The Vine House. Midnight.
"Okay," Jake whispered, crouched behind the outer gate like some action movie. "Phase one: infiltration."
Juli adjusted the night-vision goggles he'd bought off eBay. "Correction: Phase one is style. We look like professionals."
Prez groaned, rubbing her temples. "You two look like burglars playing dress-up."
"Shhh!" Juli slapped her arm lightly. "You'll blow our cover."
Ray, crouched beside them, sighed hard enough to fog the night air. "Explain to me again why we're doing this?"
Jean's grin was sharp. "Because Sam's been captured by that bastard Sage."
Ray, perched on the fence like a cat, muttered, "Sam didn't look very captured last time. He looked like…" His words trailed, grimacing. "...never mind."
Miana hugged her backpack of "essentials" tighter. "We can't just leave him there! What if Sage brainwashes him?"
Ray pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sam doesn't need rescuing."
"YES HE DOES," Jake, Jean, and Juli chorused, way too loud.
Prez whispered through clenched teeth. "Would you three shut up before the guards hear?"
Inside the house, Sam stirred in Sage's lap, blinking at the faint noise which is making in the surveillance monitor. He nudged Sage's arm draped around him.
"…Do you hear that?"
Sage cracked an eye open, deadpan. "Your idiot friends are trying to 'rescue' you."
Sam blinked. Then laughed into Sage's chest. "...Oh god. They're serious, aren't they?"
The screen flickered, one camera catching Jake's ridiculous attempt to shoulder-check a locked door while Juli hissed at him about angles. Another feed showed Prez and Jean crouched low in the garden, whispering like they were in some spy movie. Ray and Miana trailed behind, their nerves written plain across their faces.
"Pathetic," Sage muttered, lips brushing against Sam's ear as he thrust upward, burying himself deeper. Sam shivered, caught between a moan and a curse, and his hands clawed at Sage's shoulders.
"D-Don't hurt them-m—ahh—" Sam gasped, eyes squeezing shut.
"No," Sage smirked, one hand forcing Sam's chin toward the screen. "Look. Aren't they adorable? Risking their little lives to steal you back."
He pressed the comm button on the desk, voice smooth as venom.
"Felton. Release the pets. Let them… play. But remind them—" his eyes gleamed, pupils dilated with both lust and excitement—"no killing. If Sam loses his toys, he'll pout. And I can't make him upset while I'm enjoying myself."
Felton's static-lined voice crackled back, uncertain. "Understood."
On the monitor, masked bodyguards emerged like shadows, surrounding the trespassers. The chaos began instantly.
"Unfortunately," Sage muttered, already reaching for his phone. "This is either going to be entertaining… or very, very bloody."
Sage's hips snapped harder, forcing Sam to cry out. "See that?"
Sam, panting and trembling, forced his eyes open just long enough to see Jean and the others holding their ground—and his chest ached with something Sage ignored.
Because Sage was too busy laughing, his teeth grazing Sam's neck. "Now this—this is entertainment."
*****
Jake nearly blew up the kitchen again. Smoke hissed from a pan, the scent of scorched oil drifting down the hall, but Felton—working in the shadows like some exasperated god—silently shut valves and reset alarms before disaster spread.
Meanwhile, Prez fought like she'd been born for it. She vaulted onto the dining table, two guards charging her at once. One kick cracked against a skull, the other she snared in a chokehold before flipping herself into a clean cartwheel to the ground. On the surveillance feed, Sage actually whistled low. Sam, pressed against his side, gave a weak, breathless laugh.
Miana, never one to waste what she carried, hurled a bag of chili peppers into a guard's face. Screams, coughs, and stinging eyes followed. In the garden, Ray and Juli locked two attackers into the pool house, then shoved them straight into the water, shouting triumphantly as they splashed under.
Jean moved differently. His strikes were precise, sharp, trained; he locked an elbow under a guard's jaw and drove a blade close to a throat—until Felton's hand appeared, cold steel clamping on Jean's wrist. The entire room stilled.
"That's enough," Felton said.
Prez snapped, "Mr. Felton. Where is Sam?!"
"You don't need to know."
"Why?!" Jake barked. "He's been here for two months!"
Felton's expression shifted to something unreadable, a half-smirk, half-frown. "You speak to him every day. Don't you know how he is? Isn't that enough? You'll see him at Sonia's wedding anyway."
Ray and Juli reappeared, dripping wet from the garden chaos. Juli, furious, pointed at Felton. "We know! But how could you cage him for two whole months?!"
"I didn't cage him."
Jean spat, "Yeah, yeah. Sage did. We know."
Felton's patience frayed; he exhaled, the sound almost a laugh. "Hah."
His gaze swept over them like a judge passing a sentence. "Be honest. You're not here for Sam. You're bored. You wanted trouble. And who better to provoke than Sage, hm?"
Silence.
Sam, watching from the monitor upstairs, cursed under his breath. Idiots. Absolute idiots.
Miana and Ray blurted together, "N-no!"
Felton's chuckle was humorless. "You punks enjoy these little fights. But if you're smart, you'll run before Sage loses patience."
Jake squared his shoulders. "You think we're afraid of him?"
"You should be."
Felton released Jean's wrist. Around them, the bodyguards who had been groaning on the ground stood at once, as if on silent command.
"Escort them out," Felton ordered. "Politely."
The word dripped with irony.
The trespassers bristled, but no one moved against him. They all knew the truth: every step they took here risked backlash—not against them, but against Sam. Sage's hunger for control, for punishment, was a blade hovering over their friend.
So, reluctantly, they let the guards herd them to the exit.
*****
Silence. Muffled curses from the monitors. Sam, watching from Sage's lap, curled his hand against Sage's shirt and hissed under his breath: These bastards. He meant it with love and annoyance both.
The surveillance screen went dark as the feed switched off. Silence settled heavy in the room—except for the ragged breaths spilling from Sam's lips.
Sage still had him seated across his lap, their robes barely clinging to their shoulders. His length was buried deep, unmoving, keeping Sam stretched open as though the world downstairs was nothing more than entertainment for them.
This, half-conscious. His legs still draped over Sage's shoulders, his body marked and shuddering with every aftershock.
Sage slid out only long enough to reach into his desk drawer. A silver vial. A syringe. He filled it with steady hands and injected it straight into Sam's navel, then uncapped a second vial and coaxed the liquid past Sam's lips, forcing him to swallow even in unconsciousness.
Lifting him effortlessly into his arms, Sage cradled him close. His voice, soft as a lover's vow, dripped with madness.
"You'll do well, Sam. There will be pain… but you'll love it. I'm waiting for my reward."
His lips brushed Sam's temple, and his smile turned dark.
Sanity had never existed between them. And now, with Sam unconscious and full of his seed, Sage knew—it was gone entirely.