Kota woke slowly, consciousness returning in fragments: the soft give of leather beneath him, the faint scent of expensive upholstery cleaner mixed with chlorine drifting in from somewhere open, the low hum of voices arguing nearby. His body felt leaden, every muscle heavy and sore, like he'd run a marathon while someone repeatedly kicked him in the groin. His eyelids fluttered open to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the living room in warm gold. He was on a massive sectional couch—cream-colored, impossibly soft—wrapped in a thin cashmere throw blanket someone had draped over him. His clothes were back on: jeans, hoodie, even his Jordans laced neatly. The room itself was obscene in its casual luxury: vaulted ceilings with exposed wooden beams, a stone fireplace big enough to roast a boar, modern art pieces that probably cost more than Khalil's annual salary hanging on the walls like afterthoughts.
The voices sharpened into focus. Theo and Grayson stood near the arched doorway leading to the pool deck, facing off with arms crossed and faces flushed.
"—and if you'd just let me handle him instead of jumping in every five seconds like some attention-starved puppy, he wouldn't have passed out!" Theo's voice cracked on the last word, his usual stutter absent in pure frustration.
Grayson threw his hands up. "Me? You're the one who rode him like you were trying to win a bronco competition! 'Oh, Kota, deeper, lovers do it like this'—you overdid it, Theo. Plain and simple. If anyone pushed him too far, it was you and your jealous little 'he's mine' routine."
Theo stepped closer, jabbing a finger at Grayson's chest. "Jealous? You're projecting! You couldn't stand that he came hardest for me—twice in a row! You had to shove in and steal the moment. Classic Grayson: always taking what's mine because you can't stand not being the center of attention."
Grayson laughed, sharp and bitter. "Yours? Please. He was rock-hard for my throat game before you even got your pants off. Face it, big bro—he likes variety. And variety means me."
Theo's face turned scarlet. "Variety? You mean being a greedy slut who—"
A low groan escaped Kota's throat as he tried to sit up. The sound cut through their argument like a knife.
Both twins spun toward him instantly.
"Kota!" Theo's voice cracked with relief, the anger evaporating in a heartbeat. He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside the couch and cupping Kota's face with gentle hands. "Oh thank god. You're awake. How do you feel? Are you okay? Do you need water? Painkillers? Anything?"
Grayson hovered behind him, looking equal parts guilty and concerned. "Yeah, man. You scared us. You just... went lights out. We thought maybe we—uh—broke you."
Kota blinked slowly, the room still swimming a little. He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing at the deep ache in his lower back and thighs. His cock felt raw, tender in a way that made even the brush of denim uncomfortable. He glanced around, spotting a sleek digital clock on the mantel: 2:07 p.m.
"Shit," he muttered. "It's two already?"
Theo nodded quickly. "Yeah. You passed out around... eleven-thirty? Maybe noon? We carried you down here so you'd be comfortable. Dad's at the office, Beckett's still floating around like nothing happened, and Elliot's upstairs sleeping it off. You're safe."
Kota rubbed his face. "I gotta head home soon. Dad thinks I'm at school. He'll be expecting me back by three or so."
Theo's expression fell. "Already? But... you just woke up. You need to eat something first. You look pale. And dehydrated. Austin!"
He called toward the kitchen archway. A moment later, a very skinny twink appeared—maybe twenty, all sharp cheekbones and long limbs, wearing a crisp white chef's jacket and black pants. His platinum hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and he moved with quiet, efficient grace. (im looking forward to making austin)
"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne?"
"Make something quick and nourishing for Kota. Protein, carbs—something easy on the stomach but energizing. Crepes? Caviar? Whatever you think he'll like."
Austin nodded once. "Of course. Fifteen minutes."
He vanished back into the kitchen.
Kota turned his head toward the open glass doors leading to the pool deck. Beckett was still there—still naked, still floating on the same flamingo inflatable, drink refreshed with a new umbrella. The kid hadn't moved in hours, apparently content to drift in endless circles under the sun.
