LOGINRafael lay on the treatment table Monday morning, shirt off, while Declan’s hands worked the scar tissue on his thigh with the same careful precision as always. Declan’s fingers pressed firmly, sliding higher, then lower again. Rafael kept his breathing steady, but his body remembered Saturday night too well. The way those same hands had gripped his hips. The way Declan had looked at him when he came.Declan’s thumb brushed a sensitive spot. Rafael’s cock twitched under the thin sheet. Declan’s hands paused for half a second. Their eyes met. Declan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He finished the session professionally, voice calm, movements controlled. When Rafael sat up, Declan stepped back, wiping his hands on a towel.“Progress is good,” Declan said. “Keep up the exercises.”Rafael nodded. He wanted to say more. Instead he pulled on his shirt and left with a quiet “Thanks.”The nights told a different story.One evening they ended up in the sitting room by the fire aft
Rafael stirred the sauce one last time, tasting it off the wooden spoon. It was good. Maybe a little heavy on the garlic, but good. He glanced toward the doorway again. Declan had said he’d be here at seven. It was ten past now. Rafael wiped his hands on the towel, heart beating a little too hard for someone who was just cooking dinner.The clinic kitchen felt different on a Saturday evening. Quieter. Smaller. He’d pushed the big table closer to the window and set two places. Nothing fancy. Just plates, glasses, a couple of candles he’d found in a drawer. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered with the candles.The door opened. Declan stepped in, coat over one arm, hair still slightly damp like he’d come straight from the shower. Their eyes met across the kitchen. Declan’s gaze lingered on Rafael’s face, then dropped to the apron he’d thrown on half-jokingly. The corner of Declan’s mouth twitched.“Smells good,” Declan said. His voice was calm, professional almost, but there was a roughness
Rafael lay on the treatment table, shirt off, the thin sheet draped over his hips. Declan’s hands worked his left thigh with steady, firm pressure — thumbs digging into the tight muscle, sliding higher with each pass. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the sound of their breathing.Declan’s fingers brushed the edge of the sheet. Rafael’s cock twitched under it. He didn’t bother hiding the reaction anymore. Six weeks of this. Six weeks of Declan’s hands on him, professional and careful, while Rafael’s body responded like it had been waiting for exactly this touch.Declan’s hands paused. His breathing changed — just a little deeper. “You’re hard again,” he said quietly. His voice stayed even, but Rafael caught the slight roughness at the edge.Rafael lifted his head, meeting Declan’s eyes. “Been hard for you since week one.” He let the words sit between them. “That rule of yours is killing me, Dec.”Declan’s jaw tightened. His hands stayed on Rafael’s
Theo leaned back against the kitchen counter, plate balanced on his thigh, while Soren stood between his legs feeding him another bite. The fork lingered at his lips. Soren’s eyes stayed on his mouth as Theo took the food. The sauce was rich, but Theo barely tasted it. All he could focus on was the way Soren watched him — steady, warm, like he was memorizing every small reaction.Soren’s free hand rested on Theo’s thigh, thumb stroking slow circles. Theo’s breath caught every time the touch moved a little higher. They had barely spoken since Soren arrived. The silence felt comfortable, but underneath it something thicker hummed between them.“Good?” Soren asked, voice low.Theo nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Really good.” He took the fork from Soren’s hand, scooped up a bite, and offered it back. Soren leaned in, lips closing around it, eyes never leaving Theo’s. When a little sauce dripped onto Soren’s thumb, Theo caught his wrist without thinking and brought it to his own mouth. He lick
Theo spotted him before Soren even looked up from his phone.The tall fair man stood near the corner of the market square, coat open, one hand in his pocket. Even from across the street Theo knew. The way he held himself, the slight tilt of his head when he scanned the crowd — it matched the voice that had lived in Theo’s ear all week. Low. Calm. Dangerous in how easily it had gotten under his skin.Theo’s heart slammed against his ribs. He crossed the street, palms suddenly damp. Soren looked up. Their eyes met and everything else faded. The market noise, the people brushing past, the cold air — all of it receded. Soren’s expression shifted. Recognition. Heat. Something deeper that made Theo’s stomach flip.Neither of them spoke at first. They just stood there, a foot apart, staring. Soren’s gaze dropped to Theo’s mouth, then back up. Theo felt it like a touch.“Hi,” Theo managed, voice rougher than he expected.Soren’s mouth curved. “Theo.”The sound of his name in that voice — real
Theo sat in the dim glow of his desk lamp, the rest of the apartment dark except for the soft green light of the radio. The blackout had hit suddenly—whole blocks going quiet outside his window. He flipped the switch out of habit more than hope, keyed the mic, and sent out the call.“C Q, C Q. This is Theo, Whiskey Alpha Zero Tango. Anyone out there tonight?”Static crackled. Then a voice cut through, low and smooth with a faint accent that wrapped around the words like warm smoke.“Whiskey Alpha Zero Tango, this is Sierra Oscar Romeo Echo November. Good evening, Theo.”Theo’s finger paused on the knob. The voice settled low in his chest. Deep. Calm. Like it had been waiting for him.“Soren,” the man said. “Name’s Soren.”Theo smiled even though no one could see it. “Soren. You sound good. Warm. Clear. You riding this blackout too?”A soft chuckle came through the speaker. “Power’s out on my side of the street. Figured I’d see who was still awake. Your signal is strong tonight.”They
Cole stared at the notification on his brother’s old phone and felt his stomach drop straight through the floor.Wren.He knew that name. He knew it the way he knew the sound of his own heartbeat. Marcus’s wife. The woman he’d been in love with for years before she ever said yes to his brother. The
Ethan couldn’t get her out of his head.Two days. Forty-eight hours of trying to work, trying to eat, trying to sleep, and all he could think about was the way she’d moaned his name. The way her body had clenched around him. The desperate, hungry sounds she made when she came. The way she’d looked
Ethan sat at the hotel bar like he always did when the grief got too loud. Whiskey in front of him, half-empty already. The ache in his chest was sharper tonight. Two years since Sarah died and some nights it still felt like yesterday. He drank faster, trying to dull it, trying to forget the way he
Nate pushed open the apartment door at 7:42pm, gym bag slung over his shoulder, sweat still drying on his skin. His heart was already beating harder than the workout justified. He knew what he’d find. He’d given her the rule that morning before he left: when he comes home, she greets him crawling.







