoke like he was reading from a teleprompter, “With each other! Add to that, the younger boy claims that his Uncle has tried to feel him up. Did this shocking event turn him gay? And what can be done about the older brother’s infatuation? Find out on Pan-”

Reilly silenced him with a kiss.

“Don’t ever say that again OK?” He hugged his brother, the boy he loved with all his heart, hard against his chest, “I ain’t letting anyone talk about us like that. Not even you.”

“OK.”

“Just two more months until your birthday, then we can go wherever we want babe. You’ll be eighteen, an adult, and there’ll be nothing they can do about it.”

“You wanna go to California?” Brayden’s voice betrayed his teenage excitement, “San Francisco is full of gay people. No one’ll bat an eyelid about us.”

“Lord,” Reilly pushed his hand through his hair again. He missed his longer hair, but keeping it clean working on the road crew had been a pain, and it had made him hot the way it stuck to his neck, “They’re gonna think I’m really cornbread in San Francisco.”

“Big brother,” Brayden snuggled into his brother’s lap, “You work for a road crew in rural Louisiana and you drive a Chevy Silverado with the Big Machine records label painted on the side. Reilly Jackson, you are the South.”

“Well I’m glad you think I’m funny sugar.”

“That I do. C’mon, we’d better get dressed and haul ass to get back home before mom worries about us.”

“Alright.”

*

That night, lying in bed, Reilly couldn’t remember the last time his little brother had spent the whole night sleeping in his own bed. Their mom still came to check on them every now and then, for reasons that escaped Reilly, except that Brayden was and always had been his parent’s favourite son, so they always started out in their own beds. Reilly lay on his back, feet dangling off the end of the single bed which had been too short for his six-four frame for many years, and watched his brother.

Brayden was snuggled up in his own bed, using more blankets than Reilly could possibly imagine necessary on such a warm night. Eighteen months older, he couldn’t remember life before his brother had come into the world, had grown up with the constant shadow of his presence. They were good siblings, they stood up for each other, and when it had become clear in junior high that Reilly was going to turn out to be both big and strong with a sense of loyalty and justice, people had stopped picking on either of them. It wasn’t worth it. He’d graduated a year ago, Brayden had another year of high school left to go, but he was going to be eighteen in two months. If it was possible, Reilly would have liked his brother to finish out the school year, but that seemed less and less likely as the days went on.

People were noticing the Jackson boy’s lack of girlfriends, and considering that they were both good looking and nice, polite boy’s in the small town, people were almost certainly asking questions already. Just once they’d tried, back when neither of them had been sure that their contact wasn’t just convenient rather than emotional, not just playing, they’d tried to date other people. It hadn’t worked. Brayden had been sulky and morose with his date, a girl who’d wanted nothing more than to hold hands and giggle, and Reilly had used all his Southern charm and good manners to keep his date outta his pants and in the passenger seat of his truck. Neither of them had come home happy. Reilly liked to think that he wasn’t the jealous type, but he knew from the get go, that he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else laying hands on his little brother.

Not that he’d started it. Oh no, no one could accuse him of corrupting his younger brother.

Reilly had been seventeen before he’d realised that the casual checking out of guys in the locker rooms at school wasn’t just that. Guys looked at each other, but when Reilly woke up from dreams of shirtless muscled chests, beautiful but faceless guys touching him in his sleep, to find his bed a mess, his sheets ruined, he had become fairly certain that maybe other guys didn’t look at each other the way he did. The understanding that he was gay did nothing to generally impact on his everyday life, it just made his in-shower jerk-offs a bit more focused.

It had been months since Travis had managed to get his hands on Brayden when the fifteen year old had crept across the room. His weight settling on Reilly’s bed had woken him and the first thing Reilly had done was listen for the storm that usually preceded Brayden’s visits to his side of the room. There was nothing.

“Bray?”

The touch of his brother’s hand on his chest made his heart jump. Brayden turned towards him and Reilly could see his brother’s eyes shining in the dim light.

“Bro? What’s up?”

Brayden hadn’t answered, just settled over his chest, tucking himself into the space between his outstretched arm and his hip. His younger brother hadn’t come into his major growth spurt yet, small for his age, built much more slender than his older sibling. He fitted well. One arm snuck out around Reilly’s waist, fingers draped over the lightly muscled beginnings of a six pack. Reilly had wrapped his free arm around his brother before he’d even thought about it.

