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The season had ended, leaving a vacuum of boredom that Jude had desperately tried to fill with work, but the invitation to Cannes had been impossible to refuse. Or maybe he just hadn't tried hard enough to refuse it. Not when Jobe was involved.
From the moment Jude spotted his brother at the Nice airport arrivals gate, the warning bells should have been ringing. But they were drowned out by the sudden, violent pounding of his own heart. Jobe walked through the doors, and Jude's brain short-circuited. The awkward, skinny kid who used to cry when he scraped his knee was gone. In his place was a man with broad shoulders that strained against his t-shirt, a tan that made him look like a god of the Mediterranean, and eyes that locked onto Jude with an intensity that felt physical.
"Jude!" Jobe's voice was deeper, a rough rumble that vibrated in Jude's chest. He dropped his bag and closed the distance in two strides. The hug was not brotherly. It was possessive. Jobe's hands gripped Jude's waist, pulling their bodies flush together, lingering for a second, then two, then three seconds too long. Jude could smell him—sunscreen, salt, and something dark and musky that wasn't cologne.
"Hey," Jude managed, his voice cracking. He pulled back, but Jobe's hands slid slowly down his arms, a deliberate, caressing motion that felt like a stroke.
"Missed you," Jobe said, his gaze dropping to Jude's lips before flicking back up to his eyes. The look was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but Jude saw it. He saw the way Jobe's eyes darkened, the way his tongue wet his lips. It's nothing, Jude told himself. He's just happy. He's drunk on freedom.
"You look... good," Jude stammered, grabbing Jobe's suitcase to break the contact.
Jobe smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "Thanks, bro. You look incredible. Really." The way he said 'bro' felt like a mockery, a challenge. "Let's go. Toby and Travis are waiting. Wouldn't want to keep them away from the view."
"The view of the sea?" Jude asked, confused.
Jobe's eyes raked over Jude's body, slow and deliberate. "Something like that."
The hotel was a palace of white stone and blue water, but Jude couldn't appreciate it. The next few hours were a torture of proximity. When they met Toby and Travis on the terrace, the group dynamic shifted immediately. Toby and Travis were loud, oblivious, and drunk on champagne before dinner even started. But Jude was hyper-aware of Jobe.
At dinner, a Michelin-starred temple to excess on the Croisette, the seduction became a silent, agonizing game. They sat opposite each other. Under the table, Jobe's leg pressed against Jude's. It wasn't an accident. When Jude tried to move away, Jobe's foot hooked around his ankle, holding him in place. Jude froze, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Everything okay, Jude?" Toby asked, mouth full of lobster. "You look flushed."
"Just hot," Jude muttered, staring at his plate.
"It is quite warm," Jobe said smoothly, his voice innocent. He took a slow sip of wine, his eyes never leaving Jude's face. "Maybe Jude needs to cool down."
The way he said it, the dark teasing in his tone, made Jude's breath hitch. He looked up, meeting Jobe's gaze. Jobe held it, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were burning. He reached across the table, ostensibly to grab the salt, but his fingers brushed against Jude's hand, lingering on the pulse point of his wrist. The touch was electric, sending a shockwave through Jude's body. He pulled his hand away as if burned.
"Careful," Jobe whispered, leaning forward. The candlelight danced in his eyes. "Don't want to spill anything."
"I... I need air," Jude muttered, standing up so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"I'll come with you," Jobe said immediately, getting up to stand as well.
"No!" Jude said too quickly. He forced a laugh. "No, stay. I just... I'll be right back."
He fled to the bathroom, leaning against the sink, staring at his reflection. His face was red, his eyes wide. He's your brother, he told himself. He's just being friendly. You're imagining things. But he knew he wasn't. He remembered the way Jobe had looked at him at the airport, the way his hand had lingered, the way his foot had held him under the table. It was a hunt. And Jude was the prey.
When he returned, Jobe was laughing at something Travis said, but his eyes snapped to Jude the moment he entered the room. The look he gave Jude was one of pure, unmasked desire, quickly masked by a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Jude sat down, his hands trembling.
The rest of the dinner was a blur of agonizing tension. Every time Jude looked up, Jobe was watching him. When their hands accidentally brushed reaching for wine, Jobe didn't pull away. He intertwined their fingers for a split second under the table, squeezing tight before letting go. Jude felt like he was going to explode.
