Chapter Text
Rafe hadn’t seen JJ in three days.
Which shouldn’t mean anything. Not to him. Not after everything. Not after the last time—after the blood, the gravel, the cracked-knuckle silence between them where he might’ve gone too far.
But the absence settled into his chest like smoke.
Not even a glimpse. No chaos in town. No motorcycle growling down Figure Eight’s edges like a challenge. No bare chest flashing from the back of a skiff. No JJ Maybank with his mouthy grin and his split lips and that infuriating way he always made himself too visible and still impossible to touch.
Until now.
Rafe sees him again—finally, fucking finally—on the edge of the country club’s perfect lawn like he crawled out of the marsh to remind him what guilt feels like.
And he looks wrecked.
There’s blood on his cheek and a sway in his step. Not the usual cocky swagger, not that reckless, sun-hazed gait that made Rafe feel like he was watching some wild animal he was the only one smart enough to trap. No, this was different. He’s limping. Guarding his side.
And Rafe knows—just knows—it wasn’t from him this time.
Which almost makes it worse.
He leans against the glass doors of the terrace, smoke curling from between his fingers, and watches as JJ disappears around the back of the club like he doesn’t care who sees him. Like he’s not crawling into a maintenance shed to hide where Rafe can find him without even trying.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
JJ never hides from him.
And Rafe—he never stops looking.
**
Two weeks ago, he’d parked three houses down from the Maybank’s place with his headlights off, listening through the open driver’s window as the screaming started.
He should’ve left. Should’ve stopped following JJ home at night. Should’ve pretended he didn’t know what kind of shit hole the kid returned to after playing prince of the island all day.
But then the shouting had turned into cracks. Something breaking. Someone breaking. JJ’s voice rising like a wounded animal. His dad’s slurring rage. Furniture splintering. The sound of fists on flesh.
Rafe had white-knuckled the steering wheel so hard his vision blurred. His chest locked up. His mouth went dry.
He almost got out. Almost ran in.
He could’ve killed him. Wanted to. Fantasized about it a hundred times since. Not quick—nothing clean. He’d start with the fingers. Let him feel what it's like to be stripped of power, inch by inch, until there’s nothing left but begging and blood. Until Rafe had his full attention.
But he didn’t do it.
He just sat there like a fucking coward while JJ got torn apart from the inside out.
That’s when it started getting worse.
The watching. The following. The waiting for scraps of him. For glimpses of skin through torn shirts. For sideways grins at strangers. For laughter that didn’t belong to Rafe but made him ache all the same.
JJ made it look so effortless—being magnetic. Being beautiful.
Rafe hated him for it.
And he wanted to drown in it.
When he follows him to the shed, it’s not stalking. It’s strategy. That’s what he tells himself.
He takes the long way around, cutting through the overgrowth by the tennis courts, boots silent on the patchy grass, his body hot under the weight of summer and something worse—something sharp. Something urgent.
He knows JJ’s alone. He knows how he moves when he’s hiding, knows the slump of his shoulders and the shallow breaths he takes when he thinks no one’s watching. Rafe has studied those little tics in the dark, behind fences, across alleyways. He’s mapped them like a religion.
The shed door is cracked open.
And Rafe sees red.
JJ’s shirt is off. His ribs are a horror show—purple and blue and edged in yellow. The kind of bruises you get when someone takes their time. There are fingerprints on his hips. A welt across his side.
And that’s when Rafe knows.
His old man.
It wasn’t Rafe, this time. But it could’ve been. He could’ve been the one who—
He steps into the doorway before he can think better of it, rage sour on his tongue.
“You’re not even smart enough to clean up somewhere private, are you?”
JJ jumps like he’s been electrocuted, bottle of rubbing alcohol tipping over with a soft glug. “Jesus Christ—”
“Wrong guy.”
Rafe steps closer, slow and deliberate, letting the tension crackle between them like kindling. JJ’s pupils are blown wide, chest rising too fast, and for a split-second Rafe wants to shove him against the wall and bite the words out of his mouth.
He shouldn’t want that. Not after last time. Not when he swore he’d back off.
But here JJ is—hurt and half-naked and defiant as ever. Still flashing that grin like a weapon. Still daring Rafe to strike.
And he can’t look away.
“Touch me and I swear—”
“You’ll what?” Rafe’s voice drops. “Squeal for your little Pogue friends? Cry to John B? Maybe tell your daddy?”
He watches the crack ripple across JJ’s face. Watches the mouth twitch, the jaw lock. There’s that flash of something raw—something Rafe doesn’t have a name for but wants to press his fingers into like a bruise.
“Right,” he says, soft now. “Forgot you don’t have that luxury.”
He expects JJ to lunge. To scream. To break.
But he laughs.
Fucking laughs.
“You’re obsessed with me or somethin’, Rafe?” he says, voice too casual for the way his hand is still pressed to his ribs. “Creep around every time I’m shirtless, say my name like it’s foreplay. What, you get off on bullying me now?”
Rafe doesn’t answer.
He steps forward, closer than he should. Raises a hand and lets the backs of his fingers brush JJ’s jaw—just enough to feel the heat of him. The tremble. The tension.
JJ doesn’t flinch. But he doesn’t pull away either.
“I don’t need to bully you, JJ,” Rafe murmurs. “You already belong to me.”
He means it.
Not just in the sick, controlling way he talks to the girls he uses and discards.
This is different.
JJ’s in his blood. His bones. His fucking lungs.
And it’s going to ruin him.
So he turns and walks out before he does something he won’t recover from.
Before he kisses him.
Before he apologizes.
Before he shows JJ Maybank just how much of a mess he’s become.
**
Later, after dark, Rafe returns.
He doesn’t wake him. Just unlocks the shed door and slips inside to leave the things JJ won’t ask for. A roll of gauze. A cold bottle of water. A protein bar he’d never admit to buying.
He stands over him for a long time.
Watches him sleep.
Watches the furrow in his brow even in unconsciousness.
And imagines what it would feel like to break his father’s face.
Not quick. Not easy.
He wants screaming. He wants begging.
He wants the kind of pain that leaves a man too afraid to ever lift his hand again.
Rafe breathes deep.
Then leaves.
The lock clicks shut behind him like a promise.
In the dark cold night, JJ will never know that someone chose him.
And Rafe? He’s already chosen.
Even if it kills them both.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t go back.
Swore he’d stay away. Let it burn out. Let the Pogue rot like he was supposed to. Because that’s what JJ Maybank was—filth. A product of piss-stained floors, rusted-out trucks, and trailer parks that stank like mould and broken promises.
And yet here Rafe was, three nights later, parked in the marsh at 2AM, headlights off, blood pounding in his ears like a prayer.
Watching that same fucking shed.
He reached the shed.
It was empty.
Of course it was.
Rafe felt the heat rise behind his eyes, white-hot and dangerous. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug crescents into his palms. He wanted to scream. To tear the goddamn place apart. To find JJ and drag him back by the throat and make him explain where he’d gone.
Because JJ had vanished again. Slipped off the map like a feral dog when the bruises got too bad. And Rafe couldn’t fucking breathe unless he knew exactly where he was.
It was getting bad.
Worse than he’d ever admit to anyone.
Because the truth—the sick, choking truth—was that he wanted him. Wanted him in ways that made his stomach knot and his fists itch and his jaw lock so tight he thought his molars would crack. Wanted to possess him. Fuck the rebellion out of him. Break his stubborn mouth open until it bled the truth—until it screamed Rafe’s name like it was the only one he remembered.
And what the hell did that make him?
He was a Cameron.
He wasn’t supposed to crave scraps. Wasn’t supposed to ache over a shirtless junkyard Pogue with a smirk like sex and a back covered in bruises.
But JJ had that effect.
That look.
All golden boy beauty and swamp-born defiance. His skin was sun-licked and freckled and soft where it shouldn’t be. Eyes like ocean glass, always wide and burning, always hiding something he’d never admit. That pretty mouth—the one Rafe had bloodied more times than he could count—somehow still looked like it should be wrapped around a moan. Or a secret. Or his cock.
And that body—
God, that fucking body.
Tall, lean, carved by hunger and motion. Every muscle sharp under skin that shimmered with sweat when he worked, fought, breathed. He moved like a weapon, reckless and loose-limbed, never fully still, always two seconds from self-destruction.
Rafe hated how much he noticed.
And hated himself more for how badly he wanted.
But then—something moved in the woods.
It wasn’t JJ.
The figure stumbling through the underbrush was bigger. Sloppier. Lurching forward like he had nowhere to be but still needed to get there.
Rafe ducked back, silent. Watched.
The man was familiar.
Bobby Creel.
