Masahiro sat on the edge of his bed, his laptop open in front of him, his mind focused on the screen as he scrolled through case files. The quiet hum of the hotel room added to the atmosphere of calm that had settled over him in the few days since he’d arrived in Newcastle.
His phone that quiet sat on the bedside table buzzed suddenly, the cheerful ringtone cutting through the quiet. He glanced at the screen and saw Yumi’s name flashing. A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the call.
“Masahiro! Ohayou!” Yumi’s voice burst through the line, as lively and infectious as ever. “How’s my favorite cousin doing?”
He leaned back in his chair, feeling a little lighter already. “I’m fine, Yumi. What’s going on?”
“Well,” she began, a hint of excitement in her voice, “I was thinking, maybe we could catch up? How about a coffee? I’m free right now!”<
Cassidy sat at his polished desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface as he sifted through the stack of paperwork in front of him. He had almost forgotten about it… Arthur’s wallet.He opened the drawer slowly, the smooth wood creaking slightly. Inside, neatly tucked away in the corner, lay the familiar brown leather wallet. Cassidy’s lips curled into a smirk.“Guess I should call him,” he muttered to himself, his fingers hovering over the phone on his desk. It only took a moment before he grabbed it and dialed Arthur’s number.The phone rang twice before Arthur picked up, his voice clear but slightly disoriented.“Arthur speaking.”“Hey, Arthur… Cassidy here,” Cassidy greeted, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual, but with a hint of amusement.Arthur’s voice faltered for a second. “Ah… You.”Cassidy chuckled softly. “I got
Arthur pushed open the doors of El Paradiso, the pulse of music and chatter washing over him. He adjusted his jacket and surveyed the room, eyes landing on Cassidy in a private booth. The man sat back in his seat, casually swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, his presence dominating the space like a magnet drawing attention from every direction. The usual smug smirk was plastered on his face, and it made Arthur’s irritation flare.Arthur squared his shoulders and marched over to the booth, irritation lining his every step. Cassidy looked up as he approached, that lazy smile never leaving his face.“Where’s my wallet? It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning. Unlike you, I have work.”Cassidy leaned back even further, savoring the moment before lifting his hand to pull something from his coat. With a flourish, he set Arthur’s ID card down on the table like a prize.Arthur froze, his gaze fixating on the card. H
It was a crisp, energetic afternoon, and the stadium buzzed with excitement as the long-awaited match between Bristol and Middlesbrough FC was about to start. Fans filled the stands in a sea of blue and red, the rivalry between the two teams as fierce as ever. Matthew and Masahiro made their way through the crowd, blending in with the excitement but each lost in their thoughts, unaware of the various ties that bound them all to this very place.Matthew, in his casual black t-shirt, bomber jacket, jeans, and sneakers, looked every bit the confident man as he walked beside Masahiro, who was a little more polished in his long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans.They approached the snack stall, the aroma of hot dogs and chips filling the air.“I’ll be right back,” Masahiro said, his voice low but firm. “Need to use the restroom before the game starts.”“Alright,” Matthew replied absentmindedly, pulling out his phone as he
It was 6 pm, the cool evening air was starting to seep through the office windows, and the usual hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the quiet tension within Cassidy's office. He sat behind his desk, his eyes fixed on the paperwork before him, but his mind was elsewhere.The heavy door creaked open, and Nathaniel entered. Without a word, Nathaniel made his way over to Cassidy’s desk, standing silently, waiting for instructions.Cassidy didn’t look up immediately, but his fingers drummed rhythmically against the desk, a sign he was lost in thought. Finally, he looked up at Nathaniel, his sharp eyes giving nothing away."Talk," Cassidy said, his voice low, calm, and demanding.Nathaniel stepped forward and placed a file on the desk. “He keeps seeing Masahiro Payne. At 9 PM, he goes to his apartment and spends the night there. Coming back at 6 AM.”Cassidy paused, the words sinking in. A slow smirk tugged at the cor
