05-26-2025, 07:17 PM
The sleet hit suddenly. A cold, creeping storm that began as pinpricks of water against Jay’s neck and turned, without warning, into a full-body assault. Icy drops soaked through the seams of his coat and slithered under his collar, leaving trails like knives down his spine. The heat from before - the fire in his chest, the rough kiss, the pressure of Nox’s body against his, it all began to evaporate, steam rising off their skin into the night air.
He almost welcomed it. Let the cold take some of the edge off.
Nox led them away from the alleys, through back doors and dim halls, and Jay followed, shoes wet, shoulders hunched, the ache in his hand now screaming.
If they’d stopped at one of those shadow dens, he’d have let it happen.
If the sleet hadn’t come.
If they hadn’t kept walking.
If they’d stayed in the fantasy.
But now they were moving deeper, and Jay couldn’t shake the growing sense that reality was starting to rise, slow and steady like water creeping under a locked door.
Inside, it was warmer. Dim lighting. Stillness. A place that knew quiet. Jay smelled the trace of real food. Wine. Children, maybe. Something domestic settled in the bones of the space, and it rattled him harder than any kiss ever could.
He peeled off his coat in the entry, water sluicing down his arms, his chest still heaving from the walk, the adrenaline. He kicked off one shoe, then the other, dripping onto the floor, and followed Nox into the belly of a home.
It was unmistakably lived-in. A shoe rack. Game controllers abandoned mid-play. Wine glasses near the sink. Not a den. Not a hideaway.
A life.
Something about it twisted in his gut.
He passed through the rooms like a ghost possessing another man's body, eyes catching on the little signs: the domestic scatter, the rhythm of a place people returned to, not escaped from. Jay felt suddenly felt like an intruder in it. Soaked, heavy, hands still tingling with phantom want. When he reached the doorway of the bedroom, he stopped.
Nox was inside. Naked.
Completely bare, standing with his back half-turned, shedding the last of his wet jeans. There was no seduction in the gesture. Just resignation. Just… offering.
Jay stared at him.
The light from the hallway caught the scars on Nox’s body. New ones. Jagged. Faint. Marks of survival, not pride.
And Jay could see the way he held himself. Not sensual. Not cocky. Willing. And in that willingness, Jay saw desperation. Submission. Apology wrapped in flesh.
His hand pulsed with pain. Worse than before. Of course the drug had been a trick: a high followed by a crash, a pull to want more. He wanted to go back out there and buy three more strips, stick them under his tongue and never feel again.
But instead, he stood in that threshold, not moving. Because his mind was filled with flashes:
He imagined stepping forward. Unzipping. Letting Nox take him into his mouth like he’d offered earlier in the street. It wouldn’t be sex, not really. It would be release. A favor. A relief. A payment. And no, not cheating. Natalie was something different. She was light. Home. A place without blood and pain. This wasn’t that.
He imagined yanking Nox to the bed, forcing him down, fucking him until his body trembled and begged. Not for pleasure, but as penance. A punishment. For the silence. For the goodbye. For the fact that Jay still wanted to see him after everything.
He imagined waking up afterward, sweaty, half-sick, and telling Nox everything about Mexico, about the blood, the screams, the bodies that wore his family’s face and the nightmares that still scraped behind his eyes. He imagined opening up and being seen.
And then he imagined something worse.
He imagined Nox making breakfast. He imagined someone else in that kitchen. He imagined a child’s laugh. Another body in that bed when Jay wasn’t here. He imagined a life Nox was already living.
One Jay had no place in.
His breath caught. His body burned. And he didn’t move. Nox turned slightly, waiting. Still silent. Still open. And in that stillness, Jay understood.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Not really.
He’d pictured it. Pictured everything. Dominating him. Using him. Forgiving him. Fucking him. And the imagining had been enough. In some twisted way, Nox offering was the repayment. The opposite of rejection; acceptance, invitation, and desire had settled the debt.
He didn’t step forward.
He didn’t step back.
He just said, voice barely audible, low and ragged:
“…It's alright. I forgive you.”
He almost welcomed it. Let the cold take some of the edge off.
Nox led them away from the alleys, through back doors and dim halls, and Jay followed, shoes wet, shoulders hunched, the ache in his hand now screaming.
If they’d stopped at one of those shadow dens, he’d have let it happen.
If the sleet hadn’t come.
If they hadn’t kept walking.
If they’d stayed in the fantasy.
But now they were moving deeper, and Jay couldn’t shake the growing sense that reality was starting to rise, slow and steady like water creeping under a locked door.
Inside, it was warmer. Dim lighting. Stillness. A place that knew quiet. Jay smelled the trace of real food. Wine. Children, maybe. Something domestic settled in the bones of the space, and it rattled him harder than any kiss ever could.
He peeled off his coat in the entry, water sluicing down his arms, his chest still heaving from the walk, the adrenaline. He kicked off one shoe, then the other, dripping onto the floor, and followed Nox into the belly of a home.
It was unmistakably lived-in. A shoe rack. Game controllers abandoned mid-play. Wine glasses near the sink. Not a den. Not a hideaway.
A life.
Something about it twisted in his gut.
He passed through the rooms like a ghost possessing another man's body, eyes catching on the little signs: the domestic scatter, the rhythm of a place people returned to, not escaped from. Jay felt suddenly felt like an intruder in it. Soaked, heavy, hands still tingling with phantom want. When he reached the doorway of the bedroom, he stopped.
Nox was inside. Naked.
Completely bare, standing with his back half-turned, shedding the last of his wet jeans. There was no seduction in the gesture. Just resignation. Just… offering.
Jay stared at him.
The light from the hallway caught the scars on Nox’s body. New ones. Jagged. Faint. Marks of survival, not pride.
And Jay could see the way he held himself. Not sensual. Not cocky. Willing. And in that willingness, Jay saw desperation. Submission. Apology wrapped in flesh.
His hand pulsed with pain. Worse than before. Of course the drug had been a trick: a high followed by a crash, a pull to want more. He wanted to go back out there and buy three more strips, stick them under his tongue and never feel again.
But instead, he stood in that threshold, not moving. Because his mind was filled with flashes:
He imagined stepping forward. Unzipping. Letting Nox take him into his mouth like he’d offered earlier in the street. It wouldn’t be sex, not really. It would be release. A favor. A relief. A payment. And no, not cheating. Natalie was something different. She was light. Home. A place without blood and pain. This wasn’t that.
He imagined yanking Nox to the bed, forcing him down, fucking him until his body trembled and begged. Not for pleasure, but as penance. A punishment. For the silence. For the goodbye. For the fact that Jay still wanted to see him after everything.
He imagined waking up afterward, sweaty, half-sick, and telling Nox everything about Mexico, about the blood, the screams, the bodies that wore his family’s face and the nightmares that still scraped behind his eyes. He imagined opening up and being seen.
And then he imagined something worse.
He imagined Nox making breakfast. He imagined someone else in that kitchen. He imagined a child’s laugh. Another body in that bed when Jay wasn’t here. He imagined a life Nox was already living.
One Jay had no place in.
His breath caught. His body burned. And he didn’t move. Nox turned slightly, waiting. Still silent. Still open. And in that stillness, Jay understood.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Not really.
He’d pictured it. Pictured everything. Dominating him. Using him. Forgiving him. Fucking him. And the imagining had been enough. In some twisted way, Nox offering was the repayment. The opposite of rejection; acceptance, invitation, and desire had settled the debt.
He didn’t step forward.
He didn’t step back.
He just said, voice barely audible, low and ragged:
“…It's alright. I forgive you.”
Only darkness shows you the light.