Unscripted | Part IV

Not so straight

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

⚠️ Mature Readers (18+) Only⚠️

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| The Connection |

The apartment had gone quiet hours ago. Cal and Rich had crashed hard around two, sprawled across the guest bed in a tangle of limbs and exhausted silence. But Noah and Brookes stayed up, still wired from the adrenaline and tequila, passing a joint back and forth on the balcony while the city hummed below them.

At some point, Noah had pulled out a small baggie—mystery pills from a friend, the kind you didn’t ask too many questions about. They’d each taken one, chasing it with lukewarm beer, and now everything felt softer. Warmer. The edges of the world blurred into something manageable.

They’d moved inside when the air got cold, collapsing onto the couch with the TV playing some late-night infomercial neither of them watched. Brookes leaned back, head tipped against the cushion, eyes half-closed. Noah sat sideways, one leg tucked under him, studying Brookes in the low light.

“Can I ask you something?” Noah said, voice quieter than usual.

Brookes cracked an eye open. “Shoot.”

Noah hesitated, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “When’s the last time you, like … actually kissed someone? Not for a video. Just because you wanted to.”

Brookes sat up a little, surprised by the question. He thought about it, really thought about it. “Shit. I don’t know. Maybe … a year? Longer?”

Noah nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same.”

“You and Cal don’t—”

“Nah,” Noah cut in, shaking his head. “We’ve got rules. No kissing. Keeps it clean, you know? Professional.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Funny how you can fuck someone a hundred times and never kiss them once.”

Brookes watched him carefully. “You miss it?”

“Yeah,” Noah admitted, voice cracking slightly. “I miss feeling like it means something. Like I’m not just … performing.”

The air between them shifted, charged with something unspoken. Brookes leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I get that. Sometimes I forget what’s real and what’s just for the camera. Rich and I—we started this as an experiment. Two straight guys messing around, seeing what worked. But somewhere along the way …” He trailed off.

“You stopped being straight?” Noah offered with a small smile.

Brookes laughed softly. “I don’t even know what I am anymore. Labels feel weird now. But yeah, something changed. I just don’t know if what Rich and I have is real or if it’s just … convenient.”

Noah set his beer down, turning fully toward Brookes. “That’s heavy, man.”

“What about you?” Brookes asked. “You ever want to be with someone who doesn’t have to pretend?”

Noah’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

A long silence settled between them, thick with understanding and something more dangerous.

Brookes shifted closer. “Can I try something?”

“… Yeah.”

Brookes leaned in slowly, giving Noah every chance to pull away. But Noah didn’t. Their lips met—soft at first, tentative, like they were both remembering how it felt to kiss without a camera watching. Then deeper, hungrier, Noah’s hand coming up to cup Brookes’s jaw as they lost themselves in it.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Noah whispered, “Fuck. I forgot how good that feels.”

Brookes grinned. “Yeah. Me too.”

Noah stood, pulling Brookes up with him. “Come on. My room.”

They stumbled down the hallway, trying to stay quiet, hands fumbling for each other in the dark. Noah pushed open his bedroom door and pulled Brookes inside, closing it carefully behind them. The moment it clicked shut, they were on each other again—kissing desperately, hands roaming, peeling off shirts and pushing down waistbands.

Brookes walked Noah backward toward the bed, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down Noah’s neck, across his collarbone, lower. He paused at Noah’s chest, tongue flicking over one nipple, then the other, drawing a sharp gasp from Noah’s throat.

“Fuck, Brookes—” Noah’s hands tangled in his hair, holding him there.

Brookes grinned against his skin, teeth grazing lightly before he continued his path downward. But Noah pulled him back up, needing his mouth again, needing to feel connected to something real.

They kissed messily, hands everywhere, until Noah’s fingers found the bulge in Brookes’s pants. He palmed it through the fabric, feeling how hard Brookes already was, and groaned into his mouth.

“Bed,” Brookes breathed. “Now.”

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