Beautiful Sin - Chapter 2
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Davis Brothers
Morning light spilled across the cramped living room-cum-dining room-cum-kitchen, making the chipped paint look almost intentionally distressed rather than just old. Aiden nursed his coffee, the aroma blending with the mouthwatering scent of Reo’s perfectly seasoned eggs and French toast. Even on a shoestring budget, his Japanese stepbrother managed to turn their bargain-bin ingredients into something that could pass for actual cuisine. A pile of bills peeked from beneath a loaf of store-brand bread, their numbers the only unappetizing thing on the table.
Aiden found himself straining to hear the telltale sounds of movement from Haru’s converted closet-bedroom. The memory of their morning interaction lingered—Haru’s sleep-rumpled appearance, that oversized shirt sliding off one pale shoulder, dark hair tousled in a way that made Aiden’s fingers itch to run through it. He’d forced himself to leave before he did something stupid, like trace the exposed line of Haru’s collarbone or pull him close and—
“What’s wrong?” Reo’s voice cut through his inappropriate thoughts. Aiden looked up to find his stepbrother studying him like he was analyzing a business proposal, those smoky-dark eyes missing nothing. “You’re staring at that hallway like it owes you money.”
“What do you mean?” Aiden focused on his coffee, pretending he hadn’t been mentally undressing their youngest brother. The ceramic mug suddenly seemed fascinating, its chipped rim a metaphor for... something. Probably his sanity.
“You seem preoccupied.” Reo leaned against the counter, his knowing smirk suggesting he could read every inappropriate thought running through Aiden’s mind. “Your coffee’s getting cold, and you haven’t even complimented my cooking yet. I’m wounded.”
“Your culinary genius continues to astound me,” Aiden deadpanned, though his fond smile betrayed him. “Happy now? Or should I write you a five-star review for our poverty-chic kitchen?”
“I’ll settle for you actually drinking your coffee before it becomes a science experiment,” Reo replied, nodding at Aiden’s untouched mug. His dark eyes held that infuriating gleam that suggested he knew exactly what—or rather who—was occupying Aiden’s thoughts.
Aiden lifted the cup to his lips, but his attention drifted back to the hallway. The image of Haru from earlier flashed unbidden in his mind—drowning in Noah’s old shirt, one pale shoulder peeking out like some Renaissance painting come to life. Beautiful. The word had floated through his mind before he could stop it, followed by an inexplicable urge to press his lips against that exposed skin, to feel Haru’s pulse quicken beneath his touch. He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was Haru—his adorable little brother who needed protecting, not fantasizing about. The familiar guilt settled in his stomach, heavy and persistent.
“You’re hovering again,” Reo’s knowing tone pulled him back to reality. A smirk played on his lips as he added, “Though I suppose that protective streak runs deeper than the ocean.”
Aiden set his mug down with more force than necessary, the ceramic clinking against wood. “I’m his eldest brother. That’s my job.” The words felt rehearsed, like lines he’d been repeating to himself for years. A mantra that was becoming harder to believe with each passing day.
“If our little prince wants to test his boss’s patience, let him. Not everyone can rock the ‘fashionably late’ look like Haru,” Reo pushed off from the counter, refilling his cup with their premium coffee—the one luxury he insisted on. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I have to say, Aiden, this whole mother-hen routine is getting a bit much. What’s next—heart-shaped notes in his lunch box? Maybe channel some of that nurturing energy into finding a date instead of memorizing our baby brother’s schedule?”
“Watch it,” Aiden warned, though there wasn’t much heat in it. Maybe because the image of Haru drowning in their hand-me-downs was still too fresh in his mind, the way the fabric had slipped to reveal that smooth expanse of skin that had no business looking so tempting.
Noah chose that moment to stride in, still glistening from his run. Droplets of sweat traced tantalizing paths down his neck and chest, his running shorts clinging to powerful thighs in a way that would have made lesser men self-conscious. He slid into his chair with his usual precise grace, arranging his napkin just so before serving himself with the kind of meticulous care that made breakfast look like a formal dinner. “Oh, are we finally addressing Aiden’s terminal case of mother-hen syndrome?”
