My Cousin Moved in and Changed the Rules

Rubén arrived in the middle of the afternoon, when the light came in slantwise through the hallway and the whole house smelled of freshly made coffee. Nico was on the sofa, laptop open and a folder of notes on his knees, pretending to study. The moment he heard the key turn in the lock, he knew something was going to change.

His cousin appeared with a broad smile and an enormous hard-sided suitcase, the kind that looks as though it has slept in a thousand airports.

They had not seen each other in years. As children, they had been inseparable at times, cousins almost like brothers, in long summers and endless family meals. Rubén had always been the strong one, the loud one, the one who took charge: the one who teased Nico, called him soft, played rough jokes on him that were never quite cruel but always left him one step behind. Nico, quieter, finer, had learned early on to endure and to look at everything from a slightly lower place. Then Rubén went off to study in Montreal, and distance did the rest. Years without seeing each other, without brushing against each other, without measuring themselves against one another.

Now he was back to move into the very same house. He would live there with Nico’s parents and with him for the whole academic year. They would go to the same university, the Autónoma: Nico was starting his first year of Law; Rubén was already entering his third year of Business Administration. Two different stages, two nearby faculties and, yes, the same roof. Nico had thought about it a thousand times before Rubén arrived. Seeing him cross the threshold made it stop being an idea and become real.

He was two years older, but time had worked his body over as it had few others. Dark, with three-day stubble, a broad chest covered in dark hair that showed at the neckline of his T-shirt. His arms seemed tense even when he was doing nothing. He moved with a natural, almost insolent confidence. And there was something else, impossible not to notice when he came closer: the obvious weight between his legs, a bulge that shaped his pants brazenly.

When he heard him come in, Nico sprang to his feet. Beside him he seemed smaller. Thin, fair-skinned, narrow-shouldered, almost hairless, with a face that still held something adolescent about it: big eyes, soft lips. They hugged awkwardly, a collision of bodies that lasted a second too long.

—You’ve gotten huge —Nico said, immediately regretting it.

—And you’re still as skinny as ever —Rubén replied, laughing—. You’d better bulk up a bit or they’re going to laugh at you as soon as uni starts.

Nico’s mother, Marta, appeared from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron.

—Rubén! —she exclaimed—. At last home. Let’s see those gifts, I’m sure you’ve brought half of America in that suitcase.

Rubén set the suitcase on the living-room floor and opened it without a second thought. First he pulled out a couple of carefully wrapped things: a bottle, some T-shirts, a pack of coffee. Marta smiled in satisfaction, until her expression changed.

Half the suitcase was taken up by bunched-up clothes. Crumpled T-shirts, trousers, towels and, very visible, several worn pairs of underwear, clumped together, with that unmistakable look of having been worn more than once. A thick, masculine smell drifted into the air.

—But Rubén! —Marta scolded him, half amused and half scandalized—. How can you bring this like that? It’s all dirty!

Rubén shrugged, not the least bit embarrassed.

—Sorry, Auntie. I haven’t done a wash since I left Canada —he said, winking at her.

Marta shook her head.

—Well, Nico can help you, I’m sure. He can show you where the washing machine is and how everything works.

Nico felt his stomach tighten. He had seen the underwear. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from noticing. They were large, thick cotton briefs, some light, others dark. Marked. Used. They had belonged to the body now standing less than a meter from his.

—Of course —he said, in a thin voice—. I’ll help you.

Rubén looked at him one second longer than necessary, as if weighing something up.

—Perfect, little cousin —he replied—. I knew you’d give me a hand.

Nico swallowed. The reunion had only just begun.

***

The decision was made without ceremony, the way things that have already been decided are made.

—Nico —Marta said later, when they had just finished their coffee—, we’re going to switch your room. Yours is bigger and gets better light. It makes sense for Rubén to have it, you know, you have to be a good host.

Nico nodded. He didn’t argue. He gathered his things and moved to the small room at the end of the hall, the one that had always been for guests. Rubén came in behind him, watching with a half-smile, leaning in the doorway.

—It suits you —he commented—. More tucked away. More… you. Come on, take me to mine.

Nico felt the sting, but he said nothing. He followed his cousin to the room that, until a little while ago, had been his. Rubén dropped the suitcase onto the big bed, opened it again and started pulling clothes out in no particular order.

—Hey —he added, as casually as possible—. Since we’re at it, put my laundry on, okay? I have no idea how things work here.

It was not exactly an order. Nor a request.

—Yes, sure —Nico replied, too quickly.

Rubén glanced sideways at him and came closer, a little too much so. Nico took a step back and tripped over the bed. He fell seated, and his cousin, without apologizing, shoved him so he ended up lying down. The body landed on top of him for a second, heavy, warm. Chest against chest. Thigh against thigh.