The kiss had started on his collar bone, the gentle press of dry lips, soft and delicate, moving up his throat. He’d turned his head as though it had been the most natural thing in the world, found Brayden’s hand cradling the back of his skull, saw the look of hot desire in blue eyes that looked exactly like his own before Brayden has closed for the kiss. The warm onslaught of lips, touching, pulling back. He’d groaned, unaware of the noise he made, the parting of his mouth just enough to allow Brayden to deepen the kiss, pull him closer. For hours, they’d made out without speaking. Reilly had held his brother against him as they’d rubbed against each other, Brayden grinding into his hips as he kissed him until they’d both ruined their boxer shorts.

Afterwards, Brayden had lain there in his arms, humming happily, until he’d drifted off to sleep. Early dawn had found the other boy slipping out of the bed. A kiss on his cheek and the whisper ‘Love you bro’ before he’d slipped off to his own bed again.

Every night for a week, then Saturday they’d left the drive in and their group of friends and hangers on and ended up screwing in the back of Reilly’s truck in the cornfield. A month of easy sex and delicious kisses. A whole month spent exploring each other, finding every nook and cranny of enjoyment, every sensation that would make the other laugh or gasp or moan. They learnt together, discovered the art of the blow job in tandem, had delightful and raucous sex full of laughter and pleasure every chance they could.

And then Travis had come around again. Reilly had come back from football practice, something he was considering dropping even then, to find his brother in the back yard, pinned against the fence, his trousers around his knees. Travis’s forearm pressed into the back of his neck, his own member hard and hungry, poking out of his open fly. His other hand had been somewhere between Brayden’s thighs, trying to elicit a response.

Until then, Reilly had never understood the phrase ‘seeing red.’ That day, the world went crimson as he charged across the garden with a roar, hauled off and hit his uncle as hard as he could. But he was seventeen, strong but not that strong, and Travis had recovered, sworn and spit blood on the grass from where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek and taken off before Reilly could work out whether or not to give chase. Brayden had sobbed in his arms for the longest time before he’d managed to get his brother a semblance of dressed and indoors where he’d poured the boy into the bath.

That night Brayden had curled up in his own bed and Reilly hadn’t slept at all.

“What’re you doin’ over there little brother?” had been met by a sniffle. Reilly got out of bed and paced carefully across the room, “You don’t want a kiss goodnight?”

“H-h-how can you even think that?” Brayden had sounded so broken that Reilly had worried that he’d misjudged everything, “I-I-I’m filthy and disgusting.”

“You ain’t!” Reilly’s words were forceful, “You’re beautiful and I love you.”

“He’s m-m-made me…”

Reilly put his fingers on his brother’s shaking lips.

“He ain’t made you nothin’. You’re my boy and I’m gonna take care of you. No more football practice for one thing.” He gathered his brother up in his arms and was glad when the boy clung to him, “All those guys out there standing up for their girl’s, this ain’t no different. You’re mine and nothing is gonna change that, ‘kay?”

“’Kay,” Brayden had kissed him as they’d settled into bed, but neither of them was really in the mood to carry on. Reilly had snuggled up to his brother and as dawn had crept in, fallen asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

The following day had found them in the long hills by the river, Reilly spooling out a plan in his head, trying to find a way to protect his brother, the boy he loved, and keep their relationship secret and safe too.

*

Brayden snuck across the room and into his brother’s arms. It had been a long time since they’d actually had sex in the house, but now they made love softly and quietly, in the way Reilly hadn’t been able to do in the back of the SUV when Brayden has still been tense. Now his hips rocked in a smooth motion, driving the two of them together, building a joint climax as each whispered love and adoration to the other, often without words. Reilly held his brother’s face in his hands, kissed as much of him as he could reach, told him he loved him with every thudding heartbeat.

They slept cuddled around each other, keeping as much skin touching as they could, and it was Reilly who woke early, carried his little brother back to his own bed and then lay in the rumpled sheets staring at the ceiling until dawn broke fully over the horizon.

Shower, shave, and Reilly went back to the room to dress for work.

“Morning sleepy.” He ruffled Brayden’s hair as he pulled on his dusty work jeans, “It’s a brand new day pretty boy. Get up.”

“’s Saturday.”

“Yup. Come on, we said we’d go help out at Grant’s and get the hay in, and we gotta go grab the truck first. Up, up.”

Brayden grumbled, but complied. Boots and jeans, and Reilly handed his brother one of his old t-shirts. It was tight on him, but loose on Brayden, and Reilly loved seeing his brother in his clothes. He hugged him quickly before they wandered downstairs.

The Jackson family breakfast was hot and large and full of bacon and pancakes, grits and blueberries. The boys ate their fill, said goodbye to their mother, and headed out across town to pick up the truck.

Hauling hay in the sun, drinking beer and soda at lunch, the easy laughter in the company of other men, the soft joshing of brother’s working outdoors, it was a good day.