Chapter Five Lines Crossed
A week after the alley behind the café, Dublin felt different.
The city hadn’t changed—of course it hadn’t. The sky still hovered between grey and grayer. The river still slugged past the quays. The wind still sliced through jackets with the enthusiasm of a tax auditor.
But something in Byrne had shifted.
Training showed it first.
He and Kaine moved together with a coherence that felt less like practice and more like chemistry—lines folding open, blind passes connecting, the defense always half a second too slow.
“Again,” Carmody barked, watching them like he couldn’t decide if he was delighted or suspicious.
They ran it again.
It worked again.
The backs unit was thrilled. The forwards were confused. Byrne pretended nothing was happening, but something unmistakably was—and he was the only one who seemed determined not to name it.
Off the pitch, Kaine had changed too.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough that Byrne felt it every time they occupied the same space.
He didn’t push or pry or corner Byrne the way he had that first week.
But he watched.
Quietly. Carefully.
He intercepted jokes. Deflected questions. Steered locker-room teasing away from the photo on Grafton Street. His tone never changed, but Byrne saw the intention in every shift.
Kaine wasn’t protecting himself.
He was protecting Byrne.
And Byrne didn’t know what to do with that.
“Media’s getting feral again,” Aoife muttered one afternoon as she flipped through her phone. “New fan edits. Don’t look unless you want madness.”
“What’d they do now?” Finn groaned.
She held up the screen: a collage of Byrne and Kaine on Grafton Street, laughing, leaning a little too close, Byrne’s hand barely grazing Kaine’s back in one shot.
Kaine’s face went a warm shade of pink. “Jesus.”
“Aw cute,” Darren said. “Hashtag adorable.”
Byrne kept his face blank as he pulled on his boots.
Kaine caught the tension and slid the moment sideways with a joke about needing royalties for fan art, and the lads took the bait.
But Byrne stayed rigid long after the laughter moved on.
Training that day was brutal.
Byrne welcomed it. Bruises were simpler than feelings.
When it finally ended, the lads sprawled in the locker room, groaning and swearing and comparing injuries in the way only men trying desperately not to reveal their fear could.
Carmody stepped in.
“Right,” he said. “You’ve suffered enough. Mandatory team night at O’Shea’s. Eight p.m. No idiocy, no fights, no viral videos. Captain—”
Byrne looked up.
“You’re coming.”
It wasn’t a question.
Before Byrne could formulate his usual excuse, Kaine’s voice cut in from across the room.
“He’s in.”
Byrne’s head snapped up.
Kaine just raised his brows. “Aren’t you?”
It wasn’t a challenge.
It was a request.
So Byrne nodded once. “Yeah. I’m in.”
The room erupted.
Some idiot shouted, “Captain’s coming out!”
Then immediately panicked. “NOT LIKE THAT—OH MY GOD—”
Kaine groaned and threw a towel. “Learn phrasing, Jamie.”
Byrne dressed in silence, pulse pounding.
O’Shea’s was loud enough to vibrate bone.
The team took over a long wooden table near the back, immediately ordering enough alcohol to drown the average village.
Byrne took his usual seat near the middle—close enough to be present, far enough to avoid being the punchline.
Kaine slid in beside him, thigh warm through the fabric of Byrne’s trousers. Byrne pretended not to notice.
“What’re you drinking?” Kaine asked.
“Water.”
Kaine snorted. “You’re allergic to joy.”
“It’s pub night, not a holiday.”
“Live a little, captain.”
He ordered Byrne a shandy anyway.
It tasted fine.
Dangerously fine.
Stories piled up. Laughter loosened things Byrne usually kept welded shut. Kaine drank less than everyone else. Byrne noticed.
Maeve’s texts came. Honesty slipped loose.
Maeve: You’re allowed to want something that isn’t pain.
The words burned.
Byrne locked his phone and turned to Kaine.
“Another drink?”
Kaine smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Hours and pints later, the cold outside hit Byrne like a baptism.
He staggered. Kaine caught him.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re observant.”
They made it back slowly, Byrne offering slurred commentary on streetlamps and injustice and the extortionate price of crisps, the words tumbling out of him without much direction. Inside the dorm, Kaine shut the door behind them and turned just in time to catch Byrne swaying.