—Relax —Rubén laughed—. I don’t bite… usually.

They struggled for a moment, more in play than in violence. Nico tried to sit up, but Rubén kept him down with a hand on his shoulder. The contact was enough: Nico felt the blood rush downward all at once, felt his erection tighten his pants.

Rubén noticed and said nothing. He smiled and moved away, leaving him free. Nico gathered the dirty clothes in both arms and went to the laundry room. The garments were mixed together, compacted, still warm from the trip. Sweat-soaked T-shirts, rolled-up socks and several pairs of underwear. He picked them up one by one. They were heavy, thick, with that unmistakable smell of a worked body, of the gym, of a man. He held them a second too long. The soft cotton against his fingers. The smell going straight to his head. He imagined that fabric pressed to his cousin’s skin, soaked with sweat, outlining every movement.

—Is that how you do it? —Rubén asked from the doorway.

Nico jumped.

—Yes —he said—. Like this.

He loaded the clothes into the washing machine slowly. Too slowly. Every item was an excuse to breathe in deeply, to let the smell stay inside him for one more second. Rubén watched in silence, arms crossed.

—You’re good at it —he remarked at last—. Living here is going to be handy for me.

Nico shut the hatch. When he turned around, his cousin was too close.

—Yeah —he murmured—. I suppose so.

Rubén smiled.

—This has only just started.

***

The house grew quiet as night fell. Marta and her husband retired early, tired from the day’s bustle. Nico stayed behind tidying up at his own pace, trying to recover from the tremor still running through his body. From the hall came the sound of water hitting the tiles.

The shower.

Nico knew it before he thought it. The constant murmur filled the house and, with it, an uncomfortable certainty. Rubén hadn’t closed the bathroom door. He left it ajar, as if there were nothing to hide. Nico passed by with some random excuse and caught just enough to make it unforgettable: steam rising, the blurred reflection of the large, dark body moving calmly. Water ran over his shoulders, over the chest covered in hair, down the firm abdomen.

Rubén soaped himself unhurriedly, as though time did not matter. As though he knew he was being admired.

—Can you hand me the towel? —he said from inside, in a normal voice.

Nico hesitated for a second. Then he obeyed.

When he went in, the steam hit his face. The smell of gel mixed with something denser, more human. Rubén turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower without covering himself, putting everything on display, his groin thick even at rest. He dried his neck, his shoulders, his chest and left the rest for last, with no attempt at hiding anything.

Nico looked away. Or tried to.

Rubén wrapped the towel around his waist and looked at the clothes he had taken off, piled on the floor beside the bath mat. He picked up the jeans, the socks, the T-shirt, and seemed about to gather the underwear he had traveled in as well, which had been on him for who knew how many hours, when he stopped.

—The underwear not that —he said, pointing—. Put those in the wash too.

Nico took them. The fabric was still warm. The smell went straight up into his nose, into his throat, into his chest. He swallowed.

—Okay —he replied.

He came out with the underwear in his hand, went into his room and closed the door. His heart was pounding fast. He had his cousin’s underwear between his fingers. He looked at them. He crushed them, trembling. The smell was stronger there, without steam to soften it, dense and intimate.

He wanted to do more. Much more. But he didn’t dare.

He took a deep breath, opened the door and went straight to the laundry room. He put the garment inside the washer and shut the hatch with an almost ceremonial gesture. When he came back into the hall, Rubén’s door was already closed.

Nico leaned against the wall for a second. His body wanted things he still didn’t have permission for.

***

The next morning, with classes still a few days away, Rubén showed up in the kitchen with a coffee in hand.

—We’re signing up for the gym —he said.

Nico looked up.

—The gym?

—Of course —Rubén smiled—. It’ll be good for you to do a bit of training, won’t it? You’re weak.

He didn’t say it maliciously. Or maybe he did, but wrapped in a joke. Nico agreed without arguing, so off they went.

The neighborhood gym was small and noisy, smelling of rubber and old sweat. Though he had never been there before, Rubén moved through the place like it was his own home. He quickly got to know a couple of guys and, without thinking twice, introduced Nico.

—This is my little brother —he said, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Nico felt the weight of the gesture and corrected nothing.

Brother.

They trained together. Rubén loaded plates with ease, made comments out loud, laughed when Nico got tired. At one point, Nico lay down on the bench to do bench press and his cousin positioned himself behind him, like an improvised trainer.

—Come on, push —he said, gripping the bar firmly.

Nico looked up and found Rubén’s groin right above his face, just a few centimeters away. Large. Defined. Nearly brushing his forehead every time he helped him lower the bar. He tried not to look, but it was impossible.