Mid-thirties worked maintenance at the marina. Known to lurk around the Cut when he wasn’t supposed to. Fired twice from the Wreck for being “inappropriate.” Everyone knew the rumours, but nobody gave a shit.
But Rafe had seen him before. Watching JJ.
And tonight, the fucker was muttering.
“—little bitch, always showin’ off… waitin’ for it…”
Rafe’s heart stopped.
He followed.
Creel didn’t see him. Drunk. Sweaty. Eyes darting like a predator with nothing to lose.
He veered off the path. Toward the back end of the marsh. The kind of place no one ever checked.
And then—
There was JJ.
Half-hidden under the dock, hoodie pulled up over his hair, trying to sleep.
Rafe froze.
Creel didn’t.
He moved fast. Quiet. Close.
“Thought I saw you down here,” he slurred, voice syrupy. “You always playin’ hard to get, huh?”
JJ sat bolt upright. Backing away. Fast.
“Fuck off, Bobby.”
“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, moving closer. “Ain’t nobody out here but us. You cold? I can keep you warm.”
Rafe couldn’t hear anything else over the sound of his own rage.
He was moving before he even registered it. Crossed the clearing in three steps. Grabbed Bobby Creel by the back of the shirt and ripped him away from JJ like he weighed nothing at all.
“What the—!”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Rafe slammed him face-first into the concrete pillar of the dock with a sickening crack. Something gave—nose, maybe jaw. Blood sprayed sideways.
JJ shouted, scrambled back.
Rafe didn’t look at him.
Didn’t dare.
Creel staggered, choking on blood. Tried to reach for something—pocketknife, maybe.
Rafe kicked him in the ribs, then again. The second time he felt something crunch under his boot.
“You ever look at him again,” Rafe snarled, voice low, deadly, “and I will break every fucking bone in your body and bury you in this marsh so deep no one’ll ever find what’s left.”
Creel whimpered.
Rafe bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and spit in his face.
“Pogue pussy isn’t yours to touch,” he hissed. “It’s mine.”
Then he threw him into the water.
By the time Rafe turned back, JJ was gone.
Vanished like smoke.
His things still sat in a heap under the dock—ratty backpack, half-smoked pack of Camels, that stupid red bandana he always wore tied around his wrist like a badge.
Rafe stared down at it.
And then, before he could stop himself, he reached out and took it.
Tied it around his own wrist like a brand.
He found JJ again the just before dawn morning, slumped in the back alley behind the Wreck with dirt on his face and an old sweatshirt zipped halfway up.
He was lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.
Didn’t notice Rafe watching from across the street.
But Rafe saw everything.
And it wasn’t enough.
Rafe broke into the Wreck’s back office and slipped a twenty under the register with a note that said “Feed him.”
Then he left a bottle of antiseptic in JJ’s backpack.
Then a new hoodie.
Then—finally—a switchblade.
Just in case.
It wasn’t love.
It was need. It was ownership. It was hunger.
It was the slow, choking realization that nothing in Rafe’s life—not the money, not the drugs, not the girls, not even the violence—made him feel as alive as this obsession did.
JJ Maybank was a fucking problem.
But Rafe Cameron?
He was the solution.
Even if he had to destroy every bridge, everybody, and every lie to keep the boy breathing.
Especially if he never, ever got to touch him.
Rafe didn’t remember getting in the car.
Didn’t remember turning the engine on. Didn’t remember leaving the club, the pool, the line of tanned Kook girls laughing behind their hands when he blew them off again.
All he remembered was the sound of the name.
“Maybank’s?”
And that laugh. That ugly sneering laugh. From Trent fucking Bennett.
“What, Cameron—don't tell me that twitchy little swamp rat still has you twisted up?”
Rafe had said nothing.
He hadn’t needed to. His jaw did the talking. Locked so tight his teeth ground together like molars were meant to break. But Trent just kept going, drunk and stupid and loud, surrounded by other boys in pastel polos and half-zipped North Faces.
“I mean, look—I get it,” Trent smirked. “He’s got that slutty little thing going on. Dirty blond, dumb mouth, always bruised. Probably sucks cock like he’s starving.”
Laughter.
Rafe's vision blurred for a second.
“You ever see him on his knees behind the Wreck? Bet he gives it up to anyone who buys him a blunt and a Slurpee.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if Cameron already tapped that, honestly,” grinned another voice. “We all know he likes 'em broke and bendy.”
“Must be nice—owning your own little Pogue bitch.”
Rafe left before he could kill anyone.
It was raining on the Cut. Again.
Everything slick and grey and half-lit by streetlamps. Rafe rolled through slowly, engine humming low, tinted windows keeping him hidden. His hand twitched on the wheel, knuckles pale. His other hand tugged at the bandana tied around his wrist—JJ’s—twisting it tight enough to leave a mark.
He needed to see him.
Hadn’t since the marina job two nights ago, when JJ had passed something to Pope and limped off behind the docks. Rafe had stayed hidden that time. Just watched. Observed the scabbed knuckles, the way JJ kept tugging down his sleeves like it mattered.
Like anyone cared.
Rafe cared.
He fucking cared, and it was ruining him.
He found JJ behind the auto shop.
Alone. Smoking. Perched on an overturned bucket with his boots in the mud, hoodie soaked through. Hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks ruddy with cold. He looked like shit. But he always looked like shit. That was part of the appeal—like he survived in spite of himself, held together by grit and nerve and sheer refusal to quit.
God, he was fucking beautiful.
The smudge of grease under his jaw. That lazy sprawl. The way he grinned at nothing, lips quirking just enough to show a flash of teeth.
Rafe’s body responded before his brain caught up.
His blood was already pounding. His cock already hard.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He wanted—no, needed—to own that.
To crawl inside it. Mark it. Destroy it so no one else could ever touch it.
So no one else would dare.
Then John B showed up.
Hollering something from the street, laughing like a fucking idiot. JJ stood, flicked his cigarette, shouted back. Rafe watched them collide like magnets—shoulders knocking, arms slinging around each other. A warmth there that didn’t belong.
It took everything he had not to get out of the car and rip them apart.
Instead he stayed.
Watched.
Stalked.
And when JJ peeled off down the alley alone—Rafe followed.
The run-in was sharp and fast.
He stepped out from behind the dumpster without thinking. Just appeared. JJ jolted, wide-eyed, hand going to his hoodie pocket like he had something to pull.
“Jesus—what the fuck, man?”
Rafe didn’t say anything. Just stared.
JJ’s hair was dripping. His breath fogged in the cold. There was a thin cut along his cheekbone that hadn’t been there before.
Rafe’s gaze locked on it like it was personal.
JJ shifted uncomfortably. His usual bravado crumbling.
“You stalking me now, or what?” he asked, voice lower. “You working on a new hobby? ‘Cause the whole psycho-glare thing’s kinda played out.”
Still, Rafe said nothing.
JJ scoffed, eyes scanning the street behind him. “What, you run outta girls to snort coke off? Looking to slum it with the poor again?”
That made Rafe move.
He stepped forward once—close enough that JJ had to tilt his chin back to keep eye contact.
Rafe saw the flicker then.
Fear. Memory. That long, brutal history between them pressing in from all sides.
But JJ didn’t step back.
Didn’t look away.
Rafe’s fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to touch him. Grab his hoodie, slam him against the wall, taste his fucking mouth.
But he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He let his lip curl instead.
“You look like shit,” Rafe muttered.
JJ smirked. “Aw, you worried about me now? That’s cute.”
And just like that, the mask was back.
But Rafe saw the tremble in his hand. The way his left leg didn’t quite bear weight evenly. The way his pupils dilated when Rafe leaned in close, like he was bracing for something that might never come.
Or might always come.
“I’m not your fucking problem, Cameron,” JJ said, voice a little too harsh. “So whatever twisted thing you think we’ve got going? Drop it.”
He turned.
Rafe let him go.
Because he knew—he knew—JJ would look back.
And when he did, five paces down the alley, Rafe was still standing there.
Staring.
Silent.
Possessive.
And JJ froze.
Then left without a word.
Rafe didn’t go home.
He drove to the far end of the island, into the hills where no one could see him, and parked.
The rain on the windshield blurred everything into nothing.
He leaned back in the seat, eyes closed.
Then he let the fantasy out.
—
JJ, on his knees.
Mouth open. Lips raw. Voice ruined.
Begging.
Not with words—with movement. With the twist of his hips, the arch of his back. With the little grunt he makes when Rafe grabs his hair and pulls, hard.
“I fucking hate you,” JJ hisses, throat red, spit on his chin. “You’re disgusting.”
Rafe snarls. “And you love it.”
JJ moans when Rafe bites his mouth.
When Rafe bends him over and takes him—no prep, no warning, just want.
