Chapter Twenty-Six
Adrik
Adrik tore through the living room, dragging on his dress slacks and not bothering with a shirt. Whoever was pounding on the door had terrible timing. They were interrupting his night with Hans and if they didn’t walk away on their own, he was two seconds from making them.
He yanked the door open and froze. A stranger stood there—light hair, hazel eyes, tall enough to block the hallway light. And the way the guy looked at him—slow, assessing—sent a cold prickle down Adrik’s spine.
“Where’s Hans?” the man asked, gaze dragging over Adrik’s bare chest like he had every right.
Adrik’s irritation sharpened into something hotter. “Who are you?” he snapped in German.
“Karl Adelman. And you are?”
“Hans is unavailable. So leave, Karl.”
He was already pushing the door shut when Hans appeared behind him, fully dressed.
“Hi, Karl,” Hans said, stepping forward. “Come in.”
Adrik stepped back, jaw tight enough to crack. Great. Invite the creep in. Why not? Let him stare some more.
Karl handed Hans an envelope. “These are the papers you asked for. Sorry to disturb you.”
“Thanks. Adrik, this is my cousin Karl.”
Adrik turned to Karl, disbelief flaring. “Cousin? I didn’t know you had any.”
“He lives in Rostock,” Hans said.
Karl gave Adrik a look that was half challenge, half threat. “I need to go. Talk to you another time.” Then he left.
Adrik shut the door harder than necessary. “Is he really your cousin?”
Hans nodded. “He helped get the paperwork for my new motorcycle.”
“I don’t like him,” Adrik muttered.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Apart from the way he interrupted our night.” And he looked at you like he knew something he shouldn’t. And he looked at me as if he wanted to fight.
“Were you really bothered by Karl?”
“Yeah,” Adrik admitted. “I didn’t like him just showing up. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Or me.” He rubbed his hands through his hair. “I get jealous sometimes. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Hans whispered. “I get jealous too.”
Adrik lifted an eyebrow. “Over Amelia?”
Hans flushed, confirming it.
Adrik exhaled. “See? Same problem. I didn’t answer her. I didn’t want to. I want you.
Hans sighed softly. “Let’s eat something.”
Adrik followed him to the kitchen, still simmering. But the moment he stepped inside, he blinked. “Damn. Even the kitchen is perfect.” It differed completely from the disaster that was etched in his memory.
Hans said, “Thanks for the suggestion.” He moved around the kitchen with a calm, domestic ease.
Adrik leaned against the counter like he owned the place, arms folded, pretending he wasn’t watching Hans’ every move. But he was. He always did. Hans in a kitchen was its own kind of show—focused, and almost too careful.
Hans opened the breadbox and pulled out a fresh loaf, the good dense German kind that could probably break a window if thrown hard enough. He sliced it with slow, even strokes. Adrik smirked. He cuts bread as if he’s performing surgery.
The cottage smelled warm—bread, mustard, a hint of onion. Hans had already laid everything out: cold cuts, cheese, pickles, butter, mustard.
“You don’t have to make mine,” Adrik said, mostly out of habit.
Hans didn’t even look up. “I know.”
That answer made something stupidly warm settle in Adrik’s chest.
Hans spread mustard on the slices, thick and smooth, then added ham and cheese with a neat, deliberate touch. Adrik would have slapped everything together and called it a day. Hans layered it like he was building a tiny architectural model.
“You’re really committed to this sandwich,” Adrik said.
Hans laughed. “You get grumpier when you’re hungry.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re always grumpy.”
Adrik stepped closer, bumping Hans’ hip with his own. “I’m charming.”
Hans finally looked at him, eyes soft, amused. “Sure.”
He added pickles to Adrik’s sandwich—extra, because he knew Adrik liked the crunch from watching him eat—and pressed the bread together. Then he handed it over as if it were something important, not just dinner.
Adrik took a bite. The bread was chewy, the mustard sharp, the ham salty, the pickles bright. Simple, perfect. Very Hans.
“Good?” Hans asked.
Adrik swallowed, nodded, and nudged Hans’ shoulder with his own. “Yeah. You make a mean sandwich.”
Hans smiled, small and pleased, and started making his own. Adrik stayed right beside him, close enough their arms brushed now and then, pretending he wasn’t doing it on purpose.
While Hans was assembling his sandwich, Adrik moved behind him, hugged him around his waist and kissed him behind his ear.
“I love watching you make us something to eat.” Adrik planted another kiss on the side of his cheek, a soft brush of lips against skin.
Hans’ lips pressed softly against his, sharing a tender kiss. “Do you know how to cook?”