—Come on, harder —Rubén urged, not moving, not stepping back—. Do you get distracted easily or what?

Sweat ran down Nico’s temple, and it wasn’t only from the effort. Every time his cousin leaned in, the bulge in his pants marked the presence of what was underneath. Not to mention the smell.

When they finished, they went off together to change. In the locker room, Rubén undressed without hurrying. He let everything hang there without shame while he folded his clothes, dropped the sweat-soaked T-shirt, the worn underwear on top of the pile, almost as a provocation, and went off to the showers.

Nico glanced to both sides to make sure he was alone. He pretended to search for something in his backpack. His cousin’s smell caught him. He moved closer to where the clothes had been left. He picked up the underwear and was surprised to see they were the same ones from the night before, the white pair, the ones he himself had put in the wash.

How had they ended up there again? There was only one explanation: Rubén had gone back for them in the laundry room and put them on again.

Nico smiled. Filthy pig, he thought.

He squeezed the fabric in his hands, feeling the warmth it still held. His cock stiffened under his pants. He touched himself a little, unable to hold back.

—Hey —said a voice behind him—. Nico, right?

He turned around, still holding his cousin’s underwear in his hand. A guy from the gym, early thirties, defined body, short beard, crooked smile, was watching him with his arms crossed. He wore a sweat-darkened gray T-shirt and a towel around his neck.

—Yeah?

—I’m Hugo —he said, never taking his eyes off the underwear in Nico’s hand—. I train here almost every day. Are you and Rubén sure you’re brothers? Because I’d say there’s something going on between you…

Nico hesitated for a second. Then he nodded.

—Yeah. Brothers. I just take his clothes to wash them. Rubén’s a mess.

The other smiled, without judging.

—Yeah, yeah. —Hugo headed toward the showers, but before leaving he turned back and added—: You two turn me on a lot. If you ever want a third, let me know.

Nico stood frozen, not knowing whether he had just felt exposed or invited into something he still didn’t quite understand.

The sound of the shower cut off. Rubén came out, still damp, drying his hair. He looked at Nico, then at the underwear in his hand.

—What was that guy saying? —he asked.

—Nothing —Nico replied, too quickly.

Rubén smiled. He came closer and pointed at his underwear.

—That’s more like it —he said—. Take them to wash. Just the way I like it. No need to tell you things twice.

And he got dressed in complete calm. Without underwear.

***

The house was silent when Nico closed his bedroom door. He stayed leaning against it for a few seconds, breathing deeply, his body still tired from training and his mind clouded by the locker room smell, the image of his cousin coming out of the shower, Hugo’s comment. Getting through the rest of the day as if nothing had happened had been hard, but he’d managed it.

He was alone.

He opened his backpack and took out the treasure he had guarded all day: the underwear Rubén had worn for hours and hours, the ones he had put in the wash the night before and his cousin had retrieved to wear again.

He held them up to his face. The fabric was heavy, still damp in some spots. They smelled of fresh sweat, of hot skin, of exertion. Of Rubén. Nico closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. The smell filled his chest and went straight down into his belly.

He sat on the bed. He thought about the bench press, about the bar going up and down, about the bulge a few centimeters from his face. He thought about Hugo, about the knowing smile, about the question—are you sure he’s your brother?—and about the answer he had given without thinking. Why had he said it? Why had he liked it when his cousin played at that, calling him little brother in front of everyone?

He unbuttoned his pants and freed his erection, hard and taut. He wrapped the tip with the sweaty fabric and rubbed slowly, without touching himself with his hand. Then he brought the garment to his face. He pressed it against his nose, his mouth, his burning skin. The smell exploded inside him. It was like having Rubén on top of him, sweaty, dominating the very air. Just the rough cotton, the smell, the imagination. He gasped. Every breath was an image: his cousin laughing, his cousin giving orders, his cousin without underwear.

Then the door opened.

Nico froze.

Rubén was in the doorway, leaning there calmly, looking at him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t come in. He didn’t step back. He just held his gaze.

Several eternal seconds passed and then Nico’s body could take no more. A spasm ran through him and he came without touching himself, jets shooting out, splashing his face, his neck, his chest. He closed his eyes, ashamed and exposed, vulnerable, still breathing in broken gasps.

Rubén smiled with calm malice.

—You can use my underwear to clean yourself —he said—. On one condition.

—What condition? —Nico asked, without thinking.

—That you put them on afterward.

Rubén turned around and left. The hall returned to silence. Nico wiped himself slowly, obediently, with the fabric still warm. When he finished, he pulled them up his legs and left them on.

He was still motionless when his cousin appeared again in the doorway.

—All week —he added, without raising his voice.