As soon as the jet landed, the afternoon sun was already spilling golden light across the tarmac.
Felton moved on instinct, heading straight for the driver's seat to escort Sage to his private villa — the one still half-rebuilt, thanks to Jake's little explosion.
He was just about to start the engine when Sage slid into the passenger seat beside him.
Felton raised a brow.
Felton: "What are you—"
Sage: "We're going to the Vine House."
The Vine House. A two-story duplex tucked into the VIP sector — monochrome black and white, sleek and ominous, like it couldn't decide between a luxury home or a villain's lair.
Felton didn't argue. But he narrowed his eyes and drove anyway.
As the car pulled through the gate, the guards opened it without question. Sage's world was like that — no one asked why, they just obeyed. The garage swallowed them whole.
Felton: "So… Why here? Suddenly?"
Sage: "Need to dress up."
Felton: "What? For what? You don't have anything in your schedule today."
Still, just to be sure, he pulled out his phone. No appointments. Nothing logged.
Sage had already stepped out.
He circled the car, opened Felton's door with all the patience of a man untouchable by time.
Sage: "Get out."
Felton eyed him warily.
Felton: "You're cooking something in that twisted head of yours, aren't you?"
Sage smirked.
Sage: "Am I?"
He didn't answer. Just walked ahead.
The door to the Vine House was understated. Black wood. Cold chrome handle. Inside, it opened into a clean modern space — white couches on the left, a towering glass wall stretching from floor to ceiling with green spilling in from the garden outside. On the right, a long black dining table merged with the open kitchen.
And dead ahead, the black-and-white staircase curled upward like a metaphor.
Sage called it the Vine House. No one really knew why. Probably just another inside joke with himself.
Felton collapsed onto the couch, coat off, wine in hand. Twirling the glass, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling like he might divine the answer to Sage's madness there.
Fifteen minutes later, Sage returned.
Felton: "What the actual fuck are you doing?"
Sage: "Go change."
Felton didn't move.
Felton: "Why should I?"
Sage: "You have thirty minutes."
Then Sage was gone again. Upstairs.
Felton stared into his wine, then downed it all in one go. Muttering:
Felton: "Is that bastard sick in the head or something?"
Still, he got up. Upstairs, laid out on the bed: black formal pants, a black tee, black coat. Classy. A little ominous.
He got dressed.
Downstairs, Sage was already in the driver's seat when he returned.
Felton gave him a sideways look, then slid into the passenger side.
Sage wore brown slacks, a black T-shirt, and a fitted brown coat. His hair was slicked back. Too put-together for a man who claimed he had no plans.
Sage: "You're awfully quiet."
Felton: "Oh, so now you do feel like telling me where we're going?"
He shot him a glare.
Sage chuckled.
Sage: "To the villa."
Felton: "…Whose villa?"
Sage: "Ours. The Browns'."
Felton froze.
Then it clicked. All of it.
Felton: "Stop the car."
Sage: "Eros called."
Felton's eyes widened.
Felton: "So that's why he kept calling this morning. Shit—he wants us at the villa."
Sage: "Apollo wants a 'family' dinner."
Felton scoffed.
The word "family" tasted like rust in his mouth.
Felton: "Apollo found out about the trip."
Sage: "Why else do you think he called the second we landed?"
Felton: "He heard about them, too."
Sage didn't ask who he meant. He didn't have to.
Rowon. Sam. The chaos. The intimacy. The leverage.
Felton gritted his teeth.
Felton: "That bastard needs to die soon."
Sage: "He will, fox. He will."
___
Browns Villa –
As they stood before the Browns mansion, guards flanked both sides of the driveway, lining up with stiff postures and respectful nods. Their greeting wasn't just formality — it was legacy. The two heirs had arrived, even if only one of them was legitimate.
The dinner table was set in the garden.
A table for four, gleaming under the soft amber garden lights. Covered in every kind of luxury food, rare wine, and silverware that sparkled like threats. Already seated were two men.