“How about we address your terminal case of bad timing?” Aiden shot back, grateful for the distraction from his inappropriate thoughts. “Or better yet, your fascinating relationship with that running shirt. I think it’s becoming sentient.”
“Deflection through insults.” Reo clicked his tongue, watching Noah methodically section his French toast into perfect triangles. “And here I thought real estate agents were supposed to be smooth talkers. No wonder you’re single.”
“I didn’t realize my love life was today’s breakfast special,” Aiden retorted. “Though I suppose it’s more entertaining than watching Noah treat breakfast like it’s a formal state dinner.”
“Some of us,” Noah replied primly, dabbing his mouth with his napkin between perfectly measured bites, “actually appreciate proper dining etiquette. Even at seven in the morning.” Despite his composed exterior, Noah’s eyes kept drifting toward the hallway, as if expecting—or hoping for—someone to appear. Someone with dark hair and a tendency to wear shirts that slipped off his shoulders.
Reo’s smirk turned positively feline. “At least Noah’s relationship with breakfast protocol is more active than your relationship with dating. When was your last date? I think I was still speaking Japanese.”
“You still speak Japanese,” Aiden pointed out dryly, ignoring the uncomfortable truth in Reo’s observation. It had been... a while. Not that he was counting the months. Or years.
“Exactly my point.” Reo raised his cup in mock salute, while Noah methodically aligned his utensils between bites. “At this rate, you’ll end up married to your ‘Open House’ signs. At least they won’t mind your obsession with our baby brother.”
Aiden’s heart stuttered at the casual observation. Was he that transparent? Had Reo noticed the way his gaze lingered too long on Haru? The way he found excuses to touch him—a hand on his shoulder, fingers ruffling his hair—gestures that should have been brotherly but felt like something else entirely?
“Your concern is touching,” Aiden said, fighting to keep his voice even. “Did you workshop these zingers while practicing your coffee art, or do they come naturally with that premium roast of yours?”
“Please.” Reo’s eyes danced with unholy amusement. “I’m saving my best material for when you finally realize you’re—” He cut himself off, smile turning mysterious. “Well, that’s a show I want front row seats for.”
Aiden shook his head, fighting both irritation and fondness as he watched Reo take another self-satisfied sip of his precious coffee. Before he could formulate a suitably cutting response, Noah’s practical voice cut through the morning air.
“Speaking of shows, is Mason up yet?”
Aiden welcomed the change of subject, glancing at the hallway where silence reigned supreme. “Still in bed.”
“He didn’t come home until four this morning,” Reo chimed in. “From the sound of it, he was either reenacting Swan Lake in his bedroom or fighting ninjas. Hard to tell with these walls.” He tapped his fingers against his mug, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Though I did hear him mumbling something in his sleep when I passed his room. Sounded suspiciously like someone’s name.”
Noah’s knife scraped against his plate, the sound sharp in the morning quiet. “He really should stop working at that bar,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “Sure, he’s raking in tips like a poker champ on a hot streak, but living like a vampire can’t be good for him.”
Aiden felt a flicker of curiosity at Reo’s implication, quickly followed by an unexpected pang of something darker. Who exactly was Mason dreaming about? The thought of Mason with some nameless stranger from the bar shouldn’t bother him, yet somehow it did. Perhaps because Mason’s romantic escapades inevitably meant more noise in their already cramped apartment.
“And studying on top of it,” Reo added, watching Aiden’s reaction with those too-perceptive eyes. “I don’t know how he manages without turning into a walking energy drink advertisement.”
Aiden shrugged, pushing aside his unexplained discomfort. “It’s not so hard once you’re used to it.” The memory of his own grueling schedule after their parents died flashed through his mind—the bone-deep exhaustion, the constant worry about keeping the family together, the late nights poring over legal documents to ensure they could keep the apartment. He remembered how Haru would wait up for him sometimes, curled up on the couch like a small, worried cat, those dark eyes following his movements as if afraid Aiden might disappear too.