Cassidy stepped through the door of the apartment at 9 AM, his shoes making little sound as he entered the quiet space. The world outside was still waking up, but for Cassidy, his day had already started. He didn’t need much sleep, and there was work to be done.He went to the room and stepped through the door, the faint scent hitting him before anything else. It wasn’t his cologne—or Matthew’s. No, this was different. Subtle but unmistakable.Masahiro.His lips curled into a sneer as he closed the door behind him, slowly, he turned his gaze toward the bed where Matthew lay sprawled under the covers, his face peaceful, his breaths steady.Disgust twisted in Cassidy’s gut, ‘He didn’t even bother to shower.´The sight of him, so vulnerable and unaware, made Cassidy pause for a moment, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. It was almost too easy. Matthew's biggest flaw had always been his deep sleep, a fact
Nathaniel stood by the window, his back against the cool glass, watching the crowd outside with a cold, calculating gaze. The club was alive with movement, the energy thick with laughter and music, but he was focused… he always was.His fingers toyed with the edge of his phone, flipping it over in his hand, the familiar weight of it grounding him.Across the club, the front door swung open. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately locked onto the figure that entered… the unmistakable posture of Masahiro. The man was confident, like he owned the world, but Nathaniel saw through it. He had a habit of doing that.He adjusted his coat, the fabric brushing against the cold, hard steel tucked discreetly under his arm. His eyes followed Masahiro, moving with purpose but never rushing, savoring the moment. As the bartender approached Masahiro, Nathaniel leaned back into the shadows, his fingers once again dancing across his phone screen. A few taps.In th
Nathaniel stepped into Masahiro's apartment, the familiar scent of cedarwood and sandalwood filling the air, grounding him in the cold precision of the task at hand. The dim light from the living room cast long shadows that seemed to stretch and pulse with each beat of his heart, adding to the ambiance of deliberate quiet that surrounded him. His eyes, however, weren’t drawn to the sterile décor or the quiet beauty of the space. They went immediately to the bedroom… where the plan would unfold.As Nathaniel crossed the threshold into the room, a strange mix of urgency and anticipation gnawed at him. It wasn’t just about the job; there was something more primal at play. Power. Control. Watching everything unfold under his command.He approached the bed with measured steps, kneeling beside Masahiro. The man’s body was limp, vulnerable, the deep slumber induced by the drug still keeping him unaware of his surroundings. Nathaniel, however, w
Matthew had just finished his shower when his phone buzzed from the bedside table. He grabbed it, still wrapped in a towel, and saw a message from Masahiro.Masahiro: Hey babe, I'll be a bit late, coming at 11 pm.Matthew smiled, his heart fluttering at the familiar tone. He quickly typed back.Matthew: Alrighty, clingy detective. I'll head home and wait for you.He hit send, tossing the phone aside. A warm feeling spread over him as he moved to get dressed. It was just another night with Masahiro, one of their many quiet, intimate evenings.Matthew smiled to himself as he slipped into his sweater, the fabric warm against his skin. He couldn’t help but think of Masahiro… his strong, reassuring presence, the way his eyes always seemed to soften when they locked onto each other. Tonight, they’d unwind together after their busy days. Just the two of them, like always.Before he finished getting dressed, Matthew grabbed his ph
