Chapter One: The Leak
Bob adjusted his tool belt and knocked on the door of the small but well-kept home. He had been a plumber for over thirty years, but even after thousands of jobs, he still felt a flicker of satisfaction from solving problems with his hands.
The door swung open, revealing Jon--a bearded man in his early forties, built like a lumberjack but with a warmth in his smile that put Bob at ease immediately. Jon greeted him with the kind of friendliness that came naturally, the kind Bob had always admired in other people but never quite mastered himself.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," Jon said, stepping aside to let Bob in. "It's the pipe under the kitchen sink. I tried tightening it myself, but--well, plumbing isn't exactly my strong suit."
Bob grunted in acknowledgment, already scanning the space with a practiced eye. "Happens all the time. I'll take a look."
Jon lingered for a moment as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged and grabbed his keys. "I've got to head to work, but make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, just holler."
"Will do," Bob replied.
As soon as the door shut behind Jon, Bob got to work, crouching beneath the sink and inspecting the leak. It was a simple fix, nothing too complicated, but it would take time.
While waiting for the sealant to dry, he stretched his legs and glanced around the kitchen. That's when he noticed the stack of neatly printed papers sitting on the dining table. He wasn't usually one to snoop, but something about them caught his eye. The pages weren't work documents or bills--they looked like stories.
Curiosity got the best of him. Bob wiped his hands on a rag and picked up the top sheet. The title alone made his breath catch in his throat.
It was an erotic story.
About a younger man worshipping an older man.
Bob's grip on the paper tightened. He skimmed the first few paragraphs, expecting something crude, but what he found instead was...beautiful. The way the younger man in the story touched, kissed, and adored his partner was written with such care, such reverence. Every word was soaked in longing, in need--not just for sex, but for connection.
Bob swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck. He had never seen himself in anything like this before, had never let himself entertain the thought of being desired in such a way. But now, standing in a stranger's kitchen, reading words that made something deep inside him ache, he felt...exposed.
And aroused.
His thick hands fumbled for his phone before he even realized what he was doing. Without thinking, he snapped a few pictures of the pages and sent them to Mark. His twin was the only person who might understand why this hit him so hard.
His pulse pounded as he returned to work, pretending nothing had changed. But everything had.
---
Bob drove in silence, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The hum of the truck's engine filled the space, but his mind was still back in that kitchen, in that moment when everything shifted.
The radio crackled with some classic rock station he barely noticed. His phone buzzed in the cup holder, Mark's name flashing on the screen. Bob exhaled, knowing this conversation was coming whether he was ready for it or not.
He answered with a gruff, "Yeah?"
A pause. Then Mark's voice, low and unreadable. "The hell did you just send me?"
Bob licked his lips, hesitating. "What do you think?"
Mark huffed, like he'd been holding his breath. "I think I read it twice and still don't know what to do with myself." His voice was unusually tight. "Where'd you find this?"
Bob hesitated again, then said, "The guy's house. Jon. He wrote it."
Another pause. Then, quieter, "You serious?"
"Yeah."
Mark let out a slow breath. "Damn."
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Bob sighed. "Look, I don't know what to make of this either, but... I couldn't stop reading. I couldn't stop feeling it." He clenched his jaw. "I mean, I've never thought about guys like that, never wanted to."
Mark was quiet, then admitted, "Me neither."
"But it was different," Bob pressed. "It wasn't just about the sex. It was about... hell, I don't know. Being wanted like that."
Mark exhaled sharply. "Yeah." A pause. "I got hard reading it."
Bob swallowed, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Yeah. Me too."
Neither of them laughed.
The weight of it sat heavy between them, a lifetime of certainty shaken by a single story.
Mark cleared his throat. "You think Jon knows what he's got in those stories?"
Bob smirked, though it was a little uneasy. "I don't know. But tomorrow, you're gonna find out."
Mark's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Bob pushed his phone toward him. "You're taking over for me tomorrow. I want you to meet him."
Mark hesitated, then picked up the phone, scrolling through the story again. His fingers tightened around the edges.
"Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "I think I do too."
---
Chapter Two: The Replacement
Mark pulled the van into Jon's driveway and cut the engine, exhaling a slow breath. He adjusted his uniform shirt, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. Same as always--bald, burly, bearded, built like a wall. Just like Bob. It never failed to amaze him how identical they were, even after fifty-plus years.
Most people assumed they loved being twins, but the reality was more complicated. As kids, it had been a blessing--two powerhouse athletes, nearly unstoppable together on the football field and wrestling mat. They'd been stars, the pride of their conservative Midwestern town. But as they got older, it became a burden. People treated them differently, sometimes like a novelty act. Strangers asked stupid questions--Have you ever switched places? Can you read each other's minds? Do you feel it when he gets hurt? And now, in their fifties, still living together, they got side-eyes and smirks, as if two grown men sharing a home was some kind of weird joke.