Kota sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and disbelief. "Does he ever get out of the pool?"
Theo followed his gaze. "Not really. He says the water 'recharges his aura.' We've stopped asking."
Kota shook his head and pushed himself upright, wincing again as every muscle protested. The throw blanket fell away, revealing that someone had indeed dressed him properly—jeans zipped, hoodie straightened, even his socks pulled up. He glanced at Grayson.
"You guys... dressed me while I was out?"
Grayson shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "Yeah. Couldn't exactly leave you sprawled naked on the bed. Theo carried you down here, I helped with the clothes. Elliot was still twitching, so we left him upstairs."
Kota rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Thanks, I guess."
Theo stood and offered a hand. "Come on. Kitchen table. You need food before you leave."
Kota took the hand, letting Theo pull him up. His legs wobbled for a second, but he steadied himself. The walk to the kitchen felt longer than it should—marble floors cool under his socks, walls lined with more art and framed family photos that showed younger versions of the Hawthornes in various exotic locations. The kitchen itself was a chef's dream: double islands, professional-grade appliances, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool and the rolling lawns beyond.
Kota sank into a cushioned chair at the long glass table, feeling the cool surface under his forearms. Theo hovered anxiously beside him while Grayson leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with a mix of concern and lingering hunger.
Twelve minutes later Austin appeared with a plate: delicate savory crepes folded around crème fraîche, topped with a generous spoonful of black caviar and a sprinkle of chives. A side of fresh berries and a tall glass of electrolyte-infused water sat beside it.
Kota stared at the plate. "This is... caviar?"
Austin nodded politely. "Beluga. Paired with buckwheat crepes. High in protein, easy to digest. Should restore your energy quickly, sir."
Kota picked up the fork. The taste was... acquired. Salty, briny, luxurious in a way that felt alien to his tongue—nothing like the rice-and-beans dinners or fast-food runs he was used to. But the crepes were light, the crème fraîche rich, and the caviar added an intense burst of umami that somehow worked. He ate slowly, methodically, feeling the nutrients hit his system like a slow recharge. By the time he finished the last bite, the fog in his head had cleared slightly, though his body still ached in places he hadn't known could ache.
Theo watched him eat with visible relief. "Better?"
Kota nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
Grayson pushed off the counter, sauntering closer with a sly grin. "See? Energy restored. Perfect timing. So... ready to go back upstairs? We've got the whole afternoon left. I was thinking maybe we could—"
Kota's face heated instantly. He set the fork down. "Uh... no. Thanks, but... no. I gotta head home soon."
Grayson's grin faltered. "Come on. Just one more round? You were having fun. We can go slow this time. Or fast. Whatever you want."
Kota shifted in the chair, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed he felt under their combined attention. He wasn't used to this—people fighting over him, begging for more, treating him like some prize stud. It was flattering, overwhelming, and a little terrifying. "Grayson... I said no. I'm tapped out. Seriously."
Grayson pouted, stepping closer and trailing a finger along Kota's arm. "But you came six times. That's a record. One more would make it seven. For luck." (SIXX SEVENNNN)
Kota swallowed. "Grayson—"
Theo stepped between them, placing a hand on Grayson's chest. "Enough. He said no. Stop pushing."
Grayson huffed, crossing his arms. "You're just scared he'll pick me over you again."
Theo glared. "I'm protecting him. Unlike you, who nearly broke him earlier."
Grayson rolled his eyes but backed off a step, his pout deepening into full sulk mode—lower lip jutting out, shoulders slumping, looking every bit the disappointed twin who'd been denied his favorite toy. "Fine. Whatever. But you're no fun, Theo."
He turned away, muttering under his breath, and stalked toward the pool doors, leaving Kota and Theo in awkward silence at the table. Kota exhaled slowly, relief mixing with the lingering ache in his body. He checked the clock again: 2:47 p.m. Time to leave.