The music swelled, and Matthew executed a final, deliberate grind, his chest just brushing against Masahiro's as he leaned down, his lips hovering by his ear."Bet you didn't think I'd be this good," Matthew whispered, his tone playful.Masahiro let out a soft huff of amusement, his expression softening just slightly. "Not exactly what I expected from a petty criminal.”Masahiro tried to maintain the professionalism between them, but he could not avoid the feeling that every step Matthew took was meant to drive him crazy. Matthew's hips arced with the rhythm of the song; his body moved in just the right beat, and Masahiro found himself looking how his partner's sensuality swallowed the space around him. The crowd cheered loudly, egging Matthew on, but this time, Matthew was performing for him, Masahiro.With a confident smirk, Matthew sauntered closer to Masahiro, who sat stiffly in the chair, still fighting the attraction he was feeling, despite how much he wanted to remain composed.
Cassidy was as striking as ever: tall, white, handsome, brown hair cascading down his neck. Light green eyes that were always filled with mischief seemed to sparkle, and the tattoos running across his arms and up his neck did nothing to dispel the aura of danger that he always seemed to project.Matthew's hand tightened on his drink; the knuckles white. The presence of Cassidy still lingered in the air, thick and oppressive. He felt branded somehow, as he always did around Cassidy.Matthew's breath caught as the memory surfaced unbidden, the image of him sitting on Cassidy's lap flickering in his mind. They were perched on the edge of a rooftop one evening, the city sprawling beneath them in a sea of lights. Cassidy had his arms around him, pulling him close as they shared a cigar. The air was thick with smoke, the flickering light from the streetlamps below casting shadows over Cassidy's face.“You're mine, you know that, right?" Cassidy's voice had been low, a command wrapped in som
The beer bottles on the table formed a neat little graveyard, each one marking another step into Matthew’s unraveling night. Masahiro was sitting beside him, arms crossed, his piercing gaze locked on the man before him. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. Instead, he was watching Matthew with an expression that hovered somewhere between anger and disdain. “You’re a mess,” Masahiro finally said, his voice clipped. “You lost focus, and now we’re wasting time.”Matthew chuckled, low and humorless, tipping his beer bottle toward Masahiro in mock salute. “Relax, Detective. Cassidy’s spilling his guts tomorrow. Mission accomplished.” “That’s not the point.” Masahiro’s voice dropped, cold and sharp. “You’re reckless, and you’re dragging me down with you. You don’t care about anything except whatever feels good in the moment.” Matthew turned in his seat, leaning lazily on the table as he regarded Masahiro with a crooked grin. “You make it sound like such a bad thin
It was a bright and cheerful day, an entirely unwelcome to Matthew, who groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. His skull throbbed with the aftermath of a night he'd sooner forget… too many drinks.He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow and trying to shut out the world."Morning, sunshine," came Masahiro's unmistakable voice, low and sarcastic. Matthew cracked one eye open and turned his head just enough to see Masahiro sitting at the table. He had a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and a paperback novel in the other. "Ugh, kill me," Matthew muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow.Masahiro didn't even look up from his book. "I would but cleaning up the mess would ruin my morning."Matthew groaned louder, forcing himself into a semi-upright position."You could at least pretend to care about my suffering.”"I do care. I care that you inflicted this on yourself." Masahiro finally looked at him, his face the perfect balance of amusement and exasperatio
Matthew pushed open the door to Whisky and Whimsy; a soft chime of a bell above announced his entrance. It was warm inside, with the mingling scents of coffee and freshly baked pastries, while sunlight streamed in from the large windows to throw golden rays on the rustic wooden furniture.Matthew was the embodiment of cool. Every move he made oozed confidence, though there was a flicker of hesitation in the sharp blue eyes as they scanned the room.Sitting in the corner of the café at a small table, Cassidy lounged as if he owned the place. He had a sly smirk tugged at his lips as he watched Matthew approach."Matthew," Cassidy greeted, rising from his chair.He crossed the space between them in mere strides, moving with fluid grace and silent command. The words died on Matthew's lips as Cassidy reached out, tugging him close."Cass—" Matthew began, but Cassidy hushed him with a kiss, firm and unapologetically possessive.Matthew froze for a split second before melting into it, his mi