Sophia turned.One stiletto pivot, full fury in motion.“You wanna talk boundaries, lawyer boy?” she snapped, stalking back down the hall. “How about the boundary of not opening your legs in another woman’s seat?”Clark raised a brow, still leaning on the doorframe, mug in hand. “Sweetheart, if your name’s not on it, it’s not your seat.”Sophia stopped in front of him. Close. Too close.“You don’t know him,” she hissed. “You think that drawl and deadpan makes him loyal? You think you’re special?”“I think,” Clark said, smiling thin, “he chose me. Repeatedly. That kinda makes your opinion—” he sipped his coffee “—decorative.”“You think you’re special, huh? Just ‘cause you’ve got cute cheekbones and no pants?”Clark blinked slowly. “You noticed the cheekbones.”“I will slap the freckles off your smug face.”Clark took another sip. “Careful. This mug’s ceramic. You break it, I sue.”Sophia lunged.Adam moved like a goddamn reflex.One hand caught Sophia mid-stride, the other braced agai
Sunlight leaked through the blinds, striping the bed in pale gold.Clark stirred first—eyes closed, mouth dry, brain foggy—but something was off.Something heavy.Then he realized.Adam was half on top of him.Not gently.Not lightly.Deadweight.One thick, muscled arm slung across his waist. A bare leg pinning one of his down. Most of Adam’s torso sprawled over his back like a personal avalanche.Clark’s eyes snapped open. “You’re crushing me, Brute.”Adam didn’t move. Just grunted against his shoulder.Clark squirmed. “Move, you oversized bastard, I can’t breathe—”Adam’s voice was low, sleep-rough. “You didn’t complain about my weight last night when I was fuckin’ you.”Clark froze.Completely.Silent.Adam shifted, rolling onto his back with that same lazy, effortless force that made everything he did feel like a warning.The bed creaked.Clark buried his face in the pillow. “I hate you.”“Mm.”“I’m
Clark moved like he was born for it—shoulders steady, rhythm unhurried, no wasted motion. No performance, either. Just intent. He didn’t look up again. Didn’t have to. Adam’s fingers gripped the edge of the couch cushion. Jaw tight. Breath controlled—but only just. His other hand rested on Clark’s head, thumb ghosting across the edge of his hairline, until the pressure built. And built. And broke. A sound escaped—low, rough. A grunt, dragged from somewhere deep in Adam’s chest. Sharp and unguarded. He didn’t mean to let it out. Didn’t care that he did. He’d never had a blowjob like this. Not once. He’d had better technique. He’d had hungrier mouths. But this? This was something else. Something personal. Clark didn’t rush. He just worked—methodical, controlled, like he knew exactly what would undo a man like Adam and was counting the seconds to get there. By the time it ended, Adam’s head was tipped back, breath heavy, chest rising slow. Clark stayed there a second long
The hospital hallway smelled like antiseptic and low-budget coffee.Clark adjusted his glasses as he pushed open the door to Cassidy’s room, one hand still inside his coat pocket, mind already rehearsing what to say. “Just a quick check-in, nothing—”He stopped short.So did Adam, right behind him.Inside the room, Arthur was sitting on the edge of Cassidy’s hospital bed. One hand tangled in Cassidy’s hair. Their mouths locked in what was clearly not a platonic reunion.Cassidy had one hand behind Arthur’s back, steady, possessive. Like he’d never let him go.Clark blinked.Arthur flinched, pulled back immediately, face flaming red. “I—uh—”Cassidy didn’t flinch at all. He just turned his head slowly toward the door, looking so pleased with himself it was almost a crime.“Oh,” Clark said dryly, “am I interrupting your ‘visitation therapy’ session?”Arthur jumped up, fixing his hair with both hands. “Clark! I—um—we weren’t—”Cassidy smirked
Adam woke with a grunt and a twitch of muscle memory. The light leaking in from the curtains was soft and gold, filtered through early haze. Clark was pressed up against him again—warm, relaxed, one hand curled near Adam’s chest like it belonged there.They’d stopped pretending it was a one-time thing.Adam stared at the ceiling for a second, then muttered under his breath, “Shit.”Carefully, he slid out from under Clark’s weight and stood. Cold air hit his bare skin, but he ignored it. He grabbed a towel off the chair, rolled his shoulders once, and headed for the balcony.By the time Clark stirred, Adam had been working out for half an hour—shirtless, glistening slightly, his muscles flexing as he pulled through another set of pushups. The city stretched out behind him, indifferent.Clark blinked at the empty bed. Then looked down at himself.He was only in boxers.Too early for modesty. He stood, padded barefoot across the room, and snagged the nearest
