A couple of days later, the after-party spilled across the moonlit terrace of the same estate, lanterns swaying in the warm night breeze that carried the mingled scents of spilled champagne and crushed roses from the day's earlier festivities. Pau lingered near the bar, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar to ease the heat still clinging to his skin, when he spotted Hector hunched against the far railing with Ferran. Hector's voice carried low and sharp, laced with anger that vibrated through the air like distant thunder—words clipped about old betrayals and the weight of rival names that still shadowed their every move. Ferran smirked discreetly, one hand clapping his brother's shoulder in quiet solidarity, but the tension in Hector's broad frame was unmistakable, his red peekaboo hair tousled by the wind and new ink curling darker along his neck as he turned away from the crowd.

Pau's gaze traced the changes in him again, the piercings catching stray light, the tattoos that had multiplied into a map of years apart, transforming the once-reckless boy into this harder, more possessive man whose isolation felt like a deliberate shield against the undercurrents of family rivalry still humming beneath the laughter and clinking glasses. The wedding's joy had masked it at first, but here in the aftermath, with Alexia and Ferran now bound in their own union, the Cubarsi and Fort lines crossed less like enemies and more like live wires. Pau felt the serpentine tattoo on his own arm pulse in response, a secret echo of the hunger that had never faded, his body tightening as memories of their teenage collisions flooded back—the slick slide of skin, the shared gasps in hidden corners.

Hector's eyes lifted then, locking onto Pau's across the terrace with that same intense claim, and the denial from the wedding night cracked open into something rawer. The air thickened with orange blossom and the faint musk of sweat as Hector pushed off the railing, his steps deliberate despite the anger still etched in his jaw, closing the distance while the party blurred around them. Pau's cock stirred against his trousers at the approach, the ache building low and insistent, every scar and longing from exile surfacing in the charged space between their bodies.

Hector closed the gap with that same deliberate intensity, his red peekaboo hair wild from the night wind and tattoos coiling like secrets up his throat, but the charged moment fractured when Ferran called out with a smirk, dragging them both into a loose circle of laughing guests. “Come on, old rivals—show us that boxing spark for the bride’s sake,” Ferran teased, shoving a half-full bottle of rum into Pau’s hand as a mock glove. The group egged them on with cheers, turning the terrace into a playful ring where Hector and Pau circled with exaggerated jabs, their bodies brushing in feigned punches that sent sparks skittering across Pau’s skin. Laughter rippled as the rivalry melted into something lighter, yet the underlying family tension hummed beneath every contact, Hector’s possessive gaze never straying far even as he landed a light tap to Pau’s ribs.

A wild swing from Ferran sent the rum splashing wildly, drenching Pau’s shirt and trousers in sticky waves that clung to his chest and arms, the cool liquid soaking through to trace every ridge of muscle and scar. Forced to peel off the ruined shirt amid hoots, Pau stood bare-chested under the lanterns, his serpentine tattoo gleaming wetly while the party roared approval, the night breeze tightening his nipples and stirring the low throb still pulsing between his legs. Hector’s jaw tightened at the sight, but he muttered something about washing up and slipped toward the estate’s marble bathroom, leaving the laughter behind.

Minutes later Pau followed, arms slick and reeking of alcohol, stepping into the dim tiled space where Hector stood at the sink scrubbing his hands. Their eyes met in the mirror as Pau joined him under the running water, shoulders nearly touching while suds swirled pink-tinged down the drain. “That ink,” Hector murmured, voice rough as his fingers grazed the serpent on Pau’s forearm, tracing the scales with a touch that ignited every nerve. “You kept it all these years.” Pau’s breath hitched, the ache in his cock flaring anew at the contact, his reserved walls crumbling under the weight of seven years. “I needed a sweet reminder,” he replied softly, the words carrying the heat of every stolen grind and whispered promise, their bodies leaning closer amid the steam and lingering citrus scent of soap.

Hector’s hand slid from the tattoo up the length of Pau’s damp forearm, fingers curling around his bicep with that familiar possessive grip as he stepped in close behind him. The bathroom door clicked shut under Hector’s heel, sealing them in the steam-thick air while the party’s distant laughter faded to nothing. He turned Pau around the marble counter in one smooth motion, pressing him back against the cool edge until their chests met, the wet heat of Pau’s bare skin soaking into Hector’s shirt. Their mouths crashed together hard—Hector’s tongue pushing deep, tasting the rum still clinging to Pau’s lips, years of restraint shattering in the desperate slide of wet heat and the low groan that vibrated from Hector’s throat into Pau’s.

Pau’s hands found Hector’s waist, clutching the fabric of his shirt as their bodies aligned, cocks straining against each other through layers of damp cloth. Hector’s piercings caught the low light when he angled his head, deepening the kiss until Pau’s knees weakened and the serpentine ink on his arm seemed to burn under the press of Hector’s palm. Tongues tangled, breaths mingled hot and ragged, the scent of citrus soap and salt-sweat filling the narrow space while hips rocked in a slow, instinctive grind that left them both throbbing.

Hector broke the kiss first, forehead resting against Pau’s as his voice came out rough and low. “I can’t fuck you here,” he muttered, the words thick with hunger even as his hand stayed firm on Pau’s hip. “It’s Alexia’s house. That’s disrespectful.” His thumb brushed the edge of Pau’s waistband anyway, a promise and a restraint all at once, the ache between them pulsing hotter in the charged silence that followed.

Serpentine Reminders