Line Crossed

Elias’s lips stayed pressed against Vane’s for only a second—maybe two—but it felt like forever. Warm, tasting faintly of whiskey. Real. Not a dream, not a stolen scent on silk. Real.

Then Vane went rigid.

His hand came up fast, gripping Elias’s shoulder—not shoving him away, but holding him still. Elias’s heart hammered against his ribs. He waited for the push, the anger, the disgust. It didn’t come. Vane’s fingers tightened instead, almost painful, like he was stopping himself from doing something worse.

Elias pulled back just enough to see his face. Vane’s eyes were wide, dark, breathing uneven. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Elias,” Vane said, voice low and rough. “What the hell are you doing?”

The words weren’t loud, but they hit hard. Elias felt his throat close up. Tears stung again—he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped crying on the run home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know it’s wrong. I know you hate me now. I just—” His voice cracked. “I needed to do it once. Before everything falls apart.”

Vane’s grip didn’t loosen. “Before what falls apart?”

Elias shook his head. He couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not the photos, not Cyrus. Instead he leaned in again, desperate, pressing his forehead to Vane’s collarbone. “Please. Just once. I’ve wanted you so long it hurts. Every day. I can’t pretend anymore.”

Vane’s other hand came up—slow, hesitant—and settled on the back of Elias’s neck. Not pushing away. Just resting there, heavy and warm. Elias felt the tremor in it.

“You’re nineteen,” Vane said quietly. “I’m your stepfather.”

“I know.” Elias’s voice was barely air. “I know what I am.”

Silence stretched between them. The fireplace crackled. Elias could feel Vane’s pulse under his cheek—fast, unsteady.

Then Vane spoke again, rougher. “This can’t happen.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go.

Elias lifted his head. Tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn’t care anymore. He climbed into Vane’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs, hands clutching the open collar of Vane’s shirt.

“Please, Dad,” he whispered. “I’m already ruined. Just let me have you once.”

The word—Dad—hung in the air like smoke. Vane’s eyes darkened. His hands flexed on Elias’s hips, like he was going to lift him off. Instead they pulled him closer.

“Christ,” Vane muttered. His voice sounded broken.

Elias kissed him again—harder this time, messy and urgent. Vane resisted for half a heartbeat, lips tight, body tense. Then something snapped. A low sound came from his throat, half groan, half curse, and he kissed back.

It wasn’t gentle. Vane’s mouth took control immediately, one hand sliding up to fist in Elias’s hair, tilting his head back. The kiss was deep, hungry, years of restraint unraveling all at once. Elias whimpered into it, grinding down without thinking. He felt Vane hard thick d***k against his thigh, and the knowledge made him dizzy.

Vane broke the kiss, breathing hard. “We stop now,” he said against Elias’s lips, “or we don’t stop at all.”

Elias shook his head. “Don’t stop.”

Vane stared at him for a long second. Then his hands moved fast, yanking Elias’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His palms slid over bare skin, warm and rough. Elias shivered, arching into the touch.

Vane’s mouth found his neck, teeth scraping just below his ear. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” Elias gasped. “I’ve thought about it every night for years.”

Vane growled low in his chest. He stood suddenly, lifting Elias with him like he weighed nothing. Elias wrapped his legs around Vane’s waist on instinct, clinging as Vane carried him the few steps to the wide rug in front of the fireplace. He laid Elias down on his back, following immediately, covering him with his body.

The heat of the fire warmed Elias’s side; Vane’s weight warmed everything else. Clothes came off in frantic pulls—Vane’s shirt buttons scattered, Elias’s jeans dragged down and kicked away. Skin on skin. Finally.

Vane’s mouth was everywhere—collarbone, chest, stomach. When he closed his lips around one nipple, Elias cried out, back bowing off the rug. Vane’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and firm, thumb swiping over the head.

“Look at you,” Vane muttered, voice thick. “So fucking needy.”

Elias could only nod, hips pushing into Vane’s fist. He reached down blindly, fingers brushing Vane’s length—hot, heavy, bigger than he’d imagined. Vane hissed, thrusting into his hand.

“Tell me you want this,” Vane said, eyes locked on his.

“I want it,” Elias breathed. “Want you inside me. Please, Dad.”

Vane’s control fractured visibly. He reached for the small bottle of lotion on the side table meant for dry hands, but it would do. Elias watched, trembling, as Vane slicked his fingers. One pushed inside slowly, careful despite the urgency in his eyes. Elias moaned, pushing back.

“More,” he whispered.

Vane added a second finger, scissoring, stretching. His other hand kept stroking Elias’s cock in time, keeping him on the edge. When he crooked his fingers and brushed that spot inside, Elias nearly came off the rug.

“Vane—Dad—please—”

Vane withdrew his fingers. He slicked himself quickly, eyes never leaving Elias’s face. He hooked Elias’s knees over his forearms, spreading him open.

“Tell me again,” he said roughly.

“I want you,” Elias said, voice shaking. “All of you.”

Vane pushed in—slow, relentless. The stretch burned, but Elias welcomed it. He clutched at Vane’s shoulders, breathing through it until Vane bottomed out, buried deep. They both stilled, foreheads pressed together.

Then Vane started to move.

Slow at first, deep thrusts that dragged over every sensitive spot. Elias couldn’t stay quiet—moans spilling out with every stroke. Vane’s rhythm built, harder, faster, hips snapping. The sound of skin on skin mixed with the fire’s crackle and their ragged breathing.

“You feel so good,” Vane muttered against his neck. “So tight. Mine.”

Elias’s heart stuttered at the word. “Yours,” he gasped. “Always wanted to be yours.”

Vane’s hand sped up on his cock, matching his thrusts. Elias felt the edge rushing toward him.

“I’m close—”

“Come for me,” Vane ordered, voice dark.

Elias did—hard, vision whiting out, spilling over Vane’s fist and his own stomach. His body clenched around Vane, pulling him over too. Vane buried himself deep with a low groan, pulsing inside him.

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, Vane’s weight pressing Elias into the rug. After a moment, Vane pulled out carefully and rolled to the side, dragging Elias against his chest.

Elias clung to him, face hidden against Vane’s throat. The high was already fading, reality creeping in. Guilt. Fear. The photos still existed. Cyrus still had power.

But right now, none of it mattered.

Vane’s hand stroked his back slowly, almost tenderly. His voice came quiet, rough.

“You’re going to tell me what made you this desperate,” he said. “Tomorrow. All of it.”

Elias swallowed. Nodded.

Vane pressed a kiss to his temple. “But tonight… you’re staying right here.”

Elias closed his eyes, breathing in cedar and smoke and warmth.

For the first time in years, he felt safe.