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
Masahiro’s head pounded as he stirred awake. His body felt strangely heavy, and a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. He blinked, the dim glow of the room slowly coming into focus.Something was wrong.The scent of alcohol, and something unfamiliar clung to the air. The sheets beneath him felt tangled, foreign, and—Then he saw him.Matthew.Standing in the middle of the room, eyes dark, wild, full of something Masahiro had never seen before.Masahiro pushed himself upright, his body sluggish. His movement caused the weight beside him to shift, and then… he froze.A stranger was in his bed. A naked stranger.Masahiro’s entire body went rigid. His mind raced, but it was blank at the same time. He didn’t understand. He had been at El Paradiso. He had been waiting for Matthew. And then… what?"What the hell is this?" Masahiro’s voice
Masahiro's head throbbed as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar in El Paradiso, waiting for Matthew. He had taken a sip of whiskey—one he hadn’t even ordered. Then… nothing. A complete blackout.Now, he was in his bed, naked, with a stranger standing at the foot of the room, already pulling on his clothes. His stomach twisted in disgust.Masahiro turned his head sharply, his eyes locking onto the man. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Who the hell are you?"The man, startled but attempting to play it off, smirked slightly as he buttoned his shirt. "Don't you remember? We were drinking together." He sounded too nonchalant, too rehearsed.Masahiro held back a smirk of his own, though his horror was growing. His body felt… wrong. There was a strange taste on his tongue, a sluggishness in his limbs. He knew damn well he hadn’t touched this man&mdas
The hum of the engine was a dull rhythm in the background as Masahiro's hands gripped the steering wheel with practiced ease. The city around him was waking up, people moving in and out of buildings like clockwork, oblivious to the storm swirling in his mind.He’d barely slept last night, his thoughts too wild, too tangled in the mess Cassidy had created. The image of that stranger in his bed, the drugged haze, and the sheer betrayal that followed still burned in his chest. Masahiro had replayed it over and over in his mind, trying to find the one thing he’d missed. Some clue that could explain what had really happened. But it was all so fucking messy, like someone had taken his life and turned it into a nightmare just to watch him suffer.His jaw clenched as he drove through the morning traffic, trying to shake the feeling that something was about to slip out of his control. He needed to fix this. He needed to find a way to get to Matthew, to make him see
Cassidy adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket with a precision that came from years of practice. He didn’t need to look at the mirror to know he looked sharp. The reflection would confirm it, but he already felt the familiar, confident surge of satisfaction. Tonight wasn’t about him, though.He walked toward the sitting room, his steps calm but deliberate. As he approached, he saw Matthew slouched on the couch, eyes glazed over as he watched TV. No excitement. No joy. Just... numbness. Typical. Cassidy could see the indifference in the way Matthew held himself, the way his eyes flicked toward the screen but never fully engaged. It wasn’t the indifference of someone who didn’t care… it was the apathy of someone trying not to care. Trying not to care about everything. About him.“Still here?” Cassidy’s voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness to it—like a question that didn’t quite need an answer.Mat
Arthur’s grip on the towel around his neck tightened as he stared at Cassidy, his expression caught between frustration and resignation. The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, but Cassidy just stood there, one hand lazily resting against the doorframe, his smirk unwavering.“You lied to me,” Cassidy said smoothly, like it was a simple fact rather than an accusation.Arthur sighed, already exhausted. “I didn’t lie.”Cassidy arched an eyebrow. “No?”Arthur shook his head. “I was going to come back late. My boss dismissed me early.”Cassidy hummed as if considering his words. “And yet, you didn’t think to call?”Arthur exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think about it.”Cassidy tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Didn’t think about it?” He let the words hang between the
Arthur had just finished his beer. Cassidy noticed, his fingers tapping lazily against the rim of his whiskey glass. Just as he was about to signal for another round, Arthur stopped him with a light touch on his wrist."Hey... no, I already had three," Arthur said, his voice firm but not harsh.Cassidy arched an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling his lips. "The night is a child."Arthur huffed. "It's the middle of the week. I gotta work tomorrow. I can’t go in smelling like alcohol... I don’t want problems with my boss."Cassidy tilted his head slightly, watching Arthur with that lazy, calculating gaze of his. "Alright, lemme finish my drink first," he murmured, lifting his glass to his lips. He took a slow sip, watching Arthur over the rim, but didn’t finish it yet. "This boss of yours," Cassidy mused, setting the glass back on the table, "he looks kinda scary."Arthur, now scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up. "He’s n
Arthur lay sprawled on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs, still catching his breath. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but his thoughts were miles away, wrapped up in the whirlwind that had just unfolded.Across the room, Cassidy was already pulling his shirt back on, every movement precise and unhurried. It was like he hadn’t just spent the last hour unraveling Arthur, like he was slipping back into a perfectly tailored mask.Arthur sat up slowly, raking a hand through his messy hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He could still feel the warmth of Cassidy’s touch lingering on his skin, the faint echo of his breathless words.Cassidy’s voice broke the quiet. "You wanna have lunch with me tomorrow?"Arthur’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Lunch?"Cassidy’s smirk was easy, natural. "Yeah. Food. Conversation. All that boring stuff."Arthur hesit
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