“Sit,” he said.
Byrne dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed. Kaine crouched in front of him and reached for his boots.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Kaine said, already working the laces. “Lift.”
Byrne obeyed. One boot slid off, then the other. Kaine stilled, and only then noticed the way Byrne was staring at him. Not glassy. Not unfocused. Just… looking, with an intensity that made Kaine still.
“What?” he asked.
“You,” Byrne said simply.
Kaine drew a slow breath. “Okay, we’re not having this conversation while you’re—”
Byrne grabbed the front of Kaine's shirt, yanking him forward with brutal force. Kaine stumbled, a sharp grunt escaping his lips as his balance shattered. Before he could steady himself, Byrne's mouth crashed into his—hard, demanding, all teeth and tongue, no room for gentleness.
It wasn't a kiss; it was a fucking invasion, Byrne's lips bruising Kaine's with raw hunger that ignited every nerve in Kaine's body.
Kaine's mind reeled, promises to keep his shit together dissolving under the heat.
He kissed back fiercely, shoving his tongue into Byrne's mouth, tasting the sharp tang of sweat and need.
They tumbled backward, Byrne on his back, Kaine sprawling half on top, their legs twisting together in a messy tangle.
Byrne arched up, his strong hands clawing at Kaine's back, pulling him down until their hips ground together.
Kaine's cock throbbed in his boxers, already leaking pre-cum against the fabric.
"Fuck," Kaine gasped against Byrne's lips, his voice ragged. Byrne didn't answer with words. His thigh jammed up between Kaine's legs, pressing right against his aching dick. Kaine's hips bucked involuntarily, grinding down hard, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.
Byrne's breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he dragged Kaine closer, their mouths colliding again in a sloppy, desperate mess.
"Bad idea," Kaine muttered, even as his hands fisted in Byrne's dark hair, yanking his head back to bite at his jaw.
"Shut the fuck up and kiss me," Byrne snarled, his voice wrecked and low, nails digging into Kaine's sides.
Kaine obeyed, slamming his mouth back onto Byrne's, tongues thrusting like they were fucking already.
Byrne's hands shoved under Kaine's shirt, rough palms scraping over his bare skin, fingers bruising muscle as they raked down his spine.
Kaine groaned into the kiss, his body arching at the sting.
Byrne's aggression fueled the fire in Kaine's gut, making his cock twitch and leak more.
They rolled slightly, Byrne's weight shifting to pin Kaine better, but Kaine fought back just enough to stay on top.
Byrne's hands turned savage, grabbing the hem of Kaine's shirt and ripping it upward.
Kaine lifted his arms, letting Byrne yank the fabric off and toss it aside.
Now skin met shirt, Kaine's chest pressing hot against Byrne's clothed torso, the friction making him hiss.
Byrne's hands were everywhere—gripping Kaine's shoulders, sliding down to his ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks.
"Get these pants off," Byrne demanded, his breath hot against Kaine's ear, voice thick with lust. Kaine's fingers fumbled with the waistband, shoving them down his thighs and finally off.
He kicked the clothes away, then turned to Byrne, tugging at his pants roughly.
Byrne lifted his hips, helping as Kaine stripped him down to his tight briefs, the black fabric stretched taut over the thick bulge of his erection.
Pre-cum soaked a dark spot at the tip, the outline of Byrne's fat cockhead visible, veins pulsing under the thin material.
Kaine's mouth watered at the sight. He rucked Byrne's shirt up, exposing the rugged planes of his stomach, the taut muscles flexing under his touch.
Leaning down, Kaine dragged his tongue flat from the waistband of Byrne's briefs, up the salty skin of his abs, tasting sweat and man.
He licked higher, over Byrne's chest, teeth grazing a nipple before sucking it hard.
Byrne jerked beneath him, a choked moan ripping from his throat.
"Fuck, yeah—lick me like that, you dirty little slut," Byrne growled, his hand tangling in Kaine's hair, shoving his face into the crook of his neck. Kaine bit down on the pulse there, sucking a mark into the skin while his fingers traced the edge of Byrne's briefs.