“So says the patriarch of our humble abode.” Noah’s voice dripped with dry humor as he precisely cut another triangle of French toast. “We know you’ve got your work ethic set to ‘superhuman,’ Aiden, but that doesn’t mean Mason’s signed up for the same program. Besides, we’re not exactly scrounging for pennies now that we’ve sent the mortgage off with a gold watch and a retirement party.”
The sunlight filtering through their ancient curtains caught on Noah’s damp hair, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. Aiden sometimes forgot how much his brother had grown up—no longer the sullen teenager who’d resented Aiden’s authority, but a man with his own career and ambitions. The thought was both comforting and vaguely unsettling, a reminder that time was marching on, that their family dynamic was shifting in subtle ways he couldn’t quite control.
“Perhaps a family conference is in order when Sleeping Beauty graces us with his presence?” Reo suggested, dark eyes twinkling as he swirled his precious coffee. “A suggestion to trim his work hours seems timely, considering his academic ventures are ramping up to ‘crunch time.’”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Aiden agreed, already mentally preparing his ‘responsible older brother’ speech. The one that always made him feel simultaneously ancient and completely unqualified, like he was playing a role in a play he’d never rehearsed for.
As if summoned by their conspiracy of concern, Mason materialized in the doorway. His honey-blonde hair performed an impressive impersonation of a bird’s nest after a hurricane, while his sculpted physique somehow managed to make exhaustion look like a fashion statement. The old t-shirt he wore had clearly given up trying to contain his shoulders and was now just along for the ride, revealing a strip of tanned skin at his waist that spoke of afternoons spent at the campus gym rather than in the library.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough as gravel but still carrying that hint of charm that probably doubled his tips. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, performed a quick sweep of the kitchen before settling on the coffee pot like it held the secrets to eternal youth.
Reo’s eyebrow arched with practiced precision. “You’re up early for someone who moonlights as a professional night owl. Dream something interesting?” The question seemed innocent enough, but the knowing glint in Reo’s eyes suggested otherwise.
Mason’s movements faltered for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening on the coffee pot handle. “Nothing worth sharing,” he replied, a hint of color touching his cheeks that had nothing to do with the kitchen’s warmth. He collapsed into his chair with the graceful desperation of a man who’d been vertical for far too long. “Hunger beat sleep in a cage match,” he yawned, reaching for the nearest edible item. “Planning a rematch after breakfast.”
The scent of Reo’s perfectly seasoned eggs filled the kitchen, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and the lingering traces of Noah’s expensive cologne—an olfactory representation of their family’s contradictions. Gourmet taste on a budget, luxury touches in a cramped apartment, the pretense of adulthood in a space that still held echoes of their childhood.
“Solid life choices,” Noah approved, dabbing his mouth with his napkin like he was dining at the Ritz rather than their scratched kitchen table. The morning light caught on his cheekbones, emphasizing the aristocratic lines of his face. It was easy to forget sometimes that Noah was objectively beautiful—easy because he was just Noah, the perfectionist brother who folded his socks and alphabetized his books.
Aiden waited until Mason had inhaled half his breakfast before launching Operation Intervention. “Mason, we need to talk about your job at the bar.” He adopted his real estate negotiation voice, the one that balanced authority with understanding—a tone he’d perfected over years of being the family’s de facto parent.
Mason paused mid-chew, looking remarkably alert for someone who’d probably seen more sunrises from the wrong end lately. “Let me guess—you want me to either quit or dial it back?” His honey-colored eyes held a flash of defiance that reminded Aiden of their teenage years, of Mason’s quiet but determined rebellion against being the “middle child.”
“Reducing hours would be ideal,” Aiden said, choosing his words carefully. “Especially if it means fewer dawn patrols. But if you wanted to explore other employment opportunities...” He let the suggestion hang in the air, an offering rather than a command.
Mason held up a hand, somehow managing to make the gesture both respectful and dismissive. “I’ll talk to my boss about cutting back the hours.” He paused, a flash of determination breaking through his sleepy demeanor. “But I’m keeping the job. There’s something satisfying about earning money without having to sell my soul to corporate America. Yet.” His lips curved into a small smile. “Besides, the tips are excellent, and the... scenery isn’t bad either.”