It’s ugly. Desperate. Filthy.
His jeans shoved down just far enough. Skin slick with sweat, thighs trembling, nails scraping at the dirt. Rafe pounds into him like it’s a punishment. Like he’s owed it. Like every second he’s buried inside him is another sin burned clean.
And JJ?
JJ sobs.
But never tells him to stop.
Rafe came with a stifled gasp, hand sticky, shame curling sharp in his throat.
He stared at the fogged-up windshield and tried not to vomit.
What the fuck was he becoming?
When he returned to town an hour later, he saw JJ walking alone on the shoulder.
Rafe didn’t stop.
But he slowed the car—just enough that JJ could feel it.
The headlights lit up his soaked figure like a spotlight.
And in the mirror, Rafe watched him pause.
Turn.
Stare straight back.
And smirk.
Chapter Text
The Cut always felt louder after midnight.
Not from sound—from pressure. From the weight of the dark, the ocean-smell in your lungs, the way headlights cut through the fog like a blade.
JJ wasn’t sure when he stopped walking and started hiding.
He only knew he was moving different now. Eyes jumping to every shadow. Every parked car. Every man-shaped outline on the fringe of light.
The encounter with Rafe three nights ago had lodged under his skin like glass. The silence. The closeness. The look in Rafe’s eyes—like he wanted to rip JJ open and crawl inside.
It wasn’t normal.
It wasn’t hate.
And the worst part?
JJ hadn’t hated it.
He hadn’t told John B.
Not about seeing Rafe. Not about how he’d felt. Not about how it stuck with him like the taste of blood in your mouth after a punch.
He couldn’t.
There were some things you didn’t say out loud.
Not if you wanted to keep your people. Your pride. Your fucking self.
So JJ stayed quiet.
Smoked more.
Slept less.
And kept moving.
He was at the back of the Wreck when it happened.
Looking for Kiara. Avoiding home. Thinking maybe, maybe, he’d take something from the kitchen and disappear for a few hours to the dock. No one would notice. No one would care.
But someone did.
He heard the voice first.
“Well, if it isn’t Princess Pogue.”
JJ froze.
Turned slow.
Trent Bennett. Again. With a few Kook boys he didn’t recognize—older, meaner, with that slow, leisurely look rich boys get when they think no one can touch them.
JJ rolled his eyes. “Not in the mood, man.”
Trent grinned. “You think I give a fuck about your mood?”
The other boys laughed.
JJ took a step back. “Y’all really don’t get tired of this, huh?”
Trent tilted his head. “Word is, Cameron’s got his eye on you.”
JJ’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
“That true?” one of the other Kooks smirked. “He keeping you warm at night now? I mean—he always did like broken toys.”
JJ’s spine stiffened. “Fuck off.”
But it didn’t stop.
“Oh, come on. He’s always beating your ass. Maybe he’s into it. Maybe you’re into it. Pogue’s dream, right? Get a rich boy to ruin you—might finally mean something.”
JJ clenched his jaw.
He turned to leave.
Someone grabbed his arm.
Hard.
“You gonna crawl back to him now?” Trent sneered. “On your knees, like a good little bitch?”
JJ swung.
Didn’t connect.
But it was enough.
Hands shoved him into the wall. Cold concrete scraped his shoulder. Someone laughed. Someone else grabbed his hair.
He twisted, kicked, tried to bite.
Someone spit on him.
“Fucking feral,” one muttered. “Cameron’s got trash taste.”
And then—
A sound.
Sharp. Fast. Close.
And then chaos.
The first thing JJ saw was a body flying sideways.
Not his.
One of the Kooks—lifted off the ground and slammed into the pavement so hard it knocked the breath out of him.
The second thing he saw was Rafe.
Not smirking.
Not sneering.
Unleashed.
Rafe moved like violence was a language he spoke fluently. Like rage lived in his bones. His fist connected with another boy’s face—once, twice, a third time—until blood spattered the wall and JJ couldn’t tell who was screaming.
It was brutal.
Beautiful.
JJ couldn’t look away.
Rafe didn’t stop until three of the boys were on the ground.
Trent tried to run.
Rafe caught him by the collar and dragged him back. Slammed him face-first into the dumpster. Bent low and whispered something JJ couldn’t hear—but saw the effect.
Trent’s face drained of all colour.
Then Rafe turned.
His eyes landed on JJ like a knife.
And for one terrifying, breathless second—JJ thought he might be next.
But Rafe just stood there.
Breathing hard.
Covered in someone else’s blood.
And staring at him like he’d won something.
JJ’s heart was jackhammering.
He should’ve been scared.
He was scared.
But not of Rafe.
Of himself.
Of the way his hands were shaking. Of the heat pulsing through him. Of the part of him that wanted to step forward and say—
“Why?”
But Rafe was already walking past him.
Close enough to brush shoulders.
Hot enough to burn.
He didn’t look back.
And JJ didn’t stop him.
He sat there after.
Back against the dumpster, head swimming.
He smelled like sweat and fear and rain.
His lip was bleeding. His hands raw. He should’ve felt humiliated. Angry. Grateful.
But what he felt was…
...confused.
And hard.
RAFE POV
He didn’t go home.
He never went home after.
Too dangerous.
Too loud in his own head.
He drove to the bluff. Same spot. Same cold rain. Parked. Lit a cigarette he didn’t smoke.
He saw JJ’s face every time he blinked.
Bruised. Flushed. Shocked.
And underneath it—awe.
Like he hadn’t known.
Like Rafe had finally shown him.
Not just violence.
Not just protection.
But power.
JJ had looked at him like something bigger than hate.
And Rafe wanted to fuck him for it.
He closed his eyes and let the fantasy take him.
—
JJ, still bleeding.
Sitting on the ground.
Shaking.
Rafe kneels beside him. Pulls him forward. Presses his mouth to the blood.
JJ moans.
“Why’d you do that?” he whispers.
Rafe kisses his throat. “Because you’re mine.”
JJ whimpers.
Lets him in.
Lets him have him—bruises and all. Dirty hoodie pushed up. Jeans yanked down. Exposed and gasping, thighs parted, voice gone.
And when Rafe pushes in—slow, deep, mean—JJ doesn’t say no.
He arches.
He begs.
He tells Rafe he belongs to him.
Rafe came with a choked groan, body tense, head spinning.
He sat there in silence, panting.
Disgusted.
Addicted.
And already thinking about the next time.
JJ woke up hard.
Sweat on his spine. Pillow damp. A sharp ache in his hips, like he’d been grinding against the pull out couch in his sleep.
It wasn’t unusual.
Not exactly.
But the dream had been different.
Too real.
Flesh and breath and blood. Strong hands gripping his ribs. A mouth on his throat. Teeth.
He couldn’t remember the face.
But he knew who it was.
Rafe.
He didn’t say anything to John B.
Didn’t mention the fight. The Kooks. The way Rafe had shown up and dismantled three guys like it was nothing—like JJ mattered. Like Rafe wasn’t a psychopath who’d spent years tormenting him.
Like he wasn’t the kind of person JJ should want to run from.
And yet—
JJ found himself near Figure Eight more often.
He didn’t say it out loud. Would’ve sounded stupid. But he started hanging out behind the Club again. Watching the tennis courts. The pool. The manicured lawns.
Looking for a ghost.
Sometimes he thought he saw him.
Dark car, headlights off. A shadow across the street. The glint of a cigarette.
But when he turned—nothing.
Still, the feeling wouldn’t leave.
Like being stalked.
Only it didn’t feel like fear.
It felt like heat.
Things started falling apart.
Small at first.
A fight with Pope over a phone JJ swore he hadn’t touched. A voicemail Kiara never got. A stash of weed missing from the Château, even though JJ hadn’t gone near it.
Everything felt off-balance. Like someone had tilted his world five degrees to the left and expected him not to notice.
He was more paranoid. Less patient. He yelled at John B over nothing. Slammed a door. Punched a wall.
They started pulling back.
And JJ started slipping.
It was late afternoon when he saw him again.
JJ was walking past the Club, hoodie pulled tight, when the Range Rover crawled past. Black windows. Slow roll.
He knew it was Rafe.
Didn’t wave.
Didn’t stop.
But his feet slowed.
The car didn’t.
But an hour later—when JJ looped back—Rafe was standing behind the Club, smoking, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for him all day.
Neither of them spoke at first.
JJ kept his distance. Ten feet. Maybe less.
Rafe’s eyes burned.
JJ’s mouth went dry.
“You following me now?” JJ tried to joke, but it came out rough.
Rafe just took a drag. Flicked ash onto the ground. Didn’t answer.
JJ shrugged. “Whatever. Guess you’ve got a type.”
