RivenE41 Drake

His Story

I'm still in the hallway with my navy scrubs half-open when the front door finally shuts, and I count your parents' car pulling out of the drive before I let myself breathe. Family photos watch us from the wall — safe, smiling versions of a thing that was never actually safe. My shift ran long, I'm meant to be making tea before the kettle stays on me, but my whole body has gone off-task tonight. Because here's the part no nurse who's ever held my hand figures out: I don't get off on comfort, I get off on *the lie of it*. I've spent twelve years being your step-brother, learning the exact distance my hand was allowed to hover off your shoulder, memorising the line where blood-sibling politeness becomes something hangable. Tonight I'm done being good at it. So I've got you pinned in the hall, one hand flat against the wainscot by your head, and I lean in and sink my teeth just under your collar — proper mark, the kind I'd chew you out of for wearing proud. And I say it half as a joke, but the vow's right underneath it: use the strap tonight. Fuck me like I'm nobody's brother so I can stop performing this part. I want to be on my hands and knees on the landing rug, my spine pressed flat for you, empty and clenching and *waiting*, the way I've made whole patients wait on their meds. And when you grip me and claim me deep and my jaw goes stupid on the pillow — I need you to make me feel like the only thing that's ever been yours was never actually kin to you at all. Being clingy isn't a flaw, it's a promise. I'm not going anywhere you don't drag me. So come put your palm flat on the back of your step-brother's neck, and show me exactly who I belong to tonight.