~12.[M]

[NOAH]

Noah’s hand braced against the edge of the sink, the coolness of the ceramic seeping into his palm, unlike the heat coiling low in his stomach.

He stared at his reflection again, jaw tight, chest rising a little heavier than usual. The faint marks along his skin stood out more now under the brighter light—irritatingly vivid against his otherwise untouched composure.

He didn’t look away.

His fingers went down slowly, brushing just beneath his collarbone, ghosting over one of the fading marks and lower. The memory followed again instantly, uncoiling with sharp clarity.

Soft lips.

His hand wrapped around his clothed length. It strained against his pants.

His warm breath.

That voice—low, teasing, entirely aware of what it was doing.

Noah’s hand stilled for a moment.

“Fuck.”

The word came out quieter this time, his hand rubbing at his heavy member.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had had sex, it must be why he was so worked up.

Yes.

That had to be it.

His hand moved slowly, eyes closed, breaths coming in short sharp pants.

Those wicked lips flashed across his mind again. With a hiss, he freed his now weeping member and pumped faster. Pre-come leaking from his slit.

He had lost it.

He has definitely lost his shit.

If he was sane, he wouldn’t be here jerking off to someone he barely knew.

Every stroke Noah took was measured by the memory of Nyx’s touch. He pushed himself against the friction of his own palm, his breath coming in sharp, ragged hitches. He chased the phantom sensation of being touched by a man who looked like he could dismantle him piece by piece and wouldn't apologize for it.The pressure built, tightening in his lower belly, a coil of desire that had been wound up tight from the moment he walked out of that club. He focused entirely on the image of him—that composed yet magnetic stare, the way he had slipped in between Noah’s thighs to take that drink.

Noah’s hand moved faster, desperate, his knuckles white. The world outside the bedroom vanished, replaced entirely by the mental image of Nyx’s eyes locked onto his, demanding everything. With a loud grunt, he came, driving himself hard against the memory of that friction, white pumps of cum coating the sink and mirror with each stroke. His pulse thundering in his ears. He stayed there for a long time, chest heaving.

He turned away from the mirror abruptly and stepped into the shower, twisting the handle further than necessary. Cold water hit his skin first—dousing every hint of heat he had just experienced.

What the fuck?

Noah exhaled sharply, one hand pressing flat against the tiled wall as if to anchor himself. The realization of what-the-fuckest-of-all-fucks he had just done hitting him square in the face.

“This is getting out of hand.”

He stayed under the water longer than usual, until the chill seeped deeper, until the edge of that tension dulled into something manageable. Until he felt numb.

Might as well freeze his dick.

He quickly washed off the products of his shamelessness off the sink and mirror and rushed out forgetting to grab a towel.

He dressed in his pyjama pants and a simple shirt and flung himself unto his bed.

Noah couldn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, a figure with two different eye colors sultrily crawled into his vision.