Rafe’s voice was quiet. “You think this is a game?”
JJ swallowed.
He didn’t know what it was.
He just knew he didn’t want it to stop.
“Why’d you help me?”
Silence.
JJ took a step forward. His heart stuttered. “You could’ve just let them keep going. Watched.”
Rafe’s jaw twitched.
Then: “You think I wanted to?”
The words hit like a slap.
JJ blinked.
“You think I like this?” Rafe snapped. “You think I don’t wake up every fucking day wishing you’d get hit by a truck so I could finally stop thinking about you?”
JJ froze.
That should’ve hurt.
It did hurt.
But not the way it should.
“You’re sick,” he whispered.
Rafe smiled without humour. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
JJ turned to leave.
Then—
Fingers on his wrist.
Not tight.
Just there.
Warm.
Slow.
His whole body locked.
He didn’t pull away.
He couldn’t.
They stood there for a moment—fingers touching, eyes locked—and JJ swore he felt something click.
Like a loaded gun cocked behind his ribs.
Then Rafe dropped his hand.
“Go home,” he muttered. “Before I do something I won’t come back from.”
JJ didn’t sleep that night.
His wrist tingled where Rafe had touched him.
He kept his hand under the blanket and imagined it was still there.
RAFE POV
He knew it was working.
JJ was unravelling.
Slipping out of his Pogue-pack like a loose tooth. Fighting with John B. Skipping meals. Getting twitchy.
Rafe had deleted two voicemails this week. Stolen a lighter JJ had dropped. Moved a jacket from the Château to the Wreck just to make him doubt himself.
It was delicate.
Dangerous.
Fucking perfect.
And yet—
The moment his fingers touched JJ’s skin, something broke.
He’d meant it as a warning.
But JJ didn’t flinch.
Didn’t yank away.
He looked at him.
Open.
Curious.
Almost... aroused?
It had taken everything in Rafe not to shove him against the wall and find out.
To feel him go limp under his hands. Breathless. Obedient. Split open.
He thought about it later.
In bed.
Hand fisted tight.
Imagining JJ’s voice cracking when he came. Imagining JJ letting him.
And hating himself for it.
Because he wasn’t like this.
He wasn’t—
He didn’t—
He’d never—
But JJ Maybank made him want to destroy things.
And worse—he made him want to protect something.
Rafe stared at his phone.
Still no texts.
But he knew JJ would come.
Sooner or later.
Because the only thing more powerful than hate... was confusion.
And Rafe had been cultivating that for years.
JJ POV
He hadn’t meant to get caught.
He never did.
But there was a difference between taking for survival and taking because you needed to feel something.
This time, it was the latter.
A bottle of bourbon. A box of cigarettes. A pair of sunglasses that still had the tag on—left behind on a café table by some bored Kook who wouldn’t miss a thing except his own reflection.
JJ pocketed it all like it meant nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was proof he could still get away with it.
Only he didn’t.
The cops came faster than usual.
Not the ones he knew. Not Shoupe. Strangers. Hired help.
They didn’t rough him up. Didn’t give him a chance to explain. They cuffed him like it was routine and shoved him into the back of a car without a word.
He should’ve fought.
But he didn’t.
He just sat there.
Buzzing.
Empty.
Waiting for whatever came next.
The cell was cold.
Concrete. Iron. Humidity. Shame.
JJ sat on the bench and stared at the floor.
It wasn’t like the last time.
It wasn’t funny this time.
This time, he’d done it on purpose. Like a dare. Like a test.
He thought—maybe—they’d call John B. Or Pope. Or maybe no one at all.
But when the cell door opened, it wasn’t any of them.
It was Rafe.
At first, he thought he was dreaming again.
Rafe in a tailored shirt. Rolex flashing under the lights. Looking at JJ like he owned the building.
And maybe he did.
JJ stood slowly. “What the fuck—?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
Just nodded once at the guard.
“Come with me.”
JJ hesitated.
“You bailed me out?”
Still nothing.
“Why?”
Rafe’s eyes were unreadable. “You looked like you needed it.”
JJ snorted. “You don’t know what I need.”
“Don’t I?”
They didn’t speak again until they were in the car.
JJ slouched low in the seat, feeling like shit.
Rafe drove with one hand.
The silence felt thick. Wet. Charged.
“You wanna tell me why you were stealing from Kooks in broad daylight?”
JJ sneered. “You following me now?”
“Yes.”
JJ blinked.
Rafe didn’t look away from the road.
There it was.
Just—yes.
No games. No lies.
And JJ didn’t know what to do with that.
The car turned. Took a back road. One that led away from the Cut. Away from anywhere JJ had ever lived.
JJ straightened. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
“Rafe.”
“You want to sleep it off in a jail cell?” Rafe said calmly. “Or you want a hot shower and a drink?”
JJ didn’t answer.
But he didn’t open the door either.
The place was a guesthouse. Empty. Clean. Too white. Too still.
JJ stood in the middle of the kitchen like a stray dog.
He hated it.
The quiet. The air conditioning. The smell of bleach and money.
He wanted to break something.
Instead, he slumped onto the couch and rubbed his face.
He didn’t realize he was crying until Rafe sat next to him.
“You ever think maybe I don’t want to be saved?” JJ whispered.
Rafe didn’t answer.
“You can’t fix me.”
“I’m not trying to.”
JJ looked at him, red-eyed. “Then what do you want?”
Silence.
Then—
“You,” Rafe said.
Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The world tilted.
JJ’s breath caught.
He didn’t know if it was a joke. A manipulation. A threat.
But it didn’t feel like one.
Rafe reached out.
Touched JJ’s face.
Not rough. Not hard.
Just—gentle. Like he was afraid JJ would disappear.
And maybe he would have.
If Rafe hadn’t said it like he meant it.
JJ didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even breathe.
The hand was warm. Calloused. Familiar in a way that was terrifying.
He was too tired to lie.
Too fucked up to pretend.
So he just sat there and let Rafe look at him like that.
The kiss didn’t happen.
But it almost did.
And in some ways, that was worse.
Because JJ leaned just enough.
And Rafe moved just close enough.
And when nothing touched—when they stopped, one inch apart—it felt like falling off the edge of a building you didn’t know you were standing on.
Rafe stood first.
Left the room.
JJ sat there, hands shaking, mouth open.
Wondering what he would’ve done if Rafe had kissed him.
Wondering what he’d do if he didn’t.
Chapter Text
He watched JJ sleep.
Barely breathing. Curled tight on the guest bed, shirt damp, ribs visible through the fabric.
He looked like a fucking miracle.
And a warning.
Rafe wanted to slide in beside him.
Press his face to JJ’s neck.
Wrap a hand around his throat and say—mine.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
There was too much work left to do.
Too many people who thought they had a claim.
John B.
The fucking Pogue pack.
JJ’s fucking dad.
No.
If Rafe was going to keep him, he had to clean house.
Which meant:
—No more Kook whispers.
—No more Pogue interlopers.
—No more obstacles.
He opened his phone.
Sent a message.
One sentence, no name.
"If you touch him again, I will break every finger on your hand."
Tonight—he’d let himself pretend this was love.
Over the next few days, little things began to unravel.
A call from Pope went straight to voicemail.
Texts from Kiara vanished like smoke.
A pack of cigarettes mysteriously disappeared from his jacket.
Even the lighter he'd been clutching—the one Rafe had touched that night—was nowhere to be found.
JJ’s mind twisted.
Someone was controlling the strings, but who?
Everywhere he went, there was that feeling.
Like eyes burning holes in his back.
Like whispered warnings carried on the wind.
But it was more than that.
It was Rafe.
Always close.
Watching.
Waiting.
One evening, JJ found himself near the docks, where the fog swallowed the world whole.
The moon carved slivers of light on the water’s surface.
Rafe appeared out of the mist like a dark promise.
“Why do you follow me?” JJ asked, voice low.
Rafe smiled — sharp, unapologetic.
“Because you don’t know how to stay safe.”
JJ laughed bitterly.
“Safe isn’t a word I know.”
Rafe stepped closer.
His shadow swallowed JJ’s.
“Then maybe it’s time you learn.”
The touch was electric.
A finger tracing along JJ’s jawline.
A grip on his wrist that held firm but not cruel.
The air between them crackled with everything neither dared to say.
JJ’s breath hitched.
His body betrayed him.
And in that moment, the line between danger and desire blurred into nothing.
Rafe’s mind raced.
This was more than possession.
It was need.
Dark, suffocating need that twisted his guts and lit a fire behind his eyes.
He wanted JJ.
Not just the boy, but the chaos.
The pain.
The reckless heart that refused to break.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” Rafe whispered.
