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Chapter 6
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2024-11-22 20:00:51As Matthew and Masahiro enganged in a very and long kiss, the two low-level thugs stumbled in; their grins of carefree abandon quickly changed to bewilderment at the sight of an intimate scene unfolding before their very eyes.
One of them, his voice ringing with a touch of brash confidence, suddenly exclaimed, "Get a room, you two!"
The other, more subdued in temperament, shrugged and nonchalantly went back to pressing business.
"Right, like this is a place for romantic encounters," he muttered, adding a hearty chuckle to his words as he stepped forward to the sinks.
Matthew didn't budge, he kept kissing Masahiro, hitching him a little bit closer still.
Masahiro had felt Matthew's body heat against his and was torn between fascination and horror. The kiss had stayed as they struggled for balance, while the unique scent of Matthew was an intoxicating blend of danger and allure, demanding attention. Just as he leaned deeper into the kiss, the f
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The only sound was the low hum of the car's engine, Masahiro clenching the steering wheel with unrelenting muscles as his mind whirled over all that happened tonight. He could feel tension simmered in his muscles, the adrenaline still high from the unexpected kiss from Matthew. Matthew, on the other hand, looked like he didn't give a damn about anything, sprawled casually in the passenger seat, eyes flicking lazily to the streetlights outside.Masahiro was still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. His mind was still running in circles between the mission and how Matthew had acted. It wasn't just a kiss, and Matthew's Masahiro needed to focus. They couldn't get distracted that time. He needed confirmation from David first before they could do anything else.He drew his cell phone out and dialed David's number, his fingers hovering for just a moment as he glanced at the road. The phone rang twice before David's voice came through, cool and to the point."Masahir
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The cold, clinical air of the police station hit Masahiro like a slap in the face as he and Matthew stepped inside. The clacking of heels on the tiled floor and the hum of distant chatter surrounded them as they made their way toward the briefing room. Masahiro, his usual sharp suit pressed to perfection, led the way with his typical no-nonsense stride. Dressed in his attire that was a bit less formal, Matthew followed behind him casually. His demeanor was cool, yet his eyes moved around, showing the beginnings of unease. The two went in at exactly 9 AM. David sat at the head of the table, exuding more authority with his sharp gaze. Officer Reed was seated beside him, flipping through some files, while David's secretary stood by the projector, ready for any assistance."Morning," David said shortly, nodding at them to take a seat.Masahiro sat down, sitting as straight as possible. Matthew collapsed into the chair next to him and looked completely too comfortable for t
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The undercover shop sat nestled on a quiet corner somewhere, with frosted glass that afforded full protection from outsider views. A simple wooden sign was attached above the door. It stated, in bold, no-nonsense letters: Incognito.The quiet smell of expensive leather and fresh cotton greeted Masahiro and Matthew as they stepped inside, intertwined with the soft hum of jazz music playing softly in the background. Refined, without being ostentatious-perfect to not stand out.A small woman, in her mid-thirties, with a sharp, fitted jacket, was standing behind the counter. Her gaze flicked from Masahiro to Matthew and back, then gave them a practiced once-over before she followed up with a smile that was both professional and warm."Good morning," she greeted them with a slight accent. The decisive air of command filtered into her voice: "You must be Payne and Smith. I have your measurements ready."Masahiro nodded and briefly glanced at Matth
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The undercover job weighed between Masahiro and Matthew like an unwelcome third passenger. After leaving the shop, their next stop was Masahiro's apartment-the shared space they'd been forced into since the mission started. Masahiro parked with practiced precision outside the building. They took the elevator to the flat."Try not to mess up the place," Masahiro grumbled as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.Matthew gave a mock gasp. "Mess up your sacred temple of tidiness? Perish the thought.""You live here too, you know," Masahiro said, his eyes scanning the mess."I live here under duress," Matthew quipped, dropping onto the sofa. "You think I enjoy sharing space with you?Masahiro didn't answer him but instead walked toward the hallway closet and pulled out a shiny black suitcase. He took it into his bedroom without saying a word and left Matthew to his own thoughts."Suitcase in the hallway closet?" Matthew called after him. "What
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Matthew stepped into the little guesthouse room, instantly filling the cramped space with his presence. He glanced around, taking in the outdated decor and the overwhelming sense of forced charm. The lace curtains, the floral wallpaper-it was like stepping into a time capsule, and not in a nostalgic way."Well," he muttered under his breath, "this is... cozy."Turning toward the bed, Matthew felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. It was a single bed. Barely large enough for one person, let alone two grown men.But what really stood out, what really caught Matthew's eye, was Masahiro, standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, a look of genuine horror written across his face."Are you kidding me?" Masahiro muttered, his gaze darting from the bed to the window to the walls. His hand rubbed at his forehead as if trying to make sense of the situation. "This… this can't be it."Matthew didn't say anything. He merely walked across the room, his backpack ki
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Matthew stood in front of the mirror in their guesthouse room, fixing his suit. The black jacket fit just right over his lean body, while his white shirt and skinny tie completed the look. He glanced over at Masahiro, who was standing by the window, arms crossed, watching the street below with his usual air of quiet intensity.“How do I look?" Matthew asked, spinning slightly, giving his reflection one last look.Masahiro turned his head just enough to glance at him, his expression flat. "Like you're about to charm the pants off someone... or get arrested again."Matthew smirked, tugging his jacket into place. "Ha ha, very funny. You should write that down, your fans will love it.”Masahiro grunted in response, turning back to the window. He shifted slightly when a faint scratching noise came from behind him. His nose wrinkled, and he shot the source a quick glance, the stray cat lounging near the bed, cleaning its paw like it owned the place.Matthew noticed and grinned. “Don’t tell
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Masahiro muttered under his breath, his mind still coming to blows with the evening's happenings as he buckled his trousers. "Ridiculous," he grumbled. "All that chaos, for what?" The tone was cutting, but his words were for himself rather than for her.Matthew wore up to his boxers nonchalantly, stretched his arms, and plopped onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, loosen up, Payne," he teased, reaching for his discarded trousers.Masahiro, now buttoning his shirt with deliberate frustration, turned his attention to Matthew. "What did you do to, to have two armed thugs on your tail?" His voice was clipped, though the edges of exasperation were softening.Matthew lolled back lazily, digging into his trouser pocket and pulling out the wallet he'd swiped at the bar. With a triumphant smirk, he held it aloft. "This," he announced, clearly reveling in his victory.Masahiro froze mid-button, staring at the wallet like it was radioactive. "We got chased be
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Masahiro awoke sluggishly, the morning sun creeping through the cracked window to warm him. His body felt oddly comfortable, not just from the sheets beneath him but from the weight resting on his chest. Blinking against the haze of sleep, he looked down, his heart skipping a beat as he realized who it was.Matthew's head was tucked against his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing a rhythm Masahiro had somehow managed to recognize. He couldn't deny the heat building between them, but it wasn't just Matthew's proximity that had him stirring. It was the sudden, undeniable pressure in his own pants.Masahiro froze, his body going rigid as his brain struggled to play catch-up.´Shit, ´ he thought.The groggy noise he made was the first warning Matthew gave before his head shifted slightly. "Morning, Detective," Matthew's voice was low, raspy, still thick with sleep as he raised his head to peer up at Masahiro with half-lidded eyes. "I didn't know you were ´this´ comfortable with me."
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