Something in his tone made Aiden wonder exactly what kind of “scenery” Mason was referring to. Or who. The bar was popular with college students—Haru’s age group. The thought of Mason surrounded by attractive young people, flirting and charming his way to better tips, created an uncomfortable knot in Aiden’s stomach that he chose not to examine too closely.
Reo snorted into his coffee, the sound drawing Aiden back to the present. “Says the man who sells his sleep schedule to drunk college students instead.” His dark eyes moved between Mason and Aiden, cataloging their expressions with that unnerving perceptiveness that sometimes made Aiden wonder if Reo could actually read minds.
Noah’s fork paused mid-air, laden with a precisely balanced stack of scrambled eggs. “Didn’t you say yesterday you’ve got that meeting with a client this afternoon?” he asked Aiden, his tone casual though his eyes were sharp.
Aiden nodded, grateful for the change of subject. “The client’s itching to inspect a few apartments she’s taken a shine to.” He nursed his coffee like it held the secrets to Manhattan real estate, the ceramic warm against his palms.
“What corner of concrete paradise are they eyeing?” Reo inquired, leaning back in his chair with feline grace.
“Upper East Side.” The words carried weight in their household, where finances were always a carefully balanced equation.
Noah’s whistle could’ve summoned cabs from three blocks away, the sound cutting through the kitchen’s morning haze. “Serious money, then.”
Mason, still waging war against his breakfast, paused long enough to grin. “That’s going to be quite the commission.” His expression softened slightly. “You deserve it, Aiden. You’ve been carrying us long enough.”
The simple acknowledgment caught Aiden off guard, warming something in his chest. For all their banter and bickering, these moments of genuine appreciation made everything worth it—the long hours, the sacrifices, the weight of responsibility he’d carried since their parents died.
“If the real estate gods smile upon us,” Aiden replied, trying not to count his commission before it hatched. Though the prospect of a substantial paycheck was appealing—maybe enough to finally replace Haru’s ancient laptop, the one he’d been struggling with for his college assignments. The screen flickered constantly, and the battery barely held a charge, yet Haru never complained. He’d simply taken to working in the living room, closer to an outlet.
The image of Haru curled up on their couch, dark hair falling over his eyes as he worked, sent an unexpected wave of tenderness through Aiden. The desire to provide for him, to make his life easier, was both brotherly and... something else. Something Aiden refused to name.
Reo’s gaze shifted to Noah’s athletic attire, his eyes lingering on the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to his stepbrother’s frame. “Why are you still dressed for the Olympics? Planning to break another personal record before breakfast?”
“Haru’s claimed squatter’s rights to the bathroom,” Noah grumbled, returning to his methodical breakfast consumption. There was something in his voice when he said Haru’s name—a subtle shift in tone that Aiden might have missed if he hadn’t been listening for it. A softening, perhaps, or a tension. “Been in there for twenty minutes already.”
“How chivalrous of you,” Reo drawled, his lips curving into that knowing smile that suggested he was collecting secrets like others collected stamps. “You could’ve staged a coup and sent him running to work in yesterday’s clothes.”
Noah’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “He needs the bathroom more than I do.” His knife sliced through his French toast with surgical precision, belying the tension in his words. “Besides, I can wait.”
The implication that Noah—the most impatient of them all when it came to bathroom time—would willingly wait for Haru struck Aiden as odd. Since when did Noah, who once timed their showers with a stopwatch, become so accommodating? The thought nagged at him, like a loose thread he couldn’t quite grasp.
Aiden leaned back, pushing the strange observation aside. “Maybe we should look into upgrading to a place with more than one bathroom.” The suggestion was practical, though the thought of moving—of dismantling the home they’d built together—created a hollow feeling in his chest.
“And six bedrooms?” Noah arched an eyebrow with surgical precision. “That’s not exactly growing on trees in New York.”
