Hidden Flames – Chapter XXI: The Return

⚠️🔞CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains explicit adult content (NSFW) including graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adults. It is intended for a mature audience only.⚠️

The morning was cold as a grave. The warmth of yesterday's sunset, the rejoicing of bodies, the laughter – all had vanished as if it had been a dream. In its place was a heavy, leaden silence that filled every pore of the kitchen. Nathan stood in front of the coffee maker, but his hand trembled, and he pressed the buttons in vain. His gaze through the window above the sink was fixed on the dusty road, but he didn't see it. He saw the past.

Another morning. In this same kitchen. His mother's voice, sharp and poisonous like plum brandy: "That man, that Lucas... he's leading you down a bad path, Nathan. This isn't a life. It's blasphemy." And then on the porch. Lucas standing, silently, his face expressionless, only his eyes, which were as dark as a winter night. His mother pointing her finger at him: "And you call this home? With such a... perverted filth?"

"No," Nathan whispered to himself, gripping the coffee cup. The porcelain was hot, but his fingers turned icy.

"Don't strain yourself so much," he heard Lucas's voice behind him. It was as soft as only Lucas could be, but steel vibrated beneath it. Nathan turned around.

Lucas stood in the doorway, bare-chested, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't looking at Nathan, but through the window, at the yard, the entrance road. Every muscle was tense, motionless, like an animal sniffing the air. "You don't have to let her in," he said, still looking out the window. "Illness is not a bargaining chip. You owe her nothing."

"But she's my mother," Nathan said, his voice hoarse. "She was," Lucas corrected quietly, and finally looked at him. In his eyes there was no anger, only an infinitely weary, ancient knowledge. "Those who renounce must be rejected. That's the law."

"And if she's changed?" Lucas took a step forward. The morning light streaked his chest, the deep scars running across his stomach. "Blood doesn't change, Nathan. Fear does. Weakness does. But the essence... that remains." He placed his hand on Nathan's shoulder. The touch was hot, solid. "I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you. Never again."

Nathan nodded, but the nod was empty. The word circled in his head: hope. But not hope for good, rather a sick, painful hope that maybe, if she came now, something could still be. Then he realized: it wasn't hope, it was desire. The desire to finally tell his mother how much it hurt. To see the regret on her face. To be the stronger one.

She arrived at noon.

The blue, rickety Toyota stopped in front of the gate, exactly where it had five years ago. Nathan stood on the porch steps, Lucas behind him, in the doorway of the house. The air was hot with July heat, but Nathan felt a chill.

The door opened. First, just a foot was visible, thin, in a yellow slipper. Then the whole figure. Helen Carter. But not the Helen Nathan had last seen. That woman was hard, straight as a knife. This woman was hunched, as if an invisible weight pressed on her shoulders. Her clothes – a pale blue blouse and gray pants – were too big for her. Her face was pale, with deep, purplish circles under her eyes. But her eyes... they were the same. The grayish-blue, cold lake Nathan had looked into so many times in his childhood and found no warmth.

Helen stepped out and looked at the house. Then her gaze wandered to Nathan. It paused for a moment, as if she didn't recognize him. Then to Lucas. There her gaze stiffened. There was no hatred in it anymore. There was fear. And something else: shame.

Slowly, as if every step pained her, she approached the porch. Nathan went down a step to meet her. The silence was so sharp Nathan almost heard his own heartbeat.

"Mom," Nathan said. His voice was flat as a smooth stone. "Nathan," Helen nodded. Her voice was hoarse, weak. Then she turned her head towards Lucas. "Lucas." Lucas didn't answer. He just stood and watched. His gaze was that of a rock.

"Come in," Nathan said, and turned around. He didn't offer his hand, didn't hug her. He just led her into the house, into the living room. The traces of last night's celebration were still there: the empty champagne glasses, the plates. Helen looked around, and Nathan saw her eyes stop on a photograph on the mantelpiece – a picture of him and Lucas in each other's arms by the Christmas tree, smiling. Helen quickly lowered her head.

They sat down. Nathan and Lucas on the couch, Helen in the armchair, facing them. The silence settled again, but now it was poisonous.

"Nathan," Helen began, wringing her hands on her knees. "I know you weren't expecting me. And... I deserve that." "Why did you come?" Nathan asked directly. His voice trembled slightly. Helen took a deep breath. Then she looked up and looked directly into Nathan's eyes. "Because I'm sick, Nathan. I have cancer."

The word struck like an axe. Nathan's body stiffened. His heart gave a big thump, then almost stopped. Cancer. He saw on his mother's face that she wasn't lying. The fatigue, the pallor, the weight loss – it was all true. And in that moment, something crazy, instinctive, rose in him: the fear of losing her. Then immediately after, hot and angry, the rage.

"Cancer," Nathan repeated, and his voice was no longer hoarse, but sharp, thin. "And you come now? Now when it's too late? Now when I... we..." – he gestured around him, at the house, at Lucas – "...are finally home?"

Helen's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't come to ask for anything, Nathan. Just... you had to know. And... I wanted to see you. Before..." "Before what?" Nathan interrupted, standing up. His body trembled. "Before you die? So I feel bad? So I forgive? So I forget that you stood on this porch and called my husband a perverted filth? That our life is blasphemy? Forget that for ten years I had no son? That I didn't exist?"