Mark had never planned on this. He'd had a wife, a life, a future. But when his twenty-five-year marriage imploded, he had nowhere else to go. His ex had left him bitter and broken, taking half of everything and spitting on what was left. He hadn't just lost a marriage--he'd lost the dream of having a family. She had never wanted kids, and Mark had always told himself he was fine with that. But deep down, he hadn't been. He'd wanted to be a father more than anything. And now, it was too late.
Bob understood. He'd been widowed for years, and even though his marriage had been happy, he'd suffered the same loneliness. He and his wife had tried for kids, but it never happened. Doctors gave them no clear answer--just "unexplained infertility." They'd considered adoption, but by the time they were ready, she had gotten sick. And then she was gone. Just like that, Bob's chance at fatherhood had vanished, too.
And then last night happened.
Mark grabbed his phone, scanning the pictures Bob had sent him again. The story. The words. The way the younger man had touched, kissed, worshipped the older man with absolute devotion. It had done something to Bob--shaken him up in a way Mark hadn't seen in years. And when Bob had tried to explain it over dinner, Mark had felt it, too.
They'd grown up in a world where sex was simple--men led, women followed. Feelings were for after. Sex was for control. And yet, this story had turned that upside down. It had been about care. About surrender. About being adored.
And that had made them both hard as hell.
Mark adjusted himself as he stepped out of the van. No point dwelling on it now. He was here to finish the job and--more importantly--to meet the man who had written it.
He knocked, and moments later, the door swung open.
Jon smiled at him, warm and easy, like they were already friends. "Hey, Bob! Back so soon?"
Mark froze for half a second. Of course--Jon had no idea Bob had a twin. Most people didn't. But he recovered quickly, giving his best "friendly plumber" grin.
"Actually, I'm Mark. Bob's twin. He had another job today, so I'm taking over."
Jon's eyes widened in surprise, then amusement. "No kidding? That's wild. You guys really are identical."
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, we get that a lot."
Jon stepped aside, motioning him in. "Well, come on in, Mark. I promise I won't make you prove you're not Bob."
Mark followed him inside, his eyes subtly scanning the place as Jon led him to the kitchen. He was looking for one thing--those papers. But they were gone.
Jon leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "So, do you and Bob own the business together?"
Mark nodded, setting down his toolbox. "Yeah. Been running it for over twenty years now. It's good work. Honest work."
"I respect that," Jon said. "There's something satisfying about fixing things with your hands."
Mark glanced up, meeting his gaze. There was something about Jon's energy--open, unguarded, the complete opposite of what he and Bob had grown up with. It wasn't just his words; it was his whole presence. It put people at ease. It made them feel... safe.
Mark swallowed hard, shaking off the thought.
"Alright," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's see what needs fixing."
Jon smiled, stepping aside. "It's all yours."
As Mark crouched under the sink, he couldn't shake the feeling curling in his gut. He had come here out of curiosity, maybe even a little skepticism. But now, standing in Jon's warm kitchen, knowing what he had written, what he wanted--that curiosity was turning into something else.
Something much harder to ignore.
----
Chapter Three: The Papers
Jon glanced at the time and sighed. "Gotta head to work. You mind locking up when you're done?"
Mark stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. "No problem."
Jon flashed that easy, open smile again--the one that made something in Mark's chest tighten. "Thanks, Mark. See you around." And with that, he grabbed his keys and walked out the door.
Mark listened for the sound of the car pulling away before turning back toward the kitchen. He should finish the job. Pack up. Get out.
But then he saw them.
A fresh stack of papers sat on the dining table, half-tucked under a coaster. His throat went dry. The last batch had rattled Bob to his core. And now here was more.
Mark hesitated. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.
But his hands were already moving, picking up the pages.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
It wasn't a story. Not this time. It was something real.
Jon had written about himself. His loneliness. His craving for something he had never had--a strong, older male presence in his life. Someone to guide him, hold him, love him. Not just sexually, but completely. Someone to trust. Someone to surrender to.
Mark sat down hard in one of Jon's chairs, his hands gripping the pages like they might disappear.
It was too much. Too raw. Too close to the things he never let himself think about.
Heat pooled in his stomach, then lower. His cock twitched in his jeans, thick and full, pressing against the zipper.
Fuck.
Mark stood abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. His heart pounded. His whole body burned. He needed to calm down.
The bathroom.
He strode down the hall, shut the door, and locked it.
His reflection in the mirror stared back at him--sweaty, flushed, eyes wild. His hands went to his belt before he could stop himself. His cock ached, straining against his jeans, demanding relief.
He unzipped, freed himself, and gripped his thick shaft with a rough, calloused hand. His forehead dropped against the mirror.
Jon.