The next day was worse. Much worse.
They spent the day on a rented yacht, cruising along the coast. The sun was brutal, the water crystal clear, and Jude was trapped on a boat with the object of his forbidden desire. He tried to stay away, busying himself with the drinks or talking to Toby, but Jobe was relentless.
"Jude, help me with this?" Jobe called from the bow, where he was trying to untangle a rope.
Jude sighed and walked over. "What do you need?"
"I can't get this knot," Jobe said, turning to face him. He was shirtless, his skin glistening with oil and water. Jude's mouth went dry. "My hands are slippery."
"Let me see," Jude said, reaching for the rope.
Jobe didn't let go. He kept his hands on the rope, forcing Jude's hands to cover his. He stepped closer, invading Jude's personal space, his chest brushing against Jude's arm. "You're so strong," Jobe whispered, his voice low enough that only Jude could hear. "I always admired that. Even when we were kids. I used to watch you in the gym, you know. Wishing I could be just like you."
Jude's breath caught in his throat. "Jobe, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Jobe said innocently, finally letting go of the rope. But as he turned away, his hand 'accidentally' grazed Jude's groin, a deliberate, lingering touch that made Jude's knees buckle. "Just making conversation."
Jude stumbled back, hitting the railing. He watched as Jobe walked away, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Later, they anchored in a secluded cove. Toby and Travis jumped off the boat immediately, screaming as they hit the cold water. Jude hesitated on the deck.
"Coming?" Jobe asked, standing on the edge of the boat. He was wearing nothing but tight swim shorts that left nothing to the imagination.
"I... I'm good," Jude said, looking away.
"Come on, Jude. Don't be boring." Jobe's voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious. "Unless you're scared."
"I'm not scared," Jude snapped.
"Then jump."
Jude looked at him, then at the water. He took a deep breath and jumped.
The water was freezing, but it didn't cool the fire burning in his veins. When he surfaced, Jobe was there, swimming towards him. Too close. Way too close.
"Good job," Jobe said, treading water next to him. He reached out, brushing wet hair out of Jude's eyes. His fingers lingered on Jude's cheek, tracing the line of his jaw.
"Stop it," Jude whispered, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't.
"Stop what?" Jobe asked, his face inches from Jude's. "I'm just being a good brother."
"You're not," Jude said, his voice breaking. "You're... you're trying to kill me."
Jobe laughed, a dark, rich sound. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm trying to save you." He leaned in, his lips brushing against Jude's ear. "Think about it, Jude. Think about what we could do."
Then he pushed off, swimming away before Jude could respond. Jude floated there, trembling, watching Jobe climb back onto the boat. As Jobe pulled himself up, his shorts slipped slightly, revealing the curve of his ass. He looked back at Jude, winking before disappearing into the cabin.
Jude stayed in the water until his teeth chattered, trying to wash away the desire, the guilt, the confusion. But it was useless. Jobe had marked him. And there was no going back.
That night, the tension broke.
They went out to dinner again, a loud, raucous affair at a beach club. The alcohol flowed freely, and Jude drank to numb the pain, to silence the voice in his head telling him to run. But Jobe drank too, and when they stumbled back to the hotel room, the air between them was thick, electric, and impossible to ignore.
Toby and Travis said their goodnight, oblivious, leaving Jude and Jobe alone in the dim light of the hotel room. The door clicked shut, sealing them in silence.
Jobe leaned against the wall, his eyes dark and dilated. He took a step closer. Jude backed up until his legs hit the edge of the bed.
"What are you doing?" Jude asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Jobe didn't stop. He closed the distance, his presence overwhelming. "I need you," he whispered, the words slurring slightly, desperate and raw.
Jude let out a nervous, brittle laugh. "What? Jobe, no. We can't. I—"
Jobe leaned in, his face inches from Jude's, his breath hot and smelling of wine. "I've seen the way you look at me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Please. Just one night. Only so I can get over this. You don't know what you do to me."
Jude closed his eyes, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his chest. He tried to think of reasons, of rules, of morality, but all he could think about was how sexy his brother sounded, how the desire radiating off him was a mirror of his own internal hell.
"Jobe," he whispered, a plea and a warning.
Jobe's breath ghosted over Jude's lips. "One night. Please."
