---
They stumbled through the front door, dripping rainwater across the tiles.
Brian barely got the door shut before Scott's hands were in his hair, tugging him forward into a kiss that tasted like rain and tears and every promise they'd ever broken.
Their wet clothes slapped the floor piece by piece — shirts first, then jeans that stuck to their thighs like a second skin.
They tripped up the stairs half-dressed, giggling breathlessly, bumping into the walls like they didn't care who heard.
---
Brian's bedroom door slammed shut.
Outside, the storm kept raging.
Inside, it was quiet — except for the tiny hum of music from Brian's old stereo.
He'd forgotten he left it on shuffle.
And now "I Have Nothing" by Whitney Houston floated into the dark, like the room knew exactly how they felt.
---
Brian kissed Scott again, slower this time, hands on his jaw, tracing the curve of his throat.
Scott's chest arched into him, craving more, his fingers slipping under the waistband of Brian's boxers.
When Brian pulled away to breathe, Scott pushed him gently onto the bed, straddling him, rainwater still dripping from his hair onto Brian's flushed chest.
"I want you so bad," Scott whispered. His voice cracked as he said it. "All of you. No secrets."
Brian's throat bobbed. "You have me. You always did."
---
Scott leaned down, kissing his way down Brian's stomach — tasting rain, sweat, skin.
He hooked his fingers into Brian's boxers, tugging them down until Brian's cock slapped against his abs, thick and flushed.
Scott wrapped his lips around the tip, his mouth so warm and eager it made Brian gasp — hips jerking helplessly up into him.
His hands slid into Scott's wet hair, tugging just enough to make Scott moan around him.
---
Scott pulled back, eyes glistening.
Then he pushed Brian's legs wider, pressing kisses along his inner thighs until he reached Brian's balls — his scrotal sac warm and heavy on his tongue, soft like candy melting in his mouth.
Brian's moans tangled with Whitney's voice — "Don't make me close one more door…" — a soundtrack for the way his hips bucked, how his breath caught every time Scott's tongue flicked him just right.
---
When Brian couldn't take it anymore, he flipped Scott onto his back, grabbing a condom and lube from the drawer in a fumbling rush.
Scott spread his legs, breath hitching as Brian's fingers slid inside him — slow at first, stretching him open, curling just right.
Scott's moans got louder, filthy and desperate, echoing off the walls with the chorus — "…If I don't have you…"
"Fuck, Brian—" Scott gasped, hips rolling into Brian's hand. "Please — just do it."
---
Brian didn't make him beg twice.
He lined up, pressed forward, burying himself inside with a groan so deep it shook them both.
They moved together in broken rhythm — hips snapping, bodies slick with sweat and leftover rain.
Scott clawed at Brian's back, gasping every time Brian drove deeper, harder, whispering I love you between gritted teeth.
---
It was nothing like the rough, angry sex they'd had before.
This was hungry — but softer, too.
Every thrust said I'm yours.
Every kiss said Don't leave.
When Scott came, he cried out Brian's name — his whole body trembling as Brian kept moving, chasing his own high until he spilled inside with a choked sob, burying his face in Scott's neck.
---
After, they lay tangled in sweaty sheets — Whitney's voice still echoing through the dim room like a ghost: "…Take my love — I'll never ask for too much…"
Scott kissed Brian's temple, tasting salt and rainwater all over again.
"Don't make me hide anymore," Brian whispered, voice cracking. "I want you. All of you. Public, private — doesn't matter."
Scott brushed his fingers through Brian's hair, his chest too full to speak.
Because this time — for the first time — he believed him.