Backbacking with the Boys – Part 12

Everyone in this story is 18+

Hey everyone!

The series is wrapping up soon—just two more cities before the boys head back home. But I promise, things are going to get wild in Berlin, after a long nap, that is...!

Also, I wanted to let you know that I'll keep posting updates about "Teaching My Clueless Little Brother" here on Patreon. This way, you'll always be notified about new posts in the Reddit group. You can also find them in the collections.

Quick links:

• Part 4

• Part 5

Now let's head to Berlin!

Berlin

The train rolled into Berlin Hauptbahnhof just as the late afternoon sun bathed the city in a golden glow. The towering glass structure of the station loomed over us, bustling with travelers rushing to their destinations.

“Berlin, lads! The land of beer and techno,” Brady announced as he stepped off the train, stretching his arms wide like he was welcoming the city itself.

“Lads?” Cameron echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Brady, are you… British now?”

I smirked, chiming in. “Yeah, next thing we know, you’ll be calling it a ‘lift’ instead of an elevator.”

Brady shrugged, unbothered. “What can I say? I’m versatile. Besides, Asher’s got class, I have to admit.”

Asher, walking a step ahead, glanced back with a smirk. “Good God, don’t say I’m rubbing off on you, Brady.”

“No, but you could rub me off if you want, milady.” Brady made a hand gesture toward Asher with a mockingly suggestive grin.

“I’m too tired to even respond to that,” Asher muttered, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

The banter carried us all the way to our hostel, tucked into a lively Berlin neighborhood. By the time we reached the room, though, the travel fatigue was starting to catch up with us.

Asher was the first to step inside, his sharp eyes scanning the sparse, functional setup. Two twin beds were pushed against opposite walls, with barely enough space between them for a rickety chair and a small desk.

“Good Lord,” Asher muttered, dropping his bag onto one of the beds. “This looks like it was decorated by a prison warden.”

Brady flopped onto the same bed with zero hesitation, grinning as he spread out. “What? It’s got beds, a roof, and—” He leaned over to poke at the mattress. “Okay, maybe not the best springs, but it’s good enough.”

“Good enough,” Asher repeated dryly, trying to nudge Brady’s legs aside as he perched on the edge. “Forgive me if I was expecting a modicum of charm. This is Berlin, not some backwater town.”

“You Brits and your standards,” I teased, kicking off my shoes and claiming the bed closest to the window. Cameron followed, setting his bag beside mine with a soft chuckle.

“Maybe you should’ve booked us a palace, your honorable Viscount-ness,” I added, shooting Asher a grin.

Cameron smirked faintly, though his exhaustion was plain on his face. “Honestly, Asher, I don’t care if it’s a shoebox. I just want to lie down for five minutes.”

“Make it thirty,” Brady chimed in, stifling a yawn. “I’m all for a night out, but man, I’m beat.”

Asher arched an eyebrow. “Thirty minutes? More like eight hours, knowing you lot.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something with a faint frown. “For the record, I’ve arranged everything since Paris. The least you could do is stay conscious long enough to appreciate it.”

Cameron and I exchanged a knowing look but didn’t say anything.

Within minutes, the fatigue won out. Brady passed out first, sprawled across the bed like a starfish. Asher, ever the perfectionist, tried to keep his space on the other side of the bed but eventually sighed and leaned against the headboard, muttering something about “too much bloody space” as he dozed off.

Cameron lay down next to me, his movements careful and deliberate as if he didn’t want to disturb me. I turned onto my side, meeting his gaze. For a brief moment, neither of us spoke, but something passed between us in the quiet—a shared understanding, a connection that didn’t need words.

I smiled softly, and he smiled back, his face relaxing as I draped an arm around him. His body felt warm against mine, and as he settled into the bed, I could feel his breathing slow.

Asher, true to form, lingered a little longer, sitting in the rickety chair by the desk with his phone in hand. But even he couldn’t fight the inevitable. The last thing I heard before sleep overtook me was the faint sound of him muttering something about air fresheners and class standards.

For now, Berlin could wait one more day.

The day had slipped by almost unnoticed. After a much-needed marathon of sleep, the four of us woke late in the afternoon, recharged and ready to embrace the night. Berlin’s reputation preceded it, and the air in the room buzzed with anticipation as we got ready.

“Alright, boys, it’s showtime!” Brady announced, standing shirtless in front of the small mirror mounted on the wall. His broad, muscular frame caught the light as he rubbed some gel between his hands, slicking his dark short hair spiked into a style that was equal parts casual and deliberate. He’d opted for a tight black t-shirt that clung to his chest and dark jeans that fit snugly, accentuating his athletic build. “You think Berlin’s ready for us?”

“You’re more like a walking advertisement for Abercrombie,” Asher quipped from across the room.

“Jealous?” Brady shot back, throwing a mock pose before grabbing a bottle of schnapps from the desk.

Asher, seated on the edge of the bed, looked up from tying his sleek black boots with a smirk. “Hardly.” He stood, brushing invisible lint from his impeccably tailored button-down shirt. It was a deep navy blue with faint stripes, paired with fitted grey trousers that looked entirely out of place in a hostel but perfect for a swanky Berlin club. His light brown hair was neatly combed, as if he’d just stepped out of a fashion catalog.

“Are you going to a club or to close a business deal?” I teased, grinning as I pulled a simple graphic tee over my head.

“Unlike some people,” Asher said, arching an eyebrow, “I like to look prepared for any opportunity.”

“Relax, your honorable Viscount-ness,” I said, shaking my head as I adjusted my jeans. My outfit was casual—just a worn-in band t-shirt and slim-fit jeans—but it felt right. Berlin wasn’t about trying too hard; it was about letting loose.

Cameron was the last to finish dressing. He stood near the window, smoothing down the front of his lightweight white button-up, which he’d paired with dark chinos that highlighted his lean frame. His blond hair, usually a bit messy, was neatly styled for once, giving him a clean, polished look. He glanced at himself in the mirror, tugging at the shirt’s hem, looking slightly unsure.

“You look great, Cam,” I said, giving him an encouraging smile.

He caught my eye in the mirror and smiled back. “Thanks.”

Brady popped the cap off the schnapps, pouring four uneven shots into plastic cups. “Pre-game, anyone?”

Asher sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

“You’re all class, Asher,” Cameron quipped, surprising us all.

Brady roared with laughter. “Look at Cammy with the zinger! Berlin’s already working its magic!”

We clinked our cups together, the sharp clink of plastic cups underscoring our excitement. “To Berlin!” Brady declared.

“To Berlin!” we echoed, downing the schnapps. It burned going down, but the warmth that spread through my chest made me smile.

Brady spun around, grabbing his phone. “Alright, so I heard about this place—super underground, proper Berlin vibes. Rave!, weird drinks, no rules.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “No rules? Brady, I’ve already had to keep you from being arrested twice. Let’s not make it a hat trick.”

“Relax, milady,” Brady said with a mock bow. “I’m on my best behavior.”

“God help us all,” Asher muttered, grabbing his jacket.

The excitement in the air was contagious. The night stretched ahead of us, full of possibility, and we could all feel the pulse of Berlin calling us. Looking back at it, it’s funny just how clueless we were about how crazy Berlin would actually be.