Next dayThe apartment was quiet. Too quiet.Adam stepped out of the bathroom, but he froze halfway.Clark was inside his bedroom.Again.Adam blinked once. “You got lost, Harvard?”Clark didn’t even flinch. He was crouched by the dresser, one of the lower drawers already open. He was… putting things in it. Neatly. Folded shirts. Socks.“I needed space,” Clark said, like it was the most logical thing in the world. “Your guest room is tragic. One drawer squeaks, the closet smells like cedar and regret, and I’m pretty sure the bed frame’s older than the Constitution.”Adam crossed his arms. “That don’t explain why you’re touchin’ my shit.”Clark shut the drawer gently. “Relax. I didn’t touch your side.”“I don’t have sides. It’s all my shit.”Clark stood, adjusting his glasses. “Right. Of course. All yours. Including the toothpaste, the whiskey, the Wi-Fi, and half the bed.”Adam stepped forward. “You don’t live here.”Clark tilted his head, eyes innocent. “Could’ve fooled me.”Adam’s j
Adam woke to a weight on his chest and the distinct sound of snoring—soft, breathy, and absolutely tangled into his collarbone.Clark.Of course.Adam blinked up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. His arm was pinned under Clark's waist. The man's nose was buried near Adam’s throat, mouth open just enough to let out another blissfully unaware snore.“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered under his breath.Carefully, he shifted. One leg out. Then the arm. Clark muttered something unintelligible and rolled over, stealing half the blanket in the process.Adam sat up, scratched at his jaw, and sighed like someone who had made four consecutive bad life choices and was too tired to undo any of them.Pants. He found a pair near the foot of the bed—black, worn, familiar. Slipped them on with a grunt.Then came pushups. Pull-ups on the bar in the doorway. A quick set with the dumbbells by the window. Nothing fancy. Just enough to remind his muscles that they still worked.Somewhere arou
Adam adjusted the cuffs of his black dress shirt with quiet precision, the fabric taut across his broad frame. His skin, deep and smooth, caught the fading afternoon light spilling through the windows. Honey eyes calm. Black coat folded across the chair. Gun holster hidden beneath his tailored layers. Everything about him looked calculated—ruthless, clean, deadly.Clark sat on the couch, file in hand, glasses low on his nose, pretending not to notice. Or care.They’d had sex that morning. An accident. Again.So no, Clark wasn’t going to ask where Adam was going, or why he smelled like expensive cologne, or why his shirt looked too good to waste on a solo errand.He flipped another page and didn’t glance up. But he knew. Adam was meeting a woman. It didn’t take a law degree to know the signs.Adam grabbed his keys.Clark rose from the couch and crossed the hall to the guest room, muttering to himself. “Left my pen—of course.”Then the power cut.Lights blinked off. Total silence.Then
Arthur stepped inside quietly, holding a small bag from the café downstairs. He hadn’t told anyone what was in it—but knowing Cassidy, he’d smell the sugar from a mile away.Cassidy looked up the second the door opened, eyes sharp despite the bruising. “Took you long enough.”Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”Cassidy smirked. “If I’d known being stabbed meant breakfast delivery, I’d have done it sooner.”Arthur rolled his eyes and set the bag down on the table. “Don’t joke like that.”“Why not? You only show up when I bleed.”Arthur froze.Cassidy tilted his head. “Kidding. Mostly.”Arthur sat down with a sigh. “You’re impossible.”Cassidy grinned, the expression just soft enough to make Arthur forget all the warning signs. “What did you bring?”“Pastry. Something with blueberries. And mango juice. I remembered.”Cassidy lifted a brow, pleased. “You always remember.”Arthur opened the box, handed over the juice. Cassidy took