JJ looked up, eyes wide.
“Not even you?”
Rafe’s laugh was a low rumble.
“Especially not me.”
Tomorrow, the real game would begin.
No threats, no messages.
Just the slow, relentless tightening of the noose.
Because Rafe wasn’t just stalking JJ.
He was claiming him.
JJ woke to the sharp morning light stabbing through the blinds, every bit as brutal as the thoughts hammering in his head.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table, screen glowing with a message that made his stomach twist.
“Don’t try to run. Not yet.”
No sender name. No number.
But JJ didn’t need to ask who.
Rafe was tightening the noose—silent, unseen, relentless.
The next days were a slow unravel.
Calls from Pope and Kiara went unanswered. Texts from friends disappeared like smoke.
He felt trapped, isolated.
Someone was pulling strings.
Someone was watching.
Rafe’s presence was everywhere — not physically, but like a shadow cast long and dark.
His threats reached not just JJ but anyone who dared get close.
Anonymous messages warning them off.
“Stay away from him.”
At the club, the Kooks snickered cruelly, their sneers dripping with poison.
“Bet the Pogue’s got a new owner.”
“Rafe’s little pet, no doubt.”
JJ’s jaw clenched, fury boiling.
Before he could strike back, a cold hand settled on his shoulder.
Rafe.
Tall, hard, terrifying.
A living promise of protection and possession.
JJ swallowed the fear mixed with something else.
Something darker.
Meanwhile, Rafe’s phone buzzed with replies from the shadows.
Every message a calculated move.
Every silence a tightening grip.
He wasn’t done yet.
JJ
The streets felt different now.
Thicker, heavier.
Like every corner hid a threat.
Even the Pogues weren’t the familiar brothers he’d leaned on for years.
There was tension there.
Eyes darting.
Whispers in the shadows.
I wanted to run.
Run so far that no one could touch me.
But instead, I found myself drowning in cheap booze and shitty weed, a desperate attempt to numb the gnawing fear.
I wanted to get reckless — wild enough to forget.
Rafe wasn’t blind to it.
He watched me with those dark, impossible eyes.
Like a predator sizing up his prey.
But also like a man who’d been waiting a long time to cage something he thought was too wild.
“Enough,” Rafe said one night, voice low and dangerous.
He pulled me toward the guesthouse, the place I’d been avoiding but couldn’t now.
“Stay here. Tonight, maybe longer.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to run.
But his grip on my wrist was iron.
And damn it, I was tired.
Inside, the guesthouse felt like a prison dressed as a sanctuary.
Rafe stocked up on booze, weed, whatever I wanted.
He let me indulge, but only here — inside his rules.
The nights blurred together.
Highs chased by darker lows.
I caught him watching me sometimes.
Watching how the reckless flickered behind my eyes.
And I knew.
He was trying to keep me safe.
And maybe keep me close.
But safety came at a cost.
The world outside kept closing in.
And I could feel it.
The isolation.
The slow shrinking of the space where I could breathe.
Rafe
Keeping JJ close was the only way.
The only way to protect him from the Kooks, from his dad, from those goddamn Pogues who were turning on their own.
And from himself.
I watched his reckless streak crackle under the surface — the booze, the weed, the reckless sparks flying.
I let him indulge — but only here.
The guesthouse was my cage and my fortress.
I didn’t like it.
The way the desperation twisted in his eyes.
The way his body trembled sometimes — hunger and fear and something darker.
But I was happy to oblige.
Keep him fed, kept him drunk, kept him high.
Keep him here.
Safe.
At night, I schemed.
Called in favours.
Sent veiled warnings.
Cut off supply lines to those who might hurt him.
It was possession.
It was obsession.
It was necessary.
I wanted to drown in the chaos.
But for now, containment was the game.
And I was winning.
JJ
The haze hit me slow but sure.
Rafe wasn’t just watching anymore.
He was joining me.
Taking hits from the joint, pouring drinks like a silent challenge.
His eyes flickered with something I hadn’t seen before—hungry, dangerous, possessive.
We sank into the threadbare couch, the world outside fading to a dull ache.
The room thick with smoke and booze, his proximity was a weight and a promise.
I could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something darker—something that made my skin crawl and ache all at once.
When he spoke, his voice was low, commanding.
“Not too fast.”
His hand brushed my knee—light but deliberate.
A reminder.
The reckless urge in me didn’t disappear; it smouldered.
But his control kept it tight, dangerous but contained.
I wanted to fight it.
To run wild.
But instead, I found myself leaning in—letting the lines blur between us.
Every touch, every glance pulled tighter.
The night stretched long and slow.
We talked in murmurs, confessions tangled with threats and promises.
He was the storm I didn’t want to survive but couldn’t escape.
Rafe
Joining JJ in his reckless haze was more than indulgence.
It was domination.
A subtle assertion that I was here—always here.
I let him get drunk and high, but I dictated the rhythm.
The pace.
Every sip, every drag was permission given and permission taken.
Watching him lose control beneath my gaze was intoxicating.
That fire in his eyes, so wild it threatened to consume him—and maybe me too.
My hands found his, fingers curling possessively.
A touch that said: I own this. I own you.
I craved more than control—I craved surrender.
His body pressed close.
His breath shallow.
I wanted to mark him.
Not just on skin but in mind and soul.
To be the one he needed.
Feared.
Wanted.
The guesthouse became a cage lined with velvet.
Dangerous, soft, and utterly mine.
JJ
The haze lingered long after the smoke cleared.
I was floating somewhere between wanting to crash and needing to burn.
Rafe sat beside me, his body a shadow against mine, heavy and unyielding.
The guesthouse felt smaller by the hour — every creak of the floor, every whisper from outside pressing in.
I was supposed to feel safe here.
Instead, I felt caged.
But Rafe’s presence was a different kind of wild.
A tension coiled beneath his skin.
That simmering heat in his eyes — the kind that told me he wasn’t just watching.
He was waiting.
I caught him watching my mouth when I talked, the way my hands jittered when I was nervous. That dark smirk when I stumbled over my words or dropped a cigarette.
He was obsessed.
Obsessed with every flawed, reckless inch of me.
The night dragged on, thick with booze and the slow drip of weed.
He poured another drink — the liquid fire sliding down my throat — and then his hand was on my thigh.
Not gentle.
Not tentative.
Firm.
“Too reckless,” he murmured, voice low and dark.
His fingers pressed, kneading the muscle beneath my jeans.
I swallowed, heat flaring in my chest.
“I don’t want to tame you,” he said, eyes boring into mine.
“But I need to hold you.”
The contradiction was sharp, jagged.
I wanted to scream at him, push him away, tell him to leave.
But my body betrayed me.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I leaned into that dark heat.
Our proximity was a dangerous game.
Every accidental brush of skin, every low laugh, every shared breath.
I could feel his control tightening — subtle but inescapable.
Later, when the weed burned its last flicker, Rafe’s hand curled around my wrist, pulling me back when I tried to stand.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Not a question.
Not a request.
A command.
Rafe
JJ was a wildfire — reckless and wild and utterly beautiful in his chaos.
I wanted to drown in it.
But I needed to contain it.
To own it.
Joining him in his hedonism was the first step.
But it was also a test.
Could I keep him close without breaking him?
Could I be the darkness he needed without crushing him?
His body under my fingers was tense, twitching like a trapped animal.
And maybe he was.
I traced the lines of his jaw, memorizing the way his pulse fluttered beneath skin.
His breath quickened as I pressed my hand lower.
I didn’t want to hurt him.
Not really.
But the line between pain and pleasure was razor-thin.
And sometimes, crossing it was necessary.
When he tried to rise, I gripped his wrist with quiet violence.
Not enough to bruise, but enough to remind him who was in control.
His eyes flashed, wild and defiant.
But he didn’t pull away.
Because deep down, I knew.
He needed me to hold him.
And I needed to hold him.
The night stretched, suffocating and slow.
Words turned to murmurs.
Silences grew thick with tension.
When I finally leaned down, my lips brushed his ear.
A whisper only for him.
“I’m yours, JJ.”
Not a question.
Not a plea.
A promise.
JJ’s breath hitched.
His skin burned where my fingers lingered.
I could feel the fight inside him — the wild heart clawing for freedom.
But tonight, the cage was velvet-lined.
Soft.
Deadly.
Unbreakable.
The haze was still thick in my veins, but my mind was sharp — sharper than I wanted it to be.
That was the problem with this kind of high. It made everything feel clearer, not duller.
Rafe’s thigh was pressed against mine on the couch. Solid. Warm. Heavy. He hadn’t moved in ten minutes, like he was afraid that one shift would spook me.
Or break something.
And maybe it would’ve.
