05-26-2025, 08:35 PM
Jay barely had time to react before Nox’s hand closed around his arm and tugged him fully into the room. The door shut with a quiet, decisive click behind him. The lock turned.
Then-warm breath, bare skin, slick with rain and newfound warmth.
Jay stumbled forward. Chest to chest again (er, shirt-to-chest), and it was all too familiar. The pressure, the scent, the quiet thrum of want that pulsed between their bodies like a third heartbeat. He could still taste their last kiss. The one Nox had just pressed to his mouth was harder, hungrier. Jay returned it without thinking, lips parting in instinct, the heat in his stomach spiking like a matchstrike.
God, it would be easy. One more step. One shrug of his shirt. One answer. And it would all happen. But then-
The bed.
Jay’s eyes flicked to it as Nox moved away. As if it had suddenly appeared. Not just the bed, but the things on it. A bottle of lube. Condoms. A casual toss of invitation. A setup at the ready. And beside them-
A gun. A knife. A safe. Vodka. Drugs.
Nox moved through the motions like they were nothing. Like this was normal. And maybe for him it was. But Jay’s gut turned.
Not because of the weapons. Not because of the offer. Because of the house. The cluttered tabletop. The lived-in disarray. The faint sounds elsewhere.
And the words Nox had just said. About minors. ‘There are children here.’ That registered hard. Sharper than the pain in his hand.
Jay’s eyes swept the space again. The closed door behind him, picturing what lay beyond it: the shoe rack. Something small and plush half-hidden under a chair like a child had dropped it. The reality hit like the sleet pelting the glass.
This wasn’t the haze of the Red Light District anymore. It wasn’t the riverbank. This wasn’t the fantasy. This was real. Too real.
Nox disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water started. A low, rising hiss, hot and heavy. Steam began to curl from the cracked doorway, carrying temptation. Besides that, Nox was right. A shower sounded good.
Jay stood frozen, body still soaked, hand aching, heart somewhere between his throat and his feet.
He stared at the bed. The weapons gone now. Just the condoms. The vodka. The warmth of the light, and the soft rhythm of something he didn’t belong in remained.
He almost pulled off his shirt. Almost dropped his pants. Almost Stepped into that bathroom, pressing Nox to the tile, jerking each other off until they both forgot everything.
But he also imagined Natalie, brushing her teeth in the mirror at home, not knowing. Not even suspecting. He imagined going home to her smelling like someone else, sweat, vodka and mint-sweet drugs. Telling her nothing. Or telling her everything. Who knew what stupid thing he'd do?
He imagined staying the night here. Waking up. Finding Nox in the kitchen making coffee. A child peeking in from a hallway.
He wanted to throw up.
This isn’t you, something inside him whispered. This isn’t you.
How do you know? He argued back.
He turned from the door. Because the pain was spreading. From his hand into his bones. And moved quietly, like he was slipping out of his own skin, and slipped out the bedroom, searching for where he’d dropped his things.
Then-warm breath, bare skin, slick with rain and newfound warmth.
Jay stumbled forward. Chest to chest again (er, shirt-to-chest), and it was all too familiar. The pressure, the scent, the quiet thrum of want that pulsed between their bodies like a third heartbeat. He could still taste their last kiss. The one Nox had just pressed to his mouth was harder, hungrier. Jay returned it without thinking, lips parting in instinct, the heat in his stomach spiking like a matchstrike.
God, it would be easy. One more step. One shrug of his shirt. One answer. And it would all happen. But then-
The bed.
Jay’s eyes flicked to it as Nox moved away. As if it had suddenly appeared. Not just the bed, but the things on it. A bottle of lube. Condoms. A casual toss of invitation. A setup at the ready. And beside them-
A gun. A knife. A safe. Vodka. Drugs.
Nox moved through the motions like they were nothing. Like this was normal. And maybe for him it was. But Jay’s gut turned.
Not because of the weapons. Not because of the offer. Because of the house. The cluttered tabletop. The lived-in disarray. The faint sounds elsewhere.
And the words Nox had just said. About minors. ‘There are children here.’ That registered hard. Sharper than the pain in his hand.
Jay’s eyes swept the space again. The closed door behind him, picturing what lay beyond it: the shoe rack. Something small and plush half-hidden under a chair like a child had dropped it. The reality hit like the sleet pelting the glass.
This wasn’t the haze of the Red Light District anymore. It wasn’t the riverbank. This wasn’t the fantasy. This was real. Too real.
Nox disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water started. A low, rising hiss, hot and heavy. Steam began to curl from the cracked doorway, carrying temptation. Besides that, Nox was right. A shower sounded good.
Jay stood frozen, body still soaked, hand aching, heart somewhere between his throat and his feet.
He stared at the bed. The weapons gone now. Just the condoms. The vodka. The warmth of the light, and the soft rhythm of something he didn’t belong in remained.
He almost pulled off his shirt. Almost dropped his pants. Almost Stepped into that bathroom, pressing Nox to the tile, jerking each other off until they both forgot everything.
But he also imagined Natalie, brushing her teeth in the mirror at home, not knowing. Not even suspecting. He imagined going home to her smelling like someone else, sweat, vodka and mint-sweet drugs. Telling her nothing. Or telling her everything. Who knew what stupid thing he'd do?
He imagined staying the night here. Waking up. Finding Nox in the kitchen making coffee. A child peeking in from a hallway.
He wanted to throw up.
This isn’t you, something inside him whispered. This isn’t you.
How do you know? He argued back.
He turned from the door. Because the pain was spreading. From his hand into his bones. And moved quietly, like he was slipping out of his own skin, and slipped out the bedroom, searching for where he’d dropped his things.
Only darkness shows you the light.