One in a full white suit, silver hair slicked back, face sharp like carved marble — intimidating, refined, and unmistakably Sage's bloodline.
Beside him sat a man with shoulder-length hair and a few gentle wrinkles around his eyes. If not for those faint lines, you'd mistake him for someone in their twenties. A dashing man in black khakis and a white tee — casual, effortless. And yet... Felton's mirror image if he grew out his hair.
As Sage and Felton entered the garden, the older man smiled wide.
Apollo: "Oh... my sons. You've finally come."
The word sons crawled under both of their skins like a tick. It sounded wrong in his mouth.
Felton's eyes landed on Eros — his father. It had been a long time since they stood this close. Ever since the marriage, Felton barely acknowledged him. Distance wasn't just emotional — it was deliberate.
Sage moved first. He went to Eros and gave him a side hug.
Sage: "It's been a while, Dad."
Eros: "It really has."
Sage slid into the seat beside him. Felton, meanwhile, sat across from Eros — Apollo looming at his right. Not a word of greeting left Felton's mouth.
Eros: "It's been a while for you too, Felton."
Felton (sipping wine): "Yeah… it has."
Sage watched Felton's quiet awkwardness with thinly veiled amusement… until Apollo spoke.
Apollo: "How was the trip? I heard you two enjoyed yourselves quite a lot."
Sage (while slicing his steak): "Heard?"
Apollo: "A little butterfly told me. About certain individuals you two encountered."
Felton paused mid-sip. His hand stilled, and even Eros glanced between the two of them, confused. Clearly, he hadn't been told anything.
Sage: "What happens there... stays there."
Apollo: "Oh? Is that so? Mr. Wright is quite an influential man in our society, you know."
Sage put his fork down. He looked Apollo straight in the eye — his own eyes, mirrored. The tension spiked.
Sage: "I know how to handle my affairs. Others should concern themselves with their old bones."
He smiled — slow, cutting, unapologetic.
Apollo chuckled darkly.
Apollo: "Handle your own affairs? You think you're better than me?"
Sage: "I've always been better than you, Father."
The air sharpened like glass. Apollo's glare was enough to make the wine freeze in their glasses. Eros looked toward Felton — and, mercifully, cut in.
Eros: "You like someone, Felton?"
The question dropped like a stone. Apollo and Sage blinked, then both turned to Felton.
Felton: "Why do you say that?"
Eros: "You're of age to settle down. Start a family. Get married."
Felton: "Seems like I am."
Sarcasm dripping, but Eros missed it. Sage didn't. Sage had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when Felton kicked him under the table.
Eros: "So… that means you're actually seeing someone?"
Felton: "I guess so."
Now even Sage was giving him side-eye. And Eros? Eros beamed.
Eros: "I'd love to meet her!"
Sage almost spit his wine.
Apollo: "Yes. We'd love to meet her."
Apollo's voice was steadier, but behind his eyes — a flicker. Hope. As if he believed, maybe for a second, that Felton might give him a true heir. One not corrupted by Sage's presence. Not tarnished by rebellion.
Sage thought to himself, Looks like the spies only reported on me. They don't even know about Felton…
But before Apollo could spiral into hope, Felton said it flatly:
Felton: "Not her. It's him."
Eros: "I'm okay with whoever you like, son."
Apollo jolted — his head snapping toward Sage, eyes brimming with silent accusation, like it was somehow his fault.
But he didn't say a word. Not in front of Eros.
Eros: "We should celebrate this joyous moment with something sweet. I baked some tarts!"
Apollo: "Oh, I love your tarts, honey."
He gave Eros a soft kiss on the lips.
Sage thought 'Gross'.
Felton rolled his eyes.
Eros: "I'll go get them."
As soon as he left, Apollo dropped the smile.
Apollo (low): "Did you force him?"
Sage: "What?"
Apollo: "Into liking men."
Sage (mocking): "Don't you think we picked it up watching you two?"