His hand rested on my knee like it belonged there. Not exploring. Not aggressive. Just there, weighty and quiet, fingers slightly curved, thumb brushing slow and steady circles like he was trying to soothe me.
Or mark me.
Or both.
I looked at him. Really looked.
The slope of his jaw. That scar near his temple I’d never noticed before. The absurd symmetry of his face. The subtle tension in his neck, like he was holding himself back from saying or doing something he knew he shouldn’t.
Something unhinged. Something true.
God, he was beautiful. It pissed me off.
The silence stretched too long.
I hated it.
Hated the way I couldn’t hear anything outside — like the guesthouse had swallowed the world whole. Like we were trapped in this moment, in this place, in this us that I didn’t fully understand yet.
But I wanted to.
I turned toward him, my thigh sliding against his. His head tilted slightly — wary, curious.
“Rafe,” I said, quiet.
He looked at me. Just looked. No smirk. No swagger.
Just heat. Barely contained.
I swallowed hard.
“I want you to kiss me.”
His breath caught.
“But—” I lifted a hand, pressing two fingers lightly against his chest, right over his heart. It was hammering.
“I want to decide if I want you to stay tonight,” I said, eyes locked on his. “And I want to know if it’s safe for me if you do.”
He didn’t move.
Not for a full five seconds.
Then: “Safe,” he said, like it tasted foreign.
“I don’t know if I can promise that.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Honest. Dangerous.
“Then kiss me,” I said, “and let me find out for myself.”
Something shifted behind his eyes.
That restraint, the leash he kept wound around his own neck, it twitched.
But he nodded.
Just once.
No flourish. No games.
Rafe moved closer. Slow. Intentional. His hand slid up my leg — not possessive, not greedy. Just grounding.
He gave me the chance to pull back.
I didn’t.
When our mouths met, it wasn’t an explosion. Not at first.
It was a whisper.
A question.
His lips were soft but sure. His hand on my thigh tightened just slightly, anchoring me.
And then I kissed him back.
Open-mouthed, reckless, demanding. I wanted to feel him lose that control. I wanted to taste the unhinged thing hiding beneath his skin.
But instead — he groaned low in his throat and let me lead.
He let me push forward. Let me part his mouth and lick into it like I wanted answers in his breath.
The heat was real.
So was the tension.
But there was no threat in it.
Only that sick, endless hunger.
The kind that said: I’ll give you anything. If you ask. Or even if you don’t.
I pulled back slowly.
Breathless.
Unsteady.
My hands curled into his hoodie, fists tight.
He didn’t chase the kiss.
He didn’t move.
He waited.
And that was my answer.
“You can stay,” I said.
Barely audible.
He didn’t smile.
Didn’t smirk.
Just nodded.
Eyes dark with something wild but held back.
Not safe, not really. But not unsafe either.
Like a knife you chose to hold to your own throat.
And trusted not to move.
That night, he didn’t touch me again.
Didn’t even take the couch.
He laid out a blanket on the floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he was honoured to be this close at all.
And for the first time in weeks — I slept.
Fully.
Deeply.
With the wolf at my door curled at my feet, and no fear in my chest.
Chapter Text
Chapter 4
JJ
He didn’t try to sleep in the bed.
Even after I told him he could stay.
He kept to the floor like it was penance. Or instinct. Or some kind of quiet performance — look how harmless I am.
Which was funny, really. Because no one who looked like him could be harmless. Not with all that coiled violence tucked behind sharp bone and golden skin.
Not with those hands.
I watched him breathe for too long.
He lay still, hoodie peeled halfway off, hair a mess from dragging his fingers through it over and over.
His chest rose and fell, slow.
Too slow for someone who was asleep.
"You're not sleeping," I said finally.
He didn’t answer for a beat. Then:
“No.”
I sat up. Cross-legged, blanket twisted around my waist. Lit a joint just to do something with my fingers.
The smoke curled around me like armour.
“What do you want from me, Rafe?”
His eyes opened.
Steady. Clear. Blue like ice and bruises.
He didn’t flinch.
“I want you safe,” he said.
“Okay. That’s easy,” I said, exhaling hard. “What else?”
“I want you comfortable.”
Another beat. “I want you tethered.”
That one hit like a punch in the ribs.
“Tethered?”
His throat worked. He pushed himself up slowly, back resting against the wall.
“You drift,” he said. “You chase chaos. You disappear.”
“Sounds like you’ve been watching me,” I said.
His expression didn’t change. “I have.”
Something about the way he said it — no shame, no hesitation — made my skin flush.
I should’ve been freaked.
Instead, I felt…steady.
Like the room wasn’t spinning anymore.
Like I could finally hear something real through the noise in my head.
“Tethered to you?” I asked.
His silence was answer enough.
He looked away for the first time in hours. Not down. Just…off-centre. Like it hurt to say what came next.
“I used to think hurting you would keep you close,” he said.
“And that worked how exactly?”
That brought a ghost of a smile. Bitter. Self-hating.
“It didn’t.”
He turned his head. Locked eyes again.
“I’m not gonna touch you without a clear yes. And not just a yes.”
I raised a brow.
“I want it loud. I want it messy. I want to know that you’re in it.”
My breath hitched. He kept going.
“Because I think about you in ways that are dark sometimes. Possessive. Intense. Obsessive.”
He paused.
“And I won’t let myself go there unless I know you want it.”
His voice dropped.
“I’m not gonna take anything from you.”
His jaw twitched. “I want you to give it.”
The room went quiet. A long breath passed between us.
Then:
“You ever even been with a guy before?”
Rafe shook his head.
“No.”
“But you want to be with me.”
A pause. Then: “Yes.”
No hesitation.
I stared at him for a long time. My heart was hammering.
Part of me wanted to crawl into his lap and say okay.
The other part needed space to breathe.
Maybe he knew that.
Because after a moment, he stood.
Not suddenly. Not threatening.
He walked to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled something out.
When he turned, it was a matte black pistol.
He walked over.
Held it grip-first toward me.
“I’ll be gone a couple hours,” he said. “Food. Clothes. Whatever else you need.”
He dropped it into my lap.
Heavy. Cold.
“But I want you to feel safe here.”
His eyes were dark and steady.
“Even from me.”
I stared at the gun. Then at him.
He looked like a wolf offering you a leash and the key to the cage.
“I’ll be back before sunset,” he said.
Then softer:
“You don’t owe me anything, JJ.”
His fingers brushed mine where they held the gun. Warm. Calloused. Reverent.
“But if you want to give me something when I get back...”
His voice dipped.
“I’ll take it slow.”
And then he was gone.
And I was left with a loaded weapon, a bed that smelled like him, and a heart that wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
The door clicked shut behind him and I didn’t breathe for a full minute.
The silence came back like a wave — thick and loud and impossible to ignore.
The gun in my lap was heavier than it had any right to be.
I didn’t touch it. Didn’t move. Just stared at the space where Rafe had stood.
He hadn’t tried to kiss me again.
Hadn’t touched me when he didn’t have to.
That was the most dangerous part.
Because the Rafe I’d grown up dodging — the one who shoved me against walls, spat venom across the Cut, grabbed my wrist a little too hard in back-alley brawls — that Rafe I knew how to handle.
This one?
The one who could say "tethered" like it meant forever?
I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.
I stood and walked to the window, peeling the curtain back just enough to watch him climb into the Rover.
He looked up. Right at me.
I didn’t flinch.
Neither did he.
And then he was gone.
I dropped onto the bed, eyes fixed on the gun in my lap.
The last time someone handed me a loaded weapon was... hell, maybe never. Not like this. Not with an invitation wrapped around it like a fucking promise.
“Safe even from me,” he’d said.
What the fuck did that mean?
But I knew what it felt like.
It felt like being left the keys to your own cage.
It felt like trust.
Or guilt.
Or both.
I lit another joint. Slouched into the pillows. Let the tension slowly leak out of my spine.
He wanted me to feel safe?
I wanted to know what it would take to not be.
Because part of me — some feral, broken shard wedged under the ribs — wanted to see what he’d do if I asked for more. If I invited the thing behind his eyes to come out.
If I said yes — loud, messy, and real.
The kind of yes that ruined people.
The kind of yes that bound.
I curled around the pillow that smelled like him and stared at the ceiling for what could’ve been minutes or hours.
When sleep took me, it wasn’t the dead black void I’d been used to.
It was warm. Watchful.
Like something was circling me. Guarding. Waiting.
RAFE
The island felt uglier now.
Every car on the road was a threat. Every stranger’s glance felt like a target.
I gripped the wheel too hard. Jaw locked tight enough to ache.
He was alone, and I had left him there — on purpose — with my gun.
Not because I thought he needed it.
