The card had no name. Just an address, neatly printed on a silver surface that shimmered under the light. It was unlike anything they'd seen before, but both Nigel and Thanos, pulled by curiosity, desire, and something unspoken, arrived at the gates that night.
Nigel arrived first, his steps quiet, careful. The building towered in front of him, elegant and discreet, like a secret too refined to be spoken aloud. He handed over the card to the silent figure at the door and was led inside without a word.
Soon after, Thanos showed up, brushing dust from his jacket. He looked unsure, a little nervous, yet stubborn. He too handed the card over and was taken down the same quiet hallway.
They didn't speak when they met inside. They couldn't. The moment demanded silence.
The room was massive, walls draped in black velvet, candles burning at the corners, shadows dancing across polished floors. But the centerpiece stole everything: a king-sized bed, untouched, satin sheets stretched tightly. And just before it… a single, cushioned chair, luxurious, wide, and placed perfectly for a full view.
And sitting there, half reclined with a glass of whiskey, was Zed.
A robe loosely hung from his shoulders, exposing a toned chest marked with faint scars that whispered stories no one ever heard. His gaze didn't blink. It watched.
"On the bed," he said simply.
No greetings. No questions.
Nigel moved first, slow, his eyes glancing toward Zed, then at the bed. He sat, hesitating.
Thanos grumbled something under his breath but followed, dropping onto the opposite side. The bed sank with their weight. Confusion flickered between them.
Zed's voice cut the stillness. "Closer."
Thanos scoffed, "What's this, a trick—?"
"Closer," Zed repeated, softer… deadlier.
Nigel obeyed. Something in that voice, no, something in Zed, pulled at him like a wire tightening around his spine. When their knees touched, Nigel's breath caught.
Zed said nothing else. His stare did the rest.
His gaze fell on Nigel, and it was like being touched without contact, an electric thread drawing him closer, unraveling him. Nigel's chest rose and fell too quickly. His lips parted. His skin flushed.
Thanos looked toward him, eyes narrowing. "What the hell…?"
And then it hit him too. That zap of realization. Nigel was coming undone just from a stare. And whatever made that happen… Thanos wanted to feel it too.
Zed leaned back on his throne, taking another sip of whiskey, eyes dark and glinting with wicked satisfaction.
Nigel didn't dare look up.
But he felt it.
That gaze, Zed's gaze, settling on him like a scalpel. Not searching. Peeling. Quietly, ruthlessly, wordlessly undressing layers not even fabric could hide.
A breath caught in Nigel's throat.
He tried to shift, subtly, legs tightening, hands gripping the hem of his shirt like it could shield him, but Zed's eyes followed. Down his chest. The curve of his back. The slight tremble in his thighs. Every flinch, every involuntary twitch, catalogued.
There was no safe corner in that room.
Zed leaned back slightly. One finger traced the rim of his glass, slow and idle, but his eyes remained fixed, sharp, dissecting.
"You want me to feel you? Then give me everything."
Nigel didn't hear those words. But he felt them. They pulsed beneath his skin. Echoed in his head.
So he obeyed.
The shirt came off. Slow, unsteady. The fabric clung to his fingers like it didn't want to go. He dropped it to the floor, his skin prickling under the tension in the room.
Zed blinked. Once.
Nigel sat straighter, the pressure unbearable.
Still no sound from Zed.
But his gaze lowered, past Nigel's throat, over the swell of his chest, the line of his stomach, and stopped just at the waistband of his pants.
That's next, the silence said.
And Nigel knew it.
His hands moved again, not by command, but by the ache to be seen. To satisfy the unspoken more. Each button undone was like surrender, inch by inch.
In Zed's chair, there was no movement.
Only breath.
Slow. Deep. Held when Nigel's hands dipped, exhaled when the pants hit the floor. It was a performance, and Zed watched like the world disappeared beyond this moment.
Then, without shifting position, without lifting a hand, Zed turned to Thanos.
Thanos scoffed, "You're really watching him like a show."
Zed's lips curved slightly.
"That's because he performs."
A beat.
Zed's glass lifted again.
A slow sip. A hum in his throat, pleasure, not just from the drink.
From the way Nigel now trembled, not with fear, but want.
And in that heat, Zed didn't touch. Didn't move.
He watched.
And he felt.
Thanos leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Eyes darted between Nigel and Zed, his jaw tight.
"Tch... pervert," he muttered under his breath.
But he didn't move.
Didn't leave either.
Nigel was on the bed now, fully-bared, chest rising and falling like a violin string strung too tight. The way his eyes flicked toward Zed, shaky, full of please look again, made Thanos shift his weight from one foot to the other.
The silence wrapped around them.
Zed didn't speak. Didn't have to.
He turned slightly, just enough so his leg angled toward Thanos, glass resting back down with a soft clink against the table.
Look.
Thanos scoffed again, louder this time, like he needed the sound to defend himself.
"Don't lump me in with his kind."
Zed didn't flinch.
Nigel, breathless, turned his head toward Thanos.
And smiled.
Not mockingly.
Not shyly.
Like he knew something Thanos didn't.
That smile hit lower than expected.
Thanos looked away.
"Fuck off."
But he still didn't move.