[Elias's Perspective]
Dinner filled the suite's private dining area, three courses laid out with precision. Marcus sat across from him, shirt crisp, sleeves rolled up, veins stark on his forearms. He noticed too much, and hated himself for it, while he stabbed his salad, fork scraping the plate.
"He's unreadable," Elias thought, glancing up.
"Cold as stone since I was ten. Controlled. Perfect."
Marcus barely ate, didn't speak. His silence owned the room before he even entered. Elias shoved lettuce in his mouth, trying to drown his thoughts.
"Bet he doesn't sweat during sex," he muttered to himself.
"Probably counts down like it's a damn deal."
His eyes traced Marcus, gray at the temples, jaw sharp, faint lines hinting at years of restraint. Forty-two, no softness left, not even in those eyes.
Elias cleared his throat. "So, tomorrow's-"
"Eat your food," Marcus cut in, eyes on his wine glass. "You've been skipping meals."
Elias froze, fork halfway to his mouth. That tone, not cruel, but too sharp, too knowing.
"How's he always known?" Elias thought, staring at his plate. Because Marcus raised him. Not his father, his godfather. His mentor. His puzzle. The only man who made Elias feel small and ready to burn.
"You're toying with me," Elias said, voice low, testing.
Marcus's eyes flicked up, steady. "Am I?"
"You are," Elias pushed, swirling his water. "And I'll make you sweat for it, old man."
[Marcus's Perspective]
Marcus sipped his wine, slowly, hiding the storm inside. Elias poked at his food, all defiance and no subtlety, like the kid he swore he wasn't.
"He never eats when he's upset," Marcus thought, grip tightening on his glass.
Ten years ago, Elias was a trembling kid in a hospital corner, blood on the floor, his best friend's son.
Marcus signed the papers, took him in, raised him, and protected him. Taught him to tie a tie, stayed up through his nightmares, took bullets for him, real and not.
Now? Twenty. Smart-mouthed. Reckless. Fucking beautiful.
No. Marcus shut that word down, his jaw clenching. He shouldn't notice Elias's shirt hugging his shoulders, or how his mouth curved, clever and taunting. Not after what happened under that desk.
"You're quiet," Elias said, licking his fork slowly, deliberate. "Scared I'll break you?"
Marcus looked away, pretended not to feel the heat.
"Finish your food," he said, voice tight.
"Coward," Elias muttered, smirking, eyes gleaming with that defiant spark.
[Third person perspective]
Later, in the bedroom, lights dimmed, Elias dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they gripped Marcus's thighs, breath warm and wet against him.
"Stop," Marcus said, voice rough, pained, his cock half-hard despite himself.
Elias froze, eyes wide, hurt flashing through them. "Why?"
Marcus cupped Elias's face, gentle but firm, stopping him. "Not like this."
"You let me," Elias said, voice cracked, desperate. "You always let me-"
"Not when you're losing yourself," Marcus said, stood, tucked himself away, and walked out, cold, distant, fighting the fire in his blood.
Elias didn't cry, didn't yell. He waited, then followed Marcus's path.
Elias slipped past vineyards, greenhouses, to an outbuilding cloaked in ivy. The door stood ajar.
Inside, red lights glowed, chairs lined walls, a mirror ceiling reflected shelves of restraints, and tools. The air carried leather, musk, and recent use.
Marcus stood in the center, shirt gone, hair messy, eyes wild with raw needs.
His slacks hung open, cock hard, thick, slick with precum. His hand gripped his shaft, stroked fast, rough, fingers tight over the head.
"Fuck, Elias," he muttered, voice low, ragged, as his other hand slid back, pushed a finger into his own ass, stretching himself slowly.
"Goddamn it, you'd feel so good," he growled, hips bucked, cock throbbed, muscles flexed across his chest, veins popped on his forearms.
Elias froze in the doorway, breath caught, cock stirred in his jeans, his own heat surged to his cheeks. He couldn't look away.
Marcus's strokes sped up, hand flew, and his precum dripped. "Shit, Elias, right there," he hissed, his finger worked deeper, ass clenched, and groans mixed with curses.
"Fucking hell, you'd take it all," he spat, face twisted, open, raw, none of the cold control Elias knew. His body shook, sweat beaded, every curse and muttered fantasy a crack in his restraint.
Elias's heart raced, palms sweated, cock ached against his denim. He stayed silent, shadowed, and watched Marcus unravel.
Marcus's hand pumped harder, cock pulsed. "Fuck, Elias," he growled, a thick spurt spilled over his fingers, his loud groan echoed, primal.
He slumped against a chair, chest heaved, slick hand slowed, eyes shut, lost in his imagined Elias, oblivious to the real one's stare.
Elias backed off, silent, body burned, mind spun. Marcus's raw, Elias-fueled desire seared into him, a secret he'd never unsee..
Elias gasped, couldn't stop it.
Marcus turned, his eyes widened, then narrowed. "You shouldn't be here."
"I needed to know," Elias said, stepping inside, and his cheeks hot. "Who you are when I'm not looking."
Marcus didn't move, hand was still gripping his cock, feeling no shame. "This part of me isn't for you."
"I've seen it," Elias said, eyes gleaming, stepping closer. "And I'm not leaving."