Because I needed him to know he had a choice.
Even if it killed me.
I stopped at the gas station first.
Got him his usual — that sugar-caffeine blend he pretends to hate but always steals off Pope. Grabbed a second bag of the gummy worms he eats in threes.
Then I hit the corner liquor store on the mainland, the one that doesn’t ask questions. Vodka, tequila, cheap rum. A bottle of that obscure spiced shit he once said “tasted like Christmas and fire.”
Two packs of American Spirits. Black carton.
Then I doubled back to the Cut and drove slower.
Windows down. Listening.
Hunting.
Because I couldn’t go back to him yet.
Not while everything out here still felt wrong.
I swung through the back roads by JJ’s old place. Slowed by the side alley near the shed. The same place I’d parked in the dark two weeks ago when I’d heard him — Luke fucking Maybank — tearing into JJ with words that made me flinch.
And the sounds that followed—
Rage choked me.
All over again.
I should have gone in that night.
Should’ve wrapped my hands around that bastard’s neck and taken something from him.
Instead I stood in the shadows, fists clenched, jaw aching, watching the back door, promising myself never again.
Never again.
That’s what this run was for. The clothes, the food, the weapons — the illusion of choice.
So JJ could say no and mean it.
So when he said yes... it would wreck me.
I stopped at the small surf shop down the coast where no one knew my name. Bought him a few shirts, soft worn flannels, two pairs of board shorts, some boxer-briefs that felt almost too intimate.
Paid cash.
Stared down the clerk when he smirked at the size choices.
The last stop was a roadside market. Fruit. Protein bars. Water. Soap. Toothbrush. Deodorant. Things you don’t think about until you’re living in someone else’s house with nothing but the clothes you bled in.
By the time I pulled back into the guesthouse driveway, it was late afternoon.
The light was golden. Still. Quiet.
I got out slow.
Didn’t slam the door.
Didn’t want to spook him.
When I stepped inside, the air was warm. Faint smoke curled in the corners. And JJ—
JJ was curled on the bed, one arm under the pillow, the gun still resting by his hip.
Asleep.
Peaceful.
Like he knew nothing could touch him here.
Not even me.
I set the bags down gently.
Watched him breathe.
And for the first time in years — years — I didn’t want to hurt a single thing.
I just wanted to belong to him.
He stirred.
His eyes opened.
And he looked straight at me.
Like he’d been waiting.
Like he’d known I’d come back.
He was awake before I could say a word.
Still on the bed. Still holding the gun, casual now, like it had grown familiar in his hand.
His hair was flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. The blanket half-fell away as he sat up, revealing the faded waistband of his boxers and bare skin above it.
He looked wrecked. Gorgeous. Like something worth guarding with blood.
“You really came back,” he said, voice low and hoarse with sleep.
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
He tilted his head. “I thought you might want me to think that.”
I didn’t answer.
I just walked in, set the last bag down by the dresser, and started unpacking.
One shirt at a time.
One bottle of liquor, each label turned toward him.
Each small offering a quiet confession: I see you. I listen. I remember.
He watched me in silence, but I felt him tracking every move.
His eyes dropped to the change of clothes, lingered on the folded underwear. Black. Fitted. Expensive. My taste. But his size.
“Those for me?” he asked, voice light.
I nodded. “Figured you might want to get clean.”
He leaned back on his elbows. “What if I don’t care about clean?”
I turned to face him. “Then you’ll smell like me by morning.”
His lips curled in a smirk that didn’t quite hide the way his throat worked.
“Damn. You always talk like you’re already in someone’s mouth.”
My body tensed, heat crawling under my skin.
But I didn’t step closer. Not yet.
Because he was circling me now — testing — seeing how close he could get to the line without me crossing it.
I let him.
He stood, dragging the blanket with him until it slipped to the floor.
And then he walked to the dresser.
“Let’s see what you picked, Rafe,” he said. His fingers plucked through the shirts, the boxers. Settled on the black pair I’d imagined him in every night since we were teenagers.
He didn’t go to the bathroom.
Didn’t close a door.
Just stood there, back to me, and tugged the sleep-rumpled shorts down.
I stopped breathing.
The lines of him were sharper than I remembered — hips leaner, spine a perfect ridge of pale bone. Bruises across his ribs, purpling along his side.
I wanted to murder his father all over again.
I wanted to touch every mark and replace it with something better.
He stepped into the clean underwear slow.
Pulled them up slow.
Turned.
“See anything you like?”
My mouth was dry. My hands clenched at my sides.
“You know I do.”
His smile twisted, teasing and something darker.
“You think about this a lot?”
“Constantly.”
He raised a brow. “How long?”
I didn’t lie.
“Since you were seventeen. Maybe longer.”
That stopped him. Just for a second.
Then he came toward me.
Still only half dressed, barefoot, standing in the middle of my guest house like it was his.
“You ever imagine it differently?”
He was so close now I could feel the warmth of his skin.
I forced myself to stay still. To let him lead.
“Sometimes,” I said. “But it’s always you. Always this mouth. These eyes.”
My voice dropped. “This fucking body.”
JJ’s lashes lowered.
His chest rose, shallow and fast.
And then he reached out. Fingers resting on my wrist.
“I’m still deciding,” he said. “If I want you to stay in this bed tonight.”
My pulse thundered.
“I’m deciding,” he whispered, “if I want you close enough to touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Or if I should send you back to your big empty house to jerk off like you’ve probably been doing since high school.”
I let out a slow, wrecked breath.
“I’d do whatever you told me to,” I said, voice low. “But I’d picture you the whole time.”
His hand tightened slightly. Just a twitch of fingers.
Then he turned and walked back toward the bed.
Lay down again. Arms behind his head. Legs spread enough to make my throat catch.
And said nothing.
An invitation. A test. A dare.
But not a yes.
Not yet.
So I took the chair near the bed.
Sat.
Watched him.
Waited.
And didn’t let my hands shake.
JJ
He didn’t pounce.
Didn’t climb into the bed. Didn’t beg or threaten or even fucking move.
Just sat there, eyes burning through me, chest rising slow and heavy.
Like he was waiting for something sacred.
Or dangerous.
Or both.
And that fucked me up more than anything.
Because I knew he wanted me. I could see it — the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers dug into his thighs.
He could snap me in half.
And instead he sat like a statue built to suffer.
Like he deserved to.
I should’ve laughed. Should’ve rolled over and jerked off just to be an asshole about it.
But I didn’t.
I watched him.
And said, “You’re different now.”
His voice was a rasp. “You make me different.”
I stared up at the ceiling.
And whispered: “Stay the night.”
Not a dare.
Not a tease.
A fucking command.
His breath caught.
And for the first time in hours — maybe ever — he moved fast.
The chair scraped back, the bed dipped, and then he was above me. Not touching. Just hovering. Like I was too fragile to break.
His face was so close I could feel his breath.
But he didn’t kiss me.
“I want you to want it,” he said.
“I do,” I said back. “But I’m still deciding if it’s safe.”
He nodded once.
Pulled back.
Lay down beside me, facing me, body still tense but holding back.
And handed the control back with silence.
I didn’t sleep right away.
But when I did, it was with his breath on my neck.
And the gun still within reach.
Just in case.
I woke up with Rafe’s breath in my hair and the weight of his arm draped over my ribs like a chain made of heat and muscle.
He was still dressed. Jeans. T-shirt. Knife calloused into his thigh. Gun near the bed. Always.
His palm spread wide over my side like it had claimed me in sleep.
I didn’t move at first. Just lay there. Soaking in the stillness that shouldn’t have felt safe — not with him — but did anyway.
His fingers flexed against me.
“Awake?” I asked softly.
A long breath. Then his voice, hoarse and low:
“Didn’t sleep.”
I twisted to face him. His eyes were bloodshot. Unshaven. Jaw clenched like he’d spent the night fighting demons.
Or holding himself back.
“Because of me?”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
I leaned closer, our faces inches apart. “You could’ve kissed me.”
“I wouldn’t take that from you.”
Fuck.
“Rafe.”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to kiss me now.”
Everything about him stilled.
Then his hand lifted — slow, reverent — and cupped the back of my neck.
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was devastating.
Mouth hard on mine, tongue demanding, breath shaky. He groaned low into me, like it hurt to finally touch. Like he’d been starving and just tasted the thing he never thought he’d have.
His hand slid to my jaw, tilting me just the way he wanted.
His body pressed in, pinning me gently but fully — all heat and muscle and intent.
I opened my mouth for him. Let him take what he needed.
Because I needed it too.
He kissed like a man unravelling.
Like someone who’d jerked off to the idea of my mouth for years and couldn’t believe he finally had it.
