That Telling MomentChapter 37

_A note before this one: this chapter depicts coercive control within an intimate relationship: emotional abuse, verbal degradation, and a partner using physical closeness as a trap. If that’s a line you need to approach carefully, please do._

Lysander’s shoulders burned from maintaining the angle, his right leg thrown over the back of the sofa whilst Dane pounded into him with all the finesse of someone operating a particularly aggressive jackhammer. The leather stuck to his skin, making obscene squelching sounds with each thrust that would have been mortifying if Lysander gave even half a fuck about dignity at this point.

“Christ, you’re tight today,” Dane grunted, fingers digging bruises into Lysander’s hips. “So bloody perfect.”

Lysander squeezed his inner walls in response. Dane liked it when he clenched on the withdrawal, creating that extra friction that usually had him coming within minutes. Today was all about efficiency. Get Dane off. Get him satisfied. Get back to damage control before another catastrophe erupted.

His mobile, face-down on the coffee table, had been buzzing intermittently for the past twenty minutes. Probably more journalists. Or Stephen finally returning one of his seventeen missed calls. Or their solicitor with another delightful update about how thoroughly fucked they were from a legal standpoint.

Lysander let out a moan, more frustration than desire. Christ, Dane could go for absolute ages when he was properly worked up, like he’d been training for some sort of sexual stamina Olympics that Lysander had definitely not signed up to compete in.

“That’s it,” Dane groaned, pace becoming erratic. “Fuck, just like that.”

Lysander performed another internal squeeze, adding a breathy moan for good measure. Pure theatre, but Dane had never been particularly discerning about authenticity. Six years together and the man still couldn’t tell the difference between genuine pleasure and Lysander’s performances.

Though to be fair, Lysander reflected as Dane slammed in particularly deep, sometimes even he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

The knot was already catching, that tell-tale swelling that meant this would be over soon. Thank God. Lysander’s hip was cramping from the position, and he’d lost feeling in his elevated foot approximately ten minutes ago. But Dane was close, breathing gone ragged, movements losing their rhythm.

“Come on,” Lysander whispered, injecting just enough desperation into his voice. “Need it, alpha. Need you to fill me up.”

The words were rote, meaningless syllables he’d repeated in countless videos. They worked their usual magic. Dane’s hips stuttered, a groan tearing from his throat as he drove deep one final time. The knot swelled fully, locking them together as Dane came with a grunk.

Lysander let his head drop back against the sofa, counting seconds. Ten minutes minimum before the knot deflated enough for separation. Ten minutes to catch his breath, check his mobile, close his eyes and pretend he was literally anywhere else.

“Fuck,” Dane panted against his shoulder. “Needed that.”

Of course you did. Because nothing said ‘supportive partner’ quite like demanding a mid-afternoon shag whilst Lysander’s twin brother’s life imploded across every tabloid in Britain.

He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t make his hip scream in protest. Dane’s come was already beginning to leak around the knot. Another delightful clean up job to look forward to. Though at least it would give him an excuse to shower, to wash away the afternoon and pretend, for ten blissful minutes, that his life wasn’t a complete disaster.

“That was good, yeah?” Dane asked. Not out of concern for Lysander’s pleasure, he needed confirmation of his own alpha prowess.

“Brilliant,” Lysander lied, already calculating how quickly he could get back to his laptop. He needed to check the trending data, see if his Instagram Live had helped at all, figure out their next move in what was rapidly becoming a PR nightmare of epic proportions.

“Good.” Dane’s body relaxed against him, heavy with post-orgasmic contentment. “Because we need to talk about our response strategy.”

Lysander’s eyes snapped open. Our response strategy? Since when did Dane give a toss about PR management?

“I’ve been thinking,” Dane continued, and Lysander’s stomach clenched. “This whole situation with your brother, the media coverage, the trending hashtags… Sander, darling, we need to discuss how we turn this around.”

Lysander waited for the supportive partner speech. The ‘we’ll get through this together’ bollocks.

“The media attention is actually unprecedented for us,” Dane said, his business voice creeping in despite the fact that he was literally still knotted inside Lysander. “That’s reach money can’t buy.”

Lysander blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Think about it.” Dane shifted, pulling Lysander more firmly against him. “We’re trending globally. Your subscriber count has jumped eighteen percent in the last six hours. The search volume for ‘Theo twins’ is through the roof.”