Mason swallowed his mouthful of French toast before speaking—a miracle in itself. “It’s going to cost more than my entire bartending career. Do we really need to move? We’re making this work, aren’t we?” He gestured around the kitchen, at the mismatched chairs and the ancient refrigerator that hummed like a small aircraft. “It’s not the Ritz, but it’s home.”
The simple statement resonated with something deep in Aiden’s chest. This apartment, with all its flaws and cramped spaces, held their history. The height marks on the kitchen doorframe tracking Haru and Isaac’s growth. The dent in the hallway wall from when Mason had tried to demonstrate a wrestling move on Noah. The living room where they’d huddled together after the funeral, a broken family trying to find its way forward.
“Indeed,” Reo agreed, swirling his premium roast like a wine connoisseur. “And let’s be realistic about our finances. We’re not eating ramen anymore, but you’re still our primary breadwinner, Aiden. Plus, this place is practically a family heirloom. Mom and Stepdad poured their souls into making it livable for our situation.”
The mention of their parents created a momentary silence, a shared pause of remembrance. Aiden could almost see them—their father’s broad shoulders as he painted the kitchen, their stepmother’s delicate hands arranging flowers on the windowsill, their laughter filling the spaces that now sometimes felt too quiet.
As if summoned by the scent of domesticity—or more likely, breakfast—Isaac breezed into the kitchen, his blonde hair performing an impressive impersonation of artistic bedhead, managing to look both completely disheveled and inexplicably stylish. He brought with him a wave of energy that dispelled the momentary melancholy, his presence like a sudden burst of sunlight through clouds.
“Morning, all my favorite bros!” He dropped into an empty chair, eyeing the spread with undisguised hunger. “What’s for breakfast? French toast and eggs? Don’t mind if I do!” He began piling his plate with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered food existed.
Isaac was the easiest of them—uncomplicated, genuinely happy, untouched by the weight of responsibility that sometimes pressed down on the rest of them. Watching him attack his breakfast with gusto, Aiden felt a rush of protectiveness. He wanted to preserve that lightness, to ensure Isaac never had to shoulder the burdens the others had carried.
“No selling,” Aiden declared firmly, returning to their conversation about the apartment. “Too many memories embedded in these walls... Not to mention we all worked too hard to get our names on that deed.” The apartment represented more than just a place to live—it was tangible proof that they’d survived, that they’d kept their promise to their parents to stay together.
“The Davis-Ono Trust owns it now anyway,” Reo pointed out practically. “Mom and your dad made sure of that before they passed. Equal ownership for all six of us.”
“Which means we all get a vote on moving,” Noah added, his precision extending to property matters as well as breakfast etiquette. A drop of sweat traced a path down his neck, disappearing beneath his running shirt—a reminder that he’d been exercising while the rest of them were just waking up. Always the overachiever.
“Democracy at its finest,” Isaac mumbled through a mouthful of French toast. “Though my vote is always going to be for whatever gets me the fastest internet.” He grinned, a smudge of syrup on his chin making him look younger than his twenty years. “Do you know how long it takes to download game updates on our current connection? I could grow a beard waiting.”
“The apartment’s paid off,” Aiden said, his tone softening as he looked around at his brothers. “That was the hard part. Maintaining it between the three of us working full-time should be manageable, even with you two—” he nodded toward Mason and Isaac, “—focusing on your studies. Though I do have enough saved for a deposit if we needed it.”
The admission made Mason’s eyes narrow slightly. “That savings is yours,” he insisted, echoing Reo’s earlier sentiment. “We’ve been parasites long enough. Besides, some of us might spread our wings soon.”
The casual comment hit Aiden like a physical blow. Something visceral twisted in his chest—not just emotional discomfort but an actual physical pain that momentarily stole his breath. “Nobody’s flying this coop anytime soon.” The words came out sharper than intended, laced with a possessiveness that surprised even him.
The thought of any of them leaving—especially Haru—sent not just anxiety but something deeper through him, a primal fear that made no rational sense. This apartment, for all its flaws, kept them together. He couldn’t explain why, but some part of him knew with bone-deep certainty that separation would be disastrous.