Apollo: "We had you both before marriage."
Felton (laughing): "So we should pop out heirs first and then start screwing men?"
Apollo was stunned. Felton had never talked back like this before.
Apollo: "You're getting ruined staying around Sage."
Before anyone could snap back, Eros returned with a tray of golden tarts. Apollo instantly put the smile back on — like flipping a switch.
Everyone tried one.
Felton took a bite... and visibly struggled to swallow the rest.
Sage? He devoured his tart like a war crime didn't just happen.
Felton made a face. Sage shrugged.
Eros: "Oh my, I think I made them too sweet."
Apollo: "Nothing sweeter than you, honey."
Eros kicked his leg under the table, blushing.
And that was enough. Felton and Sage exchanged a look — they needed to get out of there.
Eros tried to keep them longer, but Apollo's death glare all but shoved them out the garden gates.
---
Outside the Villa – Parking Area
Felton's phone buzzed. A message from Rowon. The tone was… odd.
He glanced at Sage, then hit send on a reply.
Sage narrowed his eyes.
Sage: "What?"
Felton walked toward his own car.
Sage: "Where are you going, fox?"
Felton (grinning): "You're gonna thank me."
Sage: "Now you're playing suspicious."
Felton: "Who knows."
And with that, he drove off.
Sage lingered a second longer. Then got into his own car.
He didn't drive to his villa.
He went back to the Vine House.
He needed to be alone.
To think.
To think about someone he left behind.
He opened his inbox. Four unread messages. All from Sam.
He hadn't opened them. Not yet.
He just drove.
With lingering feelings.
The kind that still didn't have a name.
____________
18+⚠
Vine House — Night
The door creaked open before Sage could even touch the handle. Unlocked.
His body tensed. Eyes sharp. Breath held.
Someone dared to intrude his space?
He stepped inside, silent and calculated, a shadow among shadows. The familiar scent hit first — that maddening, addictive scent. Then came the silhouette in the dark.
Sage let his guard drop.
Two hands shoved him down onto the couch, and he didn't resist. Instead, he embraced the weight, the warmth. It hadn't even been 24 hours, but it felt like eternity.
Sam straddled him, water dripping from his wet hair onto Sage's face. His soaked white shirt clung to his skin, now transparent — pink nipples visible, delicate waist outlined in light and shadow.
Possessiveness flared in Sage's chest. That waist... if anyone else dared lay eyes on it—
His hands slipped beneath the damp fabric, fingers brushing against Sam's waist, caressing upward. His thumb grazed dangerous territory before he paused, letting himself be choked instead.
Sam's grip tightened around his throat.
Sage smirked. "Did you send Rowon to coax Fox about my whereabouts?"
Sam's eyes burned. "So what?"
"Clingy and kinky. I see."
Sam leaned closer, breath ghosting over Sage's lips. "Say it. Why the hell did you leave without telling me?" His voice trembled, more anger than sadness. "And why the fuck did you choke Jean?!"
Sage laughed, low and rough. "Is that why you're choking me now, honey?"
"Answer me!" Sam snapped.
Sage's hands moved again, gliding up and down Sam's sides like he was memorizing him all over again. As if he hadn't already done it a hundred times. As if a hundred times weren't enough.
"Apollo knows," Sage murmured.
Sam blinked. "Your father? He... he knows about us?"
"Yes."
A breath passed.
Sam tilted his head. "Then I guess... my father should know about you too."
Sage's smile faded into something darker. "You do realize what kind of danger you're running toward, right?"
"Of course." Sam leaned in, lips brushing against Sage's neck. "That's why I'm here."
He kissed Sage's Adam's apple. Sage's throat bobbed. A smirk curled at his lips.
"You like danger, huh?"
"I love danger," Sam whispered, now teasing his earlobe with soft kisses.
That was all it took.
Sage flipped him — fast, fluid — pinning Sam beneath him. Legs parted. Hands pinned above his head. Sam's wet shirt soaked the couch, but neither of them gave a damn.