“My brother was attacked,” Lysander said slowly. “By a stalker. Who thought he was me.”

“Exactly. And that’s tragic, obviously. But from a business perspective…”

From a business perspective? Lysander’s brain stuttered to a halt, trying to process the words coming out of his boyfriend’s mouth. His boyfriend who was currently locked inside him, discussing Stephen’s assault like it was a like it was a portfolio expansion opportunity.

“We need to capitalise on this,” Dane continued, warming to his theme. “Strike while the iron’s hot. I’m thinking themed content. ‘Mistaken Identity,’ maybe some stalker fantasy scenarios. ‘What Really Happened That Night’ could be huge.”

Lysander went rigid. “You want me to roleplay my brother’s assault?”

“Not exactly.” Though his tone suggested that was precisely what he wanted. “More like… create some content inspired by it. Think about it, the search volume right now is insane. Everyone wants to know what Stephen looks like in compromising positions. We give them that fantasy without actually involving him. Pure profit.”

The words hit Lysander like physical blows. Each syllable carefully calculated, each suggestion more horrifying than the last. This was Dane’s response to Lysander’s pain? To Stephen’s trauma? A business opportunity?

“That’s…” Lysander couldn’t find words strong enough. “That’s sick.”

“It’s smart.” Dane’s hand slid up Lysander’s chest. “Look, I know you’re emotional about this. Stephen’s your brother, I get it. You’ve got that weird twin thing going on with him. But we have to think strategically.”

He’s talking about Stephen from a market research perspective. Like my brother’s pain is a growth opportunity.

“Stephen is recovering from being attacked,” Lysander said, voice deadly quiet. “He’s traumatised. The entire country thinks he’s secretly me. And you want to make porn about it?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds crass,” Dane admitted. “But think of it more as… meeting market demand. Your audience is curious. They want content that reflects current events. We’d be giving them what they’re looking for.”

Lysander tried to pull away, but the knot held firm. Trapped. The irony wasn’t lost on him. It had been Dane’s knot that started this whole bloody mess, hadn’t it? Seven years ago, eighteen and desperate to escape the heat crawling through his skin in that tiny flat, Lysander had let Dane’s knot lock inside him for the first time. Had gasped and whimpered, and squirmed whilst Dane filmed it all, turning his virginity into content, his first heat into a commodity. “MY FIRST KNOTTING!!!” the video had been titled, like his inexperience was something to celebrate and show off. And here he was today, still trapped by the same knot, the same alpha, the same inability to see the cage for what it was until the door was already locked.

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not. I won’t do it.”

Dane sighed, the sound of a parent dealing with a particularly slow child. “Sander, you’re being emotional. This is business. Stephen chose his path, we’re choosing ours. Besides, it’s not like we’d be harming him directly.”

“Not harming him directly?” Lysander’s voice rose. “Are you actually listening to yourself? You want to sexualise my brother’s assault for profit!”

“I want to maximise our earning potential during a period of unprecedented visibility.” Dane’s negotiation voice now. “If you’re squeamish about the stalker angle, we could just do twin fantasy content. Brothers, you with a similar looking model, that sort of thing.”

Lysander felt something inside him crack. Not break, not shatter, just… crack. A hairline fracture in whatever delusion had kept him here for six years.

“The situation made your brother a public figure,” Dane continued. “Public figures get imitated. Parodied. It’s part of the game.”

“He’s a lawyer,” Lysander said flatly. “Not a public figure. The only reason anyone knows his name is because someone confused him for me and tried to…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Details.” Dane waved a hand. “The point is, we have an opportunity here. Your Instagram Live was good, showed the emotional side. Now we follow up with content that gives them what they really want.”

I convinced myself his ruthlessness was ambition. His coldness was professionalism. But watching him discuss Stephen’s assault like a market trend stripped the pretence bare.

“No,” Lysander said again, more firmly this time.

Dane’s grip tightened. “Sander, be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable. I’m being the first reasonable person in this flat in years, apparently.”

“You’re being naive.” Dane’s voice hardened. “Overly sentimental. This is why I handle the business side, darling. You’re too emotional to see the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture?” Lysander laughed, bitter and sharp. “The bigger picture is that my twin brother was assaulted because of what I do. Instead of letting me process that, instead of offering even a shred of comfort, you insisted on a fuck to ‘loosen me up,’ and now you’re pitching me porn scenarios based on his trauma.”