He slipped his hand inside the waistband, feeling the heat of Byrne's thick cock, the velvety skin over steel-hard length.
But he pulled back, teasing, rubbing his thumb over the wet spot on the fabric instead, pressing against the slit where pre-cum oozed.
Byrne bucked up, a desperate whine escaping him.
"Touch my cock properly—stroke it, make me fucking leak for you.
" Kaine's own dick ached, throbbing against Byrne's thigh as he ground down.
He palmed Byrne through the briefs fully now, squeezing the heavy shaft, feeling it jump under his hand.
Byrne's hips snapped up, fucking into Kaine's grip, the fabric rasping against his sensitive skin.
"God, you're so fucking hard," Kaine breathed, his voice breaking as he watched Byrne's face twist in pleasure.
Byrne's hand shot down, shoving into Kaine's half-lowered boxers, wrapping around Kaine's leaking cock.
His fist pumped rough and fast, thumb smearing pre-cum over the head.
Kaine choked on a groan, his body shuddering as Byrne jerked him off with aggressive strokes, nails scraping lightly along the underside.
"Like that? Feel how wet you are for me," Byrne rasped, his breath coming in heavy pants.
"Gonna make you cum all over my hand, but first—fuck, keep rubbing my dick like that.
" They rutted together, hips grinding in a frantic rhythm, cocks sliding against each other through the thin barrier of Byrne's briefs and Kaine's tangled underwear. The friction was
delicious, the feeling electric. Kaine's hand sped up, stroking Byrne's cock through the briefs, feeling the heat pulse, the shaft thickening even more.
Byrne's voice was low and words spilled out in a torrent.
"Yeah, grind on me—feel my fat cock against yours.
You want it inside you, don't you? Stretching that tight ass while I fuck you raw. "
Kaine whimpered, his control shattering as Byrne’s words landed hard, each one knocking loose something he’d been barely holding together.
He moved instinctively, chasing sensation, breath hitching as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter.
Byrne felt it—felt Kaine falter—and for a split second it was almost enough to push him over the edge too.
Almost.
Byrne broke first. His body betrayed him, seizing as heat surged and cut off just short of release, a sharp, furious ache rippling through him instead. A guttural curse tore from his throat, raw and helpless, his head tipping back as if his body could will itself past the line it had been denied.
“Shit— I—” His voice cracked, hoarse and wrecked, the sound dissolving into a startled, humiliating hiccup he couldn’t stop.
That was when Kaine froze.
He pulled back immediately, hands gone, space reappearing between them like a door slamming shut.
“No,” he said quietly, the word weighted.
“This isn’t right.” He looked stricken—almost guilty—like he’d just realized how close he’d come to taking something he hadn’t earned.
“If we do this, we do this when you’re gonna remember it tomorrow. ”
Byrne’s gaze dropped on reflex, jaw tight, breath still uneven. Frustration burned through him—sharp, undeniable, unfair. His body throbbed with it, with the instinct to reach out and demand more. He hated how much he wanted to curse, to argue, to say he didn’t care.
Kaine followed his line of sight and swore. A large wet spot had formed in his shorts.. He didn’t look triumphant. He didn’t look smug. If anything, it only made his expression softer, more certain.
“Yes,” Kaine said, steady now, grounding himself as much as Byrne. “I obviously want you.” A beat. Then, gentler still, “But not like this.”
He offered a small grin and a quick wink, humor sliding into place like armor, but his hands stayed where they were—off. “Consent is sexy,” he added lightly.
The words hit Byrne harder than anything else had.
The frustration didn’t vanish, but it shifted, tangled with something warmer and more unsettling. Care. Restraint. Respect, even when Kaine clearly didn’t want to stop. Byrne swallowed, stunned by the realization that being denied hadn’t made him feel small or used—it had made him feel seen.
He tucked Byrne under the duvet, left water on the table, switched off the light.
In the dark, Byrne’s voice came small.
“I didn’t imagine it, did I?”
“No,” Kaine whispered. “You didn’t.”
Tomorrow would be hell.
But tonight—the truth existed. And neither of them could unknow it.