"I was afraid!" Helen cried, and her tears finally flowed. "I was afraid of what people would say! I was afraid of being alone! Your father... he also..." "No!" Nathan shouted, pointing his finger at his mother. "Don't bring up Dad! Don't bring up your fear! Everyone has fears! I was afraid too! But I didn't abandon anyone! I stayed! I built something!" His voice broke. Lucas stood up beside him and placed his hand on his back. He didn't speak, just stood, a living, hot wall.

Helen cried, quietly, trembling. "I know. I know I don't deserve anything. Just... one night. Let me see where you live. Then I'll leave. I promise."

Nathan watched his mother, who had shrunk in the armchair, becoming a small, fragile, crying woman. And he felt the rage that he didn't even have the strength for hatred anymore. There was only a huge, empty pain.

"You can stay tonight," he finally said, and his voice was as tired as hers. "One night. Not because of your illness. But because I'm not like you. I couldn't turn away my own mother when she's sick. But this isn't forgiveness." He paused, and his eyes turned to steel again. "And this isn't a beginning. This is a farewell. Do you understand?"

Helen nodded, her eyes teary. "And this is his home," Nathan continued, pointing at Lucas. "If you say one word against him, or about our life, you leave immediately. One word." "I understand," Helen whispered. "Thank you."

In the evening, when Helen retreated to the pantry-turned-guest room, Nathan and Lucas went out onto the porch. The air was still hot, but the sunset was no longer beautiful. It was red and threatening, like a wound.

Nathan sat on the bench where yesterday he had curled up in Lucas's lap. Now he just sat, wringing his hands. Lucas sat down beside him but didn't touch him. He just sat and waited.

"I... I wish I could forgive," Nathan said quietly. "But I can't. Not yet. Maybe never." "You don't have to," Lucas said. His voice was as calm as a deep lake. "You never have to. Your feelings are yours. Not hers. Not mine. Yours. I'm just here."

Nathan looked at him. Lucas's eyes were dark, but in that darkness, a clear, unchanging fire burned. "I need you," Nathan said, and his voice cracked. "Now. Hard."

Lucas nodded. He didn't ask anything. He stood up, offered his hand. Nathan took it, and Lucas led him into the house, into the bedroom.

There was no tenderness there. Nathan started. He undressed Lucas roughly, frantically, then himself. When they were naked, Nathan stepped to Lucas and kissed him – not with love, but with demand. His hand slapped Lucas's ass, hard, then his fingers dug into the flesh, pulling him closer. "You're mine," he said into his mouth. "Say it." "I'm yours," Lucas groaned back, and his hand gripped Nathan's hair.

Nathan went further. He pushed Lucas onto the bed, onto his stomach. He grabbed his hips and lifted them. There was no preparation, no oil – just urgency. Nathan pleaded for Lucas to be wet, and Lucas's body obeyed him, as if it had been waiting for this. When Nathan pushed inside, a painful, gasping groan broke from both their throats. It was tight, hot, and for Nathan, this was reality: this tightness, this pain, this connection. This was the home no one could take away.

He thrust into Lucas hard, deep, almost belligerently. Every thrust was a statement: I'm here. This is mine. This is ours. Lucas buried his face in the pillow, but his sounds – the moans, the pants – were submissive and empathetic. He reached back and grabbed Nathan's hips, pulling him deeper.

Nathan couldn't last long. The tension, the rage, the fear – all poured out of him with a long, hoarse cry as every muscle in his body tensed and he spilled deep into Lucas. Lucas shuddered, then came too, quietly, under Nathan's heavy body.

Then they lay there, intertwined, sweaty, their breathing slowly calming. Nathan's face pressed against Lucas's back. "I love you," he whispered. "That's the only truth." "I love you too," Lucas whispered back. "Always."

At dawn, Nathan woke up. The other side of the bed was empty. He got up and went to the window. He looked out into the garden.

His mother was standing by the fence that Lucas had built – the tall, white-painted board fence that separated them from the world. Helen touched a board with one hand, as if caressing it. Then she bent down and placed her palm on the ground where the alfalfa was starting to sprout.

Nathan watched, and something tightened in his chest. Not sympathy. Not pain. Just an ancient, cold fear.

I thought the past was like ashes. Cold and dead. But it's not. The past is like a smoldering fire under the ashes. All it takes is a gust of wind, and it bursts into flames. My mother brought back the wind. And I don't know if the fire will burn me or her.

Outside in the yard, Helen straightened up and walked back towards the house. Nathan crawled back into bed, next to Lucas's warm body, and closed his eyes. But he didn't fall asleep.

– END –

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🚨 THE TURNING POINT HAS ARRIVED! CHAPTER XXI IS FREE – THE NEXT ONE WON'T BE. 🔥 The meeting between Nathan and his mother has stirred up every speck of the past. After the pain, the rage, and the revealed illness, one thing is certain: the fire continues to smolder and will soon burst into flames. Starting with Chapter XXII, the story – the drama, the adventure, and the hot, possessive intimacy – will be available exclusively to paid subscribers. Don't miss out on the twists and the unraveling secrets. As a paid subscriber, you get immediate access to every new chapter, and you directly support my creative work, allowing me to produce even more of this content. ❤️ Join the inner circle! Subscribe now and continue the adventure! 👇