Their lips brushed. It was tentative for a fraction of a second before Jude's resolve shattered. He kissed Jobe back, hard and messy, the taste of alcohol and desperation mixing on their tongues. Jobe humed in content, a sound that vibrated through Jude's chest, and kissed him back with equal fervor.
It was fast, frantic. They moved to the bed, Jude pushing Jobe down onto the mattress. Jobe leaned up, capturing Jude's mouth again, his hands fumbling with the buttons of Jude's shirt. He slid the fabric off Jude's shoulders, and Jude did the same for him. Skin met skin, hot and slick with sweat. Jobe ground up against him, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through Jude that made his breath hitch in his throat.
Jobe's hands moved to Jude's trousers, undoing the button with practiced ease. He slid them off, his hand palming Jude's erection through his boxers. Jude looked down at him, eyes wide, breathing heavily, his mind reeling.
Jobe stood up, undoing his own trousers and pulling them off, leaving them both in their underwear. The air in the room was stifling, charged with something forbidden and intense.
"Do you have lube?" Jobe asked, his voice rough.
Jude shook his head, his mind foggy. "No."
"It's fine," Jobe said, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "You can use spit. I've done this before."
Jude froze, confusion cutting through the haze. "What? You've... Why didn't you tell—"
Jobe didn't let him finish. He surged forward, kissing Jude again, silencing him.
Jude mumbled against his lips, "Slut."
Jobe pulled back, a wicked grin on his face. "Get your boxers off. Come on."
They stripped the last barriers away. Naked, exposed, the reality of what they were doing should have stopped them. It didn't. Jude's desire was a roaring fire, consuming everything.
"Turn over," Jude commanded, his voice shaking.
Jobe obeyed, lying on his stomach, arching his back, getting on his knees. The sight of him, vulnerable and willing, made Jude's head spin. Jude watched for a moment, his heart racing, before spitting into his hand, slicking up two fingers.
He slid one finger in. Jobe moans loudly, a sound of pure need that echoed in the quiet room. "More," Jobe begged.
Jude placed his spare hand on the small of Jobe's back, pushing him down to arch more, exposing him further. He thrust one finger in, then a second, spreading him, preparing him. Jobe was panting, his body trembling.
"Come on, Jude. I'm ready. Please," Jobe pleaded.
Jude tuts, withdrawing his fingers. "Such a whore for your brother," he whispered, the words harsh but filled with a twisted affection.
He spat into his hand again, spreading it over his cock. He lined up, the tip pressing against Jobe's entrance. With a deep breath, he pushed in.
Jobe moans loudly, a sound of pain and pleasure mixed together. "Yes."
Jude started slowly, deep thrusts that nearly hit Jobe's prostate, trying to control the overwhelming sensation. But the heat, the tightness, the fact that it was Jobe... it was too much. He pulled Jobe backwards, closer to him, and started pounding, fast and hard, chasing the heat building in his stomach.
The sounds of skin slapping against skin, of Jobe's moans and Jude's heavy breathing, filled the room. Jude kept the quick pace, sweating, his vision blurring.
"I'm close," Jobe mumbled, his voice broken. "So close, Jude."
Jude didn't stop. He couldn't. With one final, deep thrust, he hit Jobe's prostate. Jobe screamed, his body convulsing as he came, cumming over the sheets, his body shaking with the force of it. He collapsed into the bed, gasping.
Jude kept pounding, the sensation of Jobe's climax tightening around him too much to resist. He thrust once, twice more, before he too was cumming, filling his brother up, his own body shaking with the intensity of it.
He collapsed on top of Jobe, then rolled beside him, stroking Jobe's red, sweaty face. Jobe had a blissed-out look, a smile on his lips.
"Thank you," Jobe whispered.
Jude hummed, grabbing some tissue to clean them up. He pulled the covers over them, the reality of what they had just done starting to crash down on him.
"That was a one-time thing," Jude said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "I mean it. Don't go seducing me again."
Jobe laughed, a soft, sleepy sound, and rolled over, turning his back to Jude.
Jude lay there, staring at the ceiling, his heart still racing. How is he ever going to be able to resist? he thought, a cold dread mixing with the lingering heat of desire. Throughout all of this, it seemed as though Jobe was trying to seduce Jude, but only Jude noticed the calculated moves, the deliberate touches, the way Jobe had orchestrated every single moment. And that terrified him more than anything.