The door to Masahiro's apartment shut with a finality that echoed through the space that was immaculately clean.Clyde sprang from Matthew´s arms to the couch, stretched out in languid fashion, and promptly made residence with a soft purring noise.“Tsk!” Masahiro saw Clyde sprang onto his spotless couch, fur scattered about like some sort of invading army.The soft purring grated on his nerves, each sound an affront to the spotless sanctuary he called home. His sharp gaze fell to Matthew slouched on the couch, lazily scratching behind the cat's ears as if nothing mattered.´Typical" Masahiro thought, ´…he can't even control his own pet, let alone his life. ´Matthew caught the look and grinned, unaffected. "Relax," he said, his tone oozing false nonchalance. "He won't ruin your shrine to boredom."Masahiro didn't dignify that with a response. His eyes lingered on Clyde a moment longer, as if the cat were a stain on his otherwise pristine world, then he turned on his heel and disappea
Masahiro turned his desktop on, the monitor flickered, sending a soft glow around the place. Booming on, Masahiro leaned over and started to go through the stack of papers.Reed's notes were complete: the profile of Damon Callahan, bank transactions, possible crypto angle, all there, methodically laid out. Masahiro's eyes settled on repeated cash withdrawals, irregular amounts, lack of corresponding expenditures. It screamed secrecy, yet the missing pieces gnawed at him.He cast the papers aside and logged in. The screen popped open almost in an instant, and his fingers flew to type the name "Ridley" on the internal police database.The results populated fast, but as Masahiro tried to click into the file, a bright red banner flashed across the top: CONFIDENTIAL. ACCESS RESTRICTED. HUMAN TRAFFICKING DEPARTMENT.Masahiro's brows knitted. "Great," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, and running a hand through his hair. His fingers pressed against his tem
Masahiro was sitting at his desk, a sea of papers and case files surrounding him.The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside.“Excuse me,” she said.Masahiro who was lost reading a file, looked up, seeing the woman getting close.There was something commanding about her presence-the long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, the green eyes alight with intelligence and determination framed by delicate lashes. She was clad in a fitted navy-blue blazer over crisp white blouse and dark trousers that outlined her slender figure. Subdued makeup highlighted her sharp features."You must be Ms. Hawthorne," Masahiro said in surprise. "I didn't expect you so soon."She nodded, "Yes, I was informed you needed assistance with the Ridley case," she replied, her British accent clear and confident. "I'm here to help."Masahiro nodded, intrigued by her swift arrival. "Let's get to it, then. The sooner we fin
Arthur dragged himself out of bed, groggy from yesterday’s stakeout, which had amounted to absolutely nothing. His body ached from sitting for hours, watching a man live the most painfully normal life imaginable. Grocery shopping, work, home. That was it. No shady meetings, no clandestine phone calls, no suspicious tattoos appearing or disappearing. Just a guy living his life while Arthur wasted his.Today had to be different.He shuffled into the shower, standing under the water as if it could cleanse away his frustration. Throwing on casual clothes that wouldn’t scream undercover cop, he grabbed his keys and stepped out into the cold morning air.This Alan Blackwood—the one from Cargo Fleet—was supposed to be a little rougher. An ex-convict, a former drug dealer. There had to be something there.Maybe this one wouldn’t spend the entire day debating which brand of cereal to buy.The morni
Arthur was on the bed, staring at the ceiling as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The cheap let in a sliver of morning light, casting a faint glow across the cramped room. He reached for his phone without enthusiasm, glancing at the caller ID.Cassidy.His fingers hesitated before answering."Morning, sweetheart."Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. "Morning," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep."How did you sleep? By this voice, you’re still in bed."Arthur turned onto his side, facing the window. "I slept well. What about you?" A pause. "Yeah… I’m still in bed.""I slept well too, just missing you." Cassidy’s voice was low, teasing. "So, did you manage to ask for a few days off from your boss? You didn’t tell me anything else."Arthur’s breath hitched for a second. "Uh—yeah… I’m in Bristol right now.""I s
Arthur was at his desk, flipping through the last pages of a report when the sound of the office door opening made him glance up. Masahiro walked in, his sharp gaze scanning the room before heading straight to his desk."Morning, Cooper," Masahiro said as he set down his briefcase."Morning, sir," Arthur responded.He watched Masahiro organize his things, his movements precise and efficient. Without realizing it, Arthur found himself staring. Masahiro, always perceptive, caught the lingering gaze and turned his head slightly."Do you have something to say, Cooper?"Arthur immediately straightened, averting his eyes. "Uh—sir… It's just—"Masahiro raised an eyebrow. "Just what? Spit it out."Arthur exhaled, gathering his thoughts. "My mother is sick, and I… I'm the only family she has. I'd like to go to Bristol for two days to see her."Masahiro, now sitting down, rested his elbows on the desk. "You took this long just to ask for