Reo watched him over the rim of his coffee cup, something ancient and knowing in his eyes. “Family should stay together,” he said, his tone casual though his gaze was anything but. “It’s tradition, after all. Some bonds aren’t meant to be broken.”
“Well, I’m certainly not planning my great escape,” Noah interjected, dabbing his mouth with a precision that bordered on compulsive. “Plus, starting a new job at one of New York’s gaming giants next week.”
Reo perked up like a cat spotting an unattended tuna sandwich. “Does this mean vacation plans might become more than fantasy? I’ve been dreaming of hot springs and sake for years.” His expression turned wistful, a rare glimpse of homesickness beneath his usual composure. “Japan in autumn would be nice.”
“Maybe?” Noah’s shrug was noncommittal at best, though something softened in his expression at Reo’s mention of Japan. For all his precision and control, Noah had a surprising soft spot for his stepbrothers’ heritage, having learned more Japanese phrases than any of them expected.
Isaac perked up mid-bite, cheeks still stuffed with French toast. “Vacation? Where to? When? Can my entourage join?” His eyes lit up with excitement, boyish enthusiasm that made him look even younger. “I’ve always wanted to see Tokyo! All those neon lights and crazy vending machines. And the game stores, Aiden. The game stores!”
Mason gave him a look that suggested he’d seen this movie before. “Pump those vacation brakes. Noah hasn’t even started the job yet, and you’re already spending his paychecks.”
Isaac deflated visibly, shoulders slumping as he pushed his eggs around his plate. “Well, can’t blame a guy for dreaming.” He brightened almost immediately, resilient as always, shoveling another forkful of French toast into his mouth. “At least breakfast is good.”
The mundane morning rhythm of clinking plates and casual banter screeched to a halt when Haru appeared in the doorway. Aiden’s world tilted on its axis, his breath catching in his throat.
Still damp from his shower, Haru’s jet-black hair fell in soft waves around his face, giving him an ethereal quality that made him look more like a porcelain doll than someone’s little brother. His skin, slightly flushed from the hot water, seemed to glow in the morning light, making the contrast with his borrowed shirt even more striking. The white cotton—one of Aiden’s old t-shirts, he realized with a jolt of recognition—hung off his slight frame like an invitation to sin, one pale shoulder exposed in a way that sent Aiden’s thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory.
And then the scent hit him—subtle yet unmistakable. Honey and cherry blossoms with a hint of lily, a combination that shouldn’t exist naturally yet seemed to emanate from Haru’s skin. The fragrance bypassed Aiden’s rational mind, triggering something deep and primal within him. He’d noticed it before, of course, but this morning it seemed particularly potent, wrapping around him like an invisible tether.
Droplets of water clung to Haru’s neck, tracing tempting paths down to his collarbone before disappearing beneath the collar of the shirt. Aiden found himself following their journey with an intensity that burned, his mouth suddenly dry. The borrowed shirt was worn thin from years of use, the fabric almost translucent where it clung to the damp patches of Haru’s skin. The sight made something ancient stir in Aiden’s chest, a possessive heat that felt both foreign and strangely familiar, as if he’d experienced this exact feeling countless times before.
Across the table, Noah’s fork paused midway to his mouth. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle flickering beneath the smooth skin.
“I’m heading out,” Haru announced, adjusting his messenger bag, the movement causing the shirt to slip further down his shoulder.
Mason set his coffee mug down with careful precision, his gaze fixed on the dark liquid as if it contained answers to questions he hadn’t asked. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the ceramic.
“Breakfast,” Noah said, the single word coming out rougher than his usual precise diction. He cleared his throat, attention returning to sectioning his remaining French toast into perfect triangles.
Reo’s lips curved into a subtle smile as he leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug between his palms. His eyes moved from brother to brother, observing, collecting.
“Yeah, Haru!” Isaac mumbled through a mouthful of food, syrup glistening on his chin. “Reo’s French toast is worth being late for!”
Aiden stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor. “I’ll drive you,” he said, his voice steadier than the sudden racing of his pulse. “But first, eat something.”