Sage lowered his head, brushing their lips together for a second... before he kissed him — deeply, hungrily — then moved lower, mouth trailing from lips to jaw, jaw to neck, devouring every inch of skin he could reach.
And Sam let him — breathless, trembling, surrendering to the danger he desired.
Sam's breathing quickened, shallow and hitched. His wrists twitched under Sage's grip, but not to escape — only to pull him closer. Deeper. Harder.
Sage released one hand, and Sam instantly buried it in Sage's hair, tugging, grounding himself as pleasure clawed up his spine.
Sage's mouth was relentless — worshiping his throat, grazing his collarbone with his teeth, his tongue sliding along Sam's damp skin like he was tasting rain. His free hand traced slow, deliberate circles just above Sam's waistband, fingers playing with the hem.
"I missed this," Sage muttered against Sam's chest. "The way you look at me when I ruin you."
"Then fucking do it," Sam hissed. "Don't tease—"
He gasped as Sage bit down gently on his nipple through the wet fabric. The sharp jolt made his back arch, legs tightening around Sage's waist.
"God—Sage—"
"Yes, honey?" Sage's voice was silk over steel. "That sound you make... Don't dare let anyone else hear it."
"Then don't give anyone else the chance," Sam challenged, breathless.
That ignited something feral in Sage. He grabbed both of Sam's wrists again, pinned them with one hand, and pulled Sam's shirt up with the other, exposing his torso fully.
"You drive me insane," Sage whispered, voice cracking with restraint.
Then he kissed down — throat to chest, chest to stomach — until he reached Sam's waist. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above the button, then looked up. Their eyes locked. Tension charged the air between them, thick enough to burn.
"Last chance to stop me," Sage warned.
Sam's chest rose and fell with rapid breath. He lifted his hips slightly. "Try stopping, and I'll kill you."
Sage chuckled, low and dangerous. "Good answer."
He unbuttoned Sam's pants with practiced ease, sliding them down slowly, letting his knuckles brush over every inch of heated skin. Sam shivered under him — not from cold, but from the way Sage was staring at him, like a man on the edge of worship and destruction.
Clothes hit the floor.
Sage dragged his mouth lower.
And Sam... He instinctively parted his legs wider. Welcoming warm tongue to pierce through his walls. Sage didn't leave a single drop of cum to go to waste as Sam's hand scratched his back in red.
Sage pushed it even wider before inserting his full length in one thrust. Which left Sam gasping for air.
And suddenly Sage pulled him up.
The air was wrong. Too hot. Too close. Sam's back hit the cold villa wall with a thud, a gasp torn from his throat, " Ahh! "
While Sage was still inside Sage. Still soft from yesterday's night activities. Sam's hole welcomed Sage's length too smoothly.
Sage groaned, " Your hole has already acknowledged me, huh? "
" Ah.. Ah.. Ah"
Eyes blurring from tears.
Sage's voice was a low command, grazing his ear like a blade:
"You always find a way to drive me crazy. Ah! I love that! "
" Prev. "
Sam's reply was a hitch of breath. His mind screamed, but his body — traitorous, eager — his back arched, head leaning toward the wall for support. As his stomach was getting filled with white fluid. Sage grabbed his throat and yanked his face toward him.
The kiss was brutal.
Not tender, not seeking permission. It was possession. Sage's mouth crashed into his, like he was trying to devour the last of Sam's resistance. And Sam—Sam let it happen. Let it burn. His fingers twitched at his sides but never pushed back.It was about power, and Sage was reminding him exactly who held it.
Fingers gripped his jaw, forcing his head back further. Sage kissed like he didn't need air, like the world could end if he didn't taste Sam down to the bone.
Then, Sage's other hand slid lower — slow at first, like mockery — dragging across the fingers to Sam's hole, tracing the line of his hole, then deeper, thrusted hard inside.