Arthur stepped into his studio apartment, kicking off his shoes before throwing himself onto the bed. A wide grin stretched across his face as he stared at the ceiling, his heart still racing with excitement. He had just met Cassidy’s family. They had accepted him.For the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged somewhere, like he was part of something special. The warmth of their welcome still lingered in his chest, and he let out a small, contented sigh.But then his gaze drifted to the nightstand beside him.His smile faltered.There, in a simple wooden frame, was a picture of Alexandra. His twin sister. The pang of sadness hit him like a cold wave, washing away the warmth of the evening. For a moment, he felt like he had forgotten—forgotten why he had joined the police in the first place, why he had spent years chasing shadows.He reached for the frame, tracing his fingers over the glass as he stared at her familiar face
As Cassidy steered the car through the quiet streets, Arthur sat back in his seat, feeling the soft hum of the road beneath them. After a moment, he couldn’t help but smile.“Your mom really knows her way around a kitchen. I think I ate enough to last me a week.”Cassidy’s eyes flicked briefly to him, and a small, almost imperceptible smirk appeared on his lips. “I noticed. You couldn’t stop picking at everything. But it’s cute how you have no self-control.”Arthur looked over at him, unaware of the possessiveness in Cassidy’s tone. “What? It was all so good! You saw me try to be polite, but that lasagna… man, it’s like she put a spell on it.”Cassidy’s expression shifted slightly, but his voice remained playful. “You were staring at the Cheesy Breadsticks like you were about to take a bite out of my hand. If you wanted it that bad, you could’ve just asked.&rd
"Where's the toilet?" Arthur asked, glancing around.Juliette wiped her hands on a dish towel and pointed down the hall. "This way.""Fine, I'll be right back," Arthur said, heading in the direction she indicated.As the sound of his footsteps faded, Juliette leaned against the counter, lost in thought. The pieces had clicked together too well—too fast. Arthur’s story, the black rose tattoo, the way Cassidy had subtly dodged the topic during lunch. It all pointed to one thing.Then, as if drawn by her thoughts, Cassidy entered the kitchen. He went straight to the counter, filled a glass with water, and took a long sip. But he could feel her eyes on him.Lowering the glass, he met her gaze. "What?"Juliette pushed off the counter and silently walked to the door, closing it behind her. When she turned back, her expression was sharp. "What are you hiding?"Cassidy raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "What are you talking a
The meal had ended, the table filled with empty plates and half-finished glasses of water. Juliette, always the first to move, stood up and began gathering the dishes.Arthur, wanting to be polite, quickly got up as well. “Let me help,” he said, picking up a plate and following her to the kitchen.They worked together in quiet efficiency, stacking the plates near the sink and wiping down the table. When they finished, Juliette turned toward Cassidy, tilting her head playfully.“Bro, can you come and wash the dishes with me?”Cassidy smiled, about to step forward, when a thought made him pause. His hand instinctively hovered over his wrist—the rose tattoo. The makeup concealing it was waterproof, but he’d been wearing it for hours. Too much water, too much rubbing, and it could start to fade. He couldn’t risk it.Instead, he glanced at Arthur and smirked. “I think it’s better if Arthur helps you&
Then, after crossing the living room, Cassidy and Arthur was on their way to the dining room, where Arthur immediately noticed the table set for five. His gaze flickered to the extra place setting, and he recalled Cassidy mentioning his sister, Juliette.Lorraine smiled warmly and gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat, Arthur."Arthur pulled out the chair and sat, and Cassidy took the seat beside him."Jules!" Lorraine called toward the stairs."Coming," a voice responded from above.Robert settled into his chair with a knowing look. "It’s not every day our son brings someone home."Cassidy smirked, but before he could respond, Lorraine placed a few bowls of food on the table. "So," she asked, glancing at Arthur, "where did you two meet?"Cassidy, without hesitation, answered, "In a café.""Oh?" Lorraine’s brows lifted slightly.Arthur barely held back a smirk, stealing a glance at Cassidy, who was busy pouring himself a
The drive to Cassidy's family home was wrapped in an awkward silence, though the tension wasn’t all from the drive. Arthur, eyes focused on his phone, scrolled through messages and notifications, the weight of Cassidy's presence beside him feeling different now. Cassidy, on the other hand, was barely aware of the road. His mind was occupied with a hundred dark thoughts, each one tightening the knot in his stomach.“So,” Arthur’s voice broke through Cassidy’s thoughts, light and boyish. “I’m really excited to meet your parents.”Cassidy forced a smile, though it was tight, like the edges of his mask were fraying. “Yeah, they’re… good people.” He said it flatly, not truly feeling it. Good people? His mind mocked the words. They didn’t know the man who’d made their son, their precious Cassidy, a dangerous, manipulative monster. They didn’t know about the weight of the secrets he car