A low whistle cut through the darkness near the alley's mouth. Leo froze. Three figures detached themselves from the deeper shadows where the alley met the deserted street. He recognized the slurring voice instantly – the frat boy who'd waved his phone earlier. "Hey, superstar," the guy drawled, stepping into the weak glow of a distant streetlamp. His friends flanked him, broad-shouldered silhouettes blocking the exit. "Leaving so soon? We were hoping for an encore." Leo's pulse hammered against his ribs. He tried to sidestep, but rough hands grabbed his arms, yanking him deeper into the alley's suffocating blackness. The dumpster's sour stench filled his lungs. "Get off!" The shout tore from his throat, raw and panicked. A fist slammed into his stomach, driving the air out of him. He doubled over, gasping. Hands clawed at his hoodie, ripping it. Cold concrete scraped his cheek as he was shoved down. Laughter echoed, sharp and cruel. He fought, thrashing wildly, a choked sob escaping. Fingers tangled in his hair, wrenching his head back. The taste of blood bloomed in his mouth. The world narrowed to the crushing weight, the tearing fabric, the grunts above him, the suffocating smell of garbage and cheap beer. His own ragged breaths sounded impossibly loud against the violent silence of their intent.
He squeezed his eyes shut, muscles locking rigid. Detach. Float away. He knew this drill, this terrible, practiced vanishing. But the alley's grime pressed into his skin, real and gritty. The frat boy's hot, beery breath hissed in his ear, "Just like in the video, huh?" The words were jagged glass, shredding the thin membrane separating performance from violation. This wasn't a set. No director yelled cut. No paycheck waited. Just the cold bite of a zipper against his hip, the brutal invasion, the raw scrape of pavement on his knees. Pain lanced through him, sharp and deep, anchoring him horribly in the moment. He heard fabric tear louder. A strangled sound escaped him – part gasp, part whimper. Above him, voices mingled, triumphant and ugly. "Told you he liked it rough." Darkness pulsed at the edges of his vision. He focused on a cracked brick inches from his face, counting the mortar lines. One. Two. Three. Anything but the hands pinning him, the violation tearing him apart.
A sudden, sickening crunch echoed – bone on bone. The weight crushing Leo's back vanished instantly. A choked gasp replaced the cruel laughter. Leo flinched, curling tighter instinctively, expecting another blow. Instead, a heavy thud vibrated through the concrete beside him. Then another. Silence slammed down, thick and sudden, broken only by ragged breathing that wasn't his own. Leo dared to crack open his eyes. A fourth figure stood silhouetted against the dim alley mouth, unnervingly still. Tall, broad-shouldered, radiating a coiled stillness that felt more dangerous than the frat boys' clumsy aggression. The streetlight caught the glint of brass knuckles on one fist, dark smears staining the metal. Two frat boys lay sprawled like discarded sacks, groaning weakly. The third scrambled backwards on his hands and knees, eyes wide with terror, scrambling over his unconscious friends towards the street. The new arrival didn't move. Didn't speak. He just watched the retreating figure vanish into the night, his posture radiating lethal calm.
Leo pushed himself up onto trembling elbows, the ripped fabric of his hoodie hanging loose. He spat blood onto the grimy pavement. His rescuer turned slowly. The weak light revealed sharp, angular features beneath a shock of dark, messy hair. Eyes, a startlingly pale grey, scanned Leo's battered form with unnerving intensity. There was no pity there, only cool assessment. "Can you walk?" The voice was low, gravelly, devoid of inflection. Leo nodded shakily, scrambling to his feet, pain flaring in his ribs and knees. The stranger didn't offer a hand. He simply turned and walked towards the alley's deeper shadows, expecting Leo to follow. Every instinct screamed danger, worse than the frat boys. But the alley felt colder now, the threat of their return palpable. Leo stumbled after the retreating figure, the taste of blood and fear sharp on his tongue.
They emerged onto a deserted side street. A sleek, black car idled silently at the curb, looking utterly out of place. The stranger opened the passenger door without a word. Leo hesitated, staring at the plush leather interior. Those grey eyes flicked back, holding Leo's gaze. The unspoken command was clear: *Get in*. Leo slid into the cool embrace of the seat, the door thudding shut behind him like a vault sealing. The stranger drove with unnerving silence, navigating the empty streets with predatory grace. Leo watched the city lights blur past, his mind numb. He didn't ask where they were going. The question felt irrelevant against the bone-deep exhaustion and the thrumming dread emanating from the man beside him. The car eventually slid into an underground garage beneath a towering, anonymous apartment building. The elevator ride was silent. The apartment door opened onto minimalist luxury – cool marble, dark wood, everything sharp lines and muted tones. The stranger gestured towards a hallway. "Shower. Second door." He tossed Leo a folded towel, his expression unreadable. "Clothes inside." Then he turned away, disappearing into the living room.
The hot water scalded Leo's skin, washing away the alley grime, the blood, the phantom feel of grasping hands. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw. The clothes provided were simple – soft black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, both slightly too large, smelling faintly of expensive detergent. He padded out, dripping hair plastered to his forehead. The apartment was vast and quiet. He found the stranger standing by a floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the glittering cityscape below, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He hadn't changed; dark jeans, a black t-shirt stretched taut over powerful shoulders. He didn't turn. "Bedroom," he stated flatly, nodding towards another door. "Sleep." Leo obeyed, the command echoing in the silence. The bedroom was as starkly luxurious as the rest – a vast platform bed draped in dark linens dominated the space. He collapsed onto the impossibly soft mattress, the adrenaline crash pulling him under like a lead weight before he could even process the strangeness of it all.
Leo woke to warmth. Not just the warmth of the expensive duvet, but the radiating heat of another body pressed against his back. An arm was draped heavily over his waist, skin hot against the thin fabric of the borrowed t-shirt. He froze. Early morning light filtered through sheer curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head. Beside him, deeply asleep, lay the stranger. The sharp angles of his face were softened in sleep, dark lashes fanned against his cheekbones. The sheet had slipped low around his hips, revealing sculpted shoulders, the hard lines of his chest, the smooth plane of his stomach disappearing beneath the linen. He was utterly naked. Leo's breath hitched. The memory of those grey eyes, cold and assessing, warred violently with the unexpected intimacy of this moment. The man radiated raw power even unconscious – a predator at rest. Leo's gaze traced the curve of a bicep, the defined ridges of his abdomen. A flush crept up Leo's neck, unexpected heat pooling low in his belly. It was a confusing jolt – terror tangled with a sudden, sharp spike of pure, visceral attraction. This man had shattered bones without blinking. He was dangerous, unknowable. Yet lying here, bathed in soft light, he was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.