" No.. No... Ah... Ah.. Sa…
Sage..!! Ahh.. "
Sage flipped him toward the couch again. Now, Sam's stomach pressed against the couch. Bare back, not pale anymore as Sage covered them with red marks. Claiming him. And Sam was again wet as hell.
Sage's voice was darker now, his lips brushing against Sam's neck. "Your body's a terrible liar."
And thrusted again from the back. No mercy.
Sam didn't speak. Couldn't.
Because Sage was right. His knees felt weak, heat coiled in his gut like punishment, and every nerve burned where Sage touched him. And despite everything. Sage was like gravity. Pulling Sam towards him.
Sage leaned in again, lips grazing Sam's ear with a smirk.
" Scream my name, honey. "
" Sa... Sage... Sage. "
" Yes. That's right. More. More. "
" Sag... Sagee!! Ah.. Ahh.. Ah. "
Sam prayed all night like a ritual.
Because tonight, in this twisted war between right and wrong—Sage was already winning.
_____
Around 4 AM.
The room was silent now, except for the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic breaths echoing between two battered bodies were tangled. Sage had finally stopped — not because he was satisfied, but because Sam had reached his threshold. He didn't pass out this time, but his limbs refused to move. His skin was clammy, still flushed from the relentless pace Sage had pushed him through.
Sage didn't say a word. Just lifted Sam after cleaning him up like he weighed nothing, carrying him to his bedroom — a room too clean, too minimalistic to match the chaos they'd just lived through. His fingers were still curled slightly, like his body hadn't yet gotten the message that the war was over.
He laid Sam down, pulled the covers over them both, his chest pressing against Sam's bare back, like he wasn't quite ready to let go. The room still smelled like sweat, sex, and something unspoken.
Sam's voice came hoarse, laced with fatigue.
"I didn't come here tonight just to get rammed."
Sage gave a lazy hum, nuzzling the back of his neck.
"Oh?" He kissed Sam's shoulder. "Then what? You missed my company?"
Sam shifted enough to look over his shoulder, eyebrows lifting.
"My sister's getting engaged. There's going to be a party."
That made Sage pause. His eyes, previously half-lidded, opened and locked onto Sam's.
"Sonia?"
" Oh...wait. Is that why you threw that line earlier — 'Your father should know about me too'?"
Sam chuckled, low and smug.
"Yeah. Thought I'd raise his blood pressure a bit."
Sage laughed — a real one, sharp and rich.
"You little brat."
Sam's expression turned playful.
"You know my sister?"
"We were classmates. Years ago."
Sam turned around fully now, resting his chin on Sage's chest with a teasing smirk.
"You're old."
Sage narrowed his eyes and pinched Sam's nose, hard enough to make him squirm.
"Didn't think that when I was spilling my seeds inside you?"
Sam blushed hard then snorted, the sting making his grin even wider.
"I assume my pops already knows about you."
Sage tilted his head, suspicious.
"Why do I feel like you're not joking?"
Sam's eyes sparkled in the dark.
"Who knows."
A moment passed. Sage expected more jokes — a snarky comeback or a retort. But Sam went quiet, his hand drawing lazy circles on Sage's chest. It was in the stillness that something shifted. The air got heavier.
"So," Sam finally said, voice low — almost careful. "What are we, Sage?"
The question settled between them like ash after a fire.
Sage's breath hitched. For once, he didn't have a smart reply. Because he didn't know. He hadn't expected this. The jealousy, the possessiveness, the ache when Sam wasn't near. It wasn't in his vocabulary.
He swallowed, fingers grazing the back of Sam's neck.
"Does every relationship need a name?"
Sam didn't reply. He just pulled Sage closer, arms wrapping tighter around him like the answer didn't matter — because deep down, it already existed. Not in labels. Not in pretty promises. But in the way Sage stayed. In the way Sam trusted him enough to fall apart and still come back.
And that silence… was enough for Sam to know what he means to Sage.