“I ate all my meals out in the city. My father wouldn’t allow his sons in the kitchen.”
“Why not?” Hans’ eyes widened in shock.
“He’s old school. From Russia. He raised us to be chauvinist pigs.”
“I don’t think it took.”
“Nope. Not on my brother either.”
Hans blinked, taken aback. “That must’ve been… a lot to grow up with.”
“Poor role model, but I can follow a recipe. I had no reason to cook, but now I do.”
“Really, what reason?”
“I want to cook for you. Us.”
“I like when you say, us.” Hans rubbed noses with Adrik.
They sat at the table with sandwiches and cold beer. Adrik took a long drink, trying to cool the heat still burning under his skin. Adrik reached for his hand and kissed the back of it.
“Thank you for giving me another chance tonight,” Adrik said.
“I’d never let you go. We can talk everything out between us.”
“I agree. Something I’m learning how to do.”
“I wanted you, Adrik, I wanted you the first night you walked into the Seebrise Bar and strutted across to the bar, looking delicious.”
Adrik smiled. “And I wanted you so much I wore a gold wristband.”
“I liked that you did that. It says a lot about you.”
“About us,” Adrik said.
Hans’ shoulders relaxed, the tension easing out of him. “I want you too. Only you.”
“Good,” Adrik said, voice low, honest. “Because I don’t want anyone else. And I don’t want you with anyone else either.”
Hans reached across the table, brushing his fingers against Adrik’s. “Then we’re on the same page.”
The jealousy, the irritation, the stupid heat in Adrik’s chest—none of it vanished, but it settled into something real, something steady. Something that felt like the start of them choosing each other, not just wanting each other.
Adrik squeezed his hand once, firmly. “Only each other.”
After they finished, Adrik helped Hans put the plates in the dishwasher.
“Let’s take a shower,” Hans suggested.
Adrik nodded and followed Hans to the bathroom. A smile crinkled Hans’ face as if Adrik had given him a gift. When Adrik undressed, Adrik didn’t miss Hans staring at his erection and seemed pleased. Of course, he would be.
Stepping into the steam-filled stall, Adrik extended a steady hand to guide Hans inside.
He began with a slow, methodical rhythm, soaping Hans’ skin before focusing his attention on cleaning him with lingering touches.
With a quiet focus, he labored over Hans’ golden-brown hair, working the lather deep into the scalp.
Once the suds had been rinsed away, Adrik moved behind him to scrub his back, eventually wrapping his arms around Hans to massage him with a gentle, thorough pressure.
“Wash me,” Adrik said, his voice low against the spray.
Hans obliged, starting with Adrik’s head before applying a dollop of gel to his backside with careful precision. Using the hand shower, Hans rinsed away the soap in a warm cascade. He moved upward to scrub Adrik’s hair and beard, the water slicking everything back as he rinsed them both clean.
The mood shifted when Adrik caught the second showerhead, playfully flooding Hans’ face with a sudden stream of water.
Laughing, Hans stepped back and retaliated, spraying his own showerhead in return.
They fell into a rhythmic game of cat and mouse, spraying each other until their limbs felt heavy and their lungs burned.
In these moments, Hans drew out a buried, playful side of Adrik—a side that had been hidden under layers of responsibility for far too long.
Hans wasn’t just a lover; he was the perfect, rejuvenating distraction.
Gripping Hans’ thin waist, Adrik swung him around to face the cool tile.
He worked the shower gel between his palms to lather Hans’ entrance, eventually sliding a finger inside to stretch him with a slow, circular motion.
As the shower rained down on them, Hans’ body reacted instantly, his cock standing at attention.
After rolling on a condom, Adrik lubricated it then leaned over him, pressing forward until he was buried deep inside.
He established a steady friction, his weight pressing Hans against the wall while his soapy hands reached around to stroke Hans’ length. Hans met every thrust with a rhythmic counter-pressure of his own.
“I didn’t mean to start this now,” Adrik murmured, his breath hot against Hans’ neck.
“I’m not complaining, Adrik,” Hans gasped.
Suddenly, the friction ceased as Adrik withdrew.
“Why did you stop?” Hans asked, turning around with a look of dazed confusion.
“We’ll continue this later. I just wanted to tease you a bit.”
“Tease me? I want you now,” Hans countered, his features tight with frustration.
“You’re going to have to wait.”
Adrik stepped out of the stall, discarded the condom, and returned with two plush towels. By the time Hans stood beside him, the playfulness had vanished, replaced by a charged, lingering tension as they dried off and sat side-by-side on the edge of the bed.
They cuddled in the bed.
“I can get used to sleeping with you,” Adrik said.