“I’m trying to salvage our brand,” Dane snapped. “Which, in case you’ve forgotten, is how we pay for this flat. How we afford your designer clothes and your premium everything. Your family drama is affecting our bottom line.”

Family drama. As if Stephen getting attacked was equivalent to a tiff over Christmas dinner.

“You’ve always been the weak link in our partnership,” Dane continued, years of suppressed frustration bleeding through. “Too caught up in feelings, too worried about what people think. Typical omega. I’ve guided you this far despite your limitations, and this is how you repay me?”

“My limitations?” Lysander’s voice was steady. “What limitations would those be?”

“Your inability to separate emotion from business. Your constant need for validation. Your frankly exhausting attachment to that council flat family of yours.” Dane’s voice dripped contempt. “I’ve spent six years trying to elevate you, and you’re still just a scared little omega from Barking, playing dress-up.”

The words should have hurt. Should have devastated. Instead, Lysander’s chest loosened. He was finally hearing Dane say out loud what he’d been thinking all along.

“You’re right,” Lysander said quietly. “I am still that omega from Barking. I still care about my family. Still think there are more important things than subscriber counts and profit margins.”

“Exactly,” Dane said, missing the shift entirely. “Which is why you need to trust me on this. Let me handle the business side. You just do what you do best. Look pretty, spread your legs, and follow direction.”

Lysander closed his eyes. More money. More content. More compromises. More moments where human pain became marketing opportunity and his protests were dismissed as emotional weakness. The road stretched ahead, clear and flat and endless.

“Your brother’s smart, Sander,” Dane said, and Lysander’s skin crawled. “But at the end of the day, he’s just another omega hole. The sooner you accept that, the easier this gets.”

The hairline fracture split wide open.

Just another omega hole. His brilliant, brave, traumatised brother reduced to anatomy and market potential.

“No,” Lysander said, and the word contained everything. No to the content. No to the exploitation. No to six more years of this. No to Dane.

“No?” Dane’s voice carried a warning. “Sander, think carefully about what you’re saying.”

The knot was softening, finally. Lysander pulled away the moment biology allowed, not caring about the mess, not caring about Dane’s sound of protest.

“Where are you going?” Dane demanded as Lysander grabbed his joggers from the floor.

“Away.” Lysander pulled on clothes with mechanical precision.

“Away?” Dane sat up, his perfectly styled hair finally showing signs of disruption. “Sander, don’t be dramatic. We’re having a business discussion.”

“No.” Lysander found his shirt. “You’re having a business discussion about monetising my brother’s assault. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t just leave.” Dane’s voice carried the tone of someone not used to being denied. “We have contracts. Joint accounts. The flat is in both our names.”

“Keep it.” God, the freedom in those two words. “Keep all of it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Dane stood, still naked, still gorgeous, still completely missing the point. “Over what? Some misguided loyalty to a brother who judges everything you do?”

Lysander paused, hand on the door handle. “You know what? You’re right. Stephen has judged me. Called me out. Made me face uncomfortable truths about my choices.” He looked back at Dane. Really looked at him, for perhaps the first time in years. “But even at his worst, even when he was angry and hurt, he never once reduced me to my holes and earning potential.”

“Lysander.” Dane’s voice shifted, trying a new tactic. “Darling. Let’s discuss this rationally.”

“I’m done discussing anything with you.” Lysander opened the door. “I’m done with themed content and market analysis and pretending that what we have is anything more than a profitable arrangement.”

“You won’t last a week without me,” Dane called after him. “You need me. Need my guidance, my connections, my business head.”

Lysander paused in the doorway.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’d rather fail as myself than succeed as your performing puppet.”

He walked out then, leaving behind six years of his life with nothing but the clothes on his back and a mobile phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing. It was perfect. Standing there in his building’s hallway, Lysander realised he could breathe properly for the first time in hours. Days. Years, possibly. The weight he’d been carrying, the constant calculation of Dane’s moods and market demands and content schedules, simply lifted.

Whatever Stephen’s response was going to be, whatever happened next, Lysander knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was done being Theo. Done performing. Done letting anyone, even someone he’d thought he loved, reduce the people he cared about to content opportunities.