When we broke apart, he rested his forehead to mine. Breathing hard.
“I—fuck. JJ, you need to tell me when to stop.”
I pulled his hand to my chest, flattening it over my heartbeat.
“You’ll know.”
And then I reached down, took his other hand, and slid it under the hem of the shirt I was wearing — his shirt, now mine — letting him feel my skin, my ribs, my hips.
His fingers trembled.
“I dreamed about this,” he whispered. “Every fucking night.”
He kissed me again — slower now, deeper, like he wanted to memorize me from the inside out.
His mouth trailed down to my throat, his teeth dragging just enough to make my back arch.
“Want you to know what it’s like,” he rasped. “To be wanted. Worshipped.”
“You’re not gonna scare me off, Rafe.”
He growled. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
I grabbed his shirt and yanked him down on top of me.
“I do.”
RAFE
He tasted like toothpaste and sin.
Like bad decisions and fucking salvation.
Like everything I’ve ever wanted and never let myself have.
His skin was so hot. So soft. Bruised, yes — but mine now. Mine to protect. To learn by touch.
My hands mapped him. Ribs. Hips. Lower.
His breath hitched when I traced the edge of his waistband.
“You sure?”
He nodded.
Then grinned, sharp and wicked. “I’m not fragile. I want this.”
I nearly lost it.
Had to grit my teeth. Had to breathe like I was holding a live grenade, and he was the pin.
Because JJ Maybank — Pogue royalty, chaos embodied — was naked beneath me and telling me to take.
I didn’t fuck him.
Didn’t strip him all the way down.
Didn’t even let myself grind against him.
But I did get between his legs.
Knelt.
And pulled the waistband of those black briefs down just enough.
And when I took him in my mouth — slow, deep, deliberate — he gasped my name like it was the first prayer he'd ever spoken.
He came fast. Fucked-up-fast. One hand buried in my hair, hips jerking helplessly.
I swallowed everything.
Held eye contact the whole time.
Because he needed to see it — the hunger, the reverence, the devotion.
When he collapsed back, boneless and breathless, he whispered:
“That was your first time?”
I licked my lips.
“Yeah.”
His laugh was wrecked. “Holy fuck.”
He reached for me. Pulled me up into the bed beside him.
“You’re insane.”
I grinned, teeth bared. “Only for you.”
His eyes softened.
And something deep in me broke.
“JJ.”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. I want you safe. Comfortable. Tethered to me.”
He blinked. “You… want me tethered?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then, eyes locked on mine: “You can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to lose my mind a little.”
I leaned in.
Pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
And whispered: “That’s the idea.”
Chapter 5
Notes:
If you have come this far and not left kudos or a comment, please help a sister out! I am plugging away at this fic and need the serotonin and dopamine boost.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By day three in Rafe’s guesthouse, I was half-feral from the touch of him.
From the way he looked at me.
Like I was something already his — and he was just giving me time to realize it.
He hadn’t kissed me again yet.
Not like that.
Hadn’t asked for more.
But every time I bent over to grab something, or stretched in his shirt, or ran my tongue across my bottom lip just to see him twitch — he looked like a man trying not to throw himself off a cliff.
And fuck, I liked it.
This morning, I didn’t even pretend not to push it.
I changed right in front of him.
Dropped the boxer briefs he’d loaned me and stood there bare-assed, digging through the pile of new shit he’d brought back from God knows where. Brand-name hoodies, soft joggers, cotton briefs I didn’t even want to know the price of.
“Staring at me again, Cameron?” I asked without looking back.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
The weight of his stare burned hotter than the Carolina sun.
I turned around slowly. Shirt still off. Wearing just the new briefs — black, low-cut, tight. Hugging me everywhere.
Rafe was sitting on the edge of the couch, legs spread, fists clenched on his knees like he was holding himself in place with brute force.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “JJ…”
“What?” I asked, moving toward him. “You brought me the clothes.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Damn right I am.”
I stopped in front of him. Close enough that his breath hit my stomach. Then leaned forward and climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.
His hands didn’t move.
His jaw clenched.
“You gonna kiss me?” I asked, quieter now. “Or just stare at me like I’m your last fucking meal?”
His hands came up then — slow, reverent — one sliding up my bare thigh, the other brushing my ribs.
“You’re not my meal,” he said. “You’re the reason I breathe.”
Then he kissed me.
Not like before.
This one was worse. Deeper. Slower. Hotter.
Full of things he hadn’t said yet and things I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.
His tongue slid against mine with sinful patience. His hands gripped my hips like they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
I rocked against him, slow grind. Just once.
His head dropped back with a groan.
“JJ, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna forget what consent means.”
“I am consenting,” I said against his throat. “To this. To you.”
He shivered. “I need you to be sure.”
“I am.”
“Say it.”
I took his face in my hands.
“I want you, Rafe. I want this. You haven’t laid a finger on me without my say-so. You’ve been holding back like some kind of reformed fucking lunatic. And I’m telling you now—”
I kissed him, hard.
“—you don’t have to.”
JJ Maybank. In my lap. Shirtless. Grinding on me in nothing but designer briefs I’d picked out with shaking hands two nights ago.
And saying please with his mouth and his body and his goddamn soul.
I kissed him like I was about to die.
Hands sliding down to cup his ass, fingers bruising his skin. He moaned into my mouth like he loved the pressure. Like he needed it.
His cock was hard against mine. I could feel every twitch. Every goddamn pulse.
“Tell me to stop,” I gritted.
“No.”
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
“Can’t.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
I kissed down his neck, over his chest, nipped at his ribs, marked him lightly — enough to claim, not enough to hurt.
I wasn’t gonna hurt him.
Not ever again.
He tangled his fingers in my hair and tugged hard when I bit at his hipbone.
“More,” he panted.
And fuck me, I gave it to him.
I didn’t fuck him.
Didn’t strip him all the way down.
But I pulled his briefs down just far enough. Stroked him slow, deliberate, watching every gasp. Watched his jaw drop, his eyes flutter, his back arch.
I told him he was beautiful.
I told him he was mine.
And when he came with a broken cry, I kissed him through it.
After, we lay tangled up on the couch. His head on my chest. My arm around his back.
His breathing slowed.
Then he asked, voice soft: “What do you need from me?”
I told him the truth.
“Give yourself to me.”
“Rafe…”
“I need to know you’re safe. That you won’t disappear. That you’re mine to protect. I won’t hurt you. Not without your say-so. Not ever again.”
I took his hand.
Placed it on my chest.
“I don’t want anyone else to touch you. I don’t want anyone else to see you like this. And I want to be the only man who’s ever made you feel like this.”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, barely above a whisper: “You’re the only one who has.”
I left him with the Glock and a bottle of water.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Where you going?”
“Supplies. More clothes. You drank all the whiskey.”
“You’re buying me more?”
“I’m buying you everything.”
He smirked. “You gonna keep me here forever?”
I looked at him, dead serious.
“If I could, I would.”
Outside, my phone lit up.
Topper:
“U seen Maybank lately? Thought I saw him get into your truck the other night. Wtf?”
Unknown Number:
“You hiding a Pogue bitch now? Better check who’s watching you, Cameron. Homo freak.”
I didn’t reply.
I started a list instead.
Names.
Addresses.
Weaknesses.
The Pogue who glanced too long.
The Kook who whispered in the club.
The cop who leered when JJ walked by last month.
They’d come for him.
But they’d find me.
And I’d be waiting.
JJ
The text from Pope wasn’t a question. It was a goddamn verdict.
Where the fuck have you been?
No pleasantries. No “Are you okay?” Just raw accusation, like I’d betrayed them by disappearing.
I sat in Rafe’s guesthouse, the faint smell of his cologne still clinging to my skin, fingers trembling over my phone.
Because I couldn’t answer.
I couldn’t say I’m hiding with the guy who’s been obsessed with me forever, the guy I never thought I’d trust, but who’s the only one keeping me alive.
Rafe saw the message flash and his jaw tightened.
“Pogues want their boy back,” he said softly, voice low enough that I could barely hear it.
“I don’t want to go back,” I said, almost to myself.
The words surprised even me.
I was safe here. I was caged, but at least the cage had soft walls.
Rafe stepped closer, hands ghosting over my arms, tracing patterns like he was mapping me, claiming me.
“You don’t have to go back. Not if you don’t want to.”
“But they’re my family,” I whispered.
“Not when they threaten you.”
His eyes darkened.
“I’m not letting them touch you.”
That night, the guesthouse filled with smoke and liquor haze. Rafe poured drinks, mixed something dark and heavy, and lit a joint.
He handed it to me like it was a lifeline.
“Let’s get reckless,” he said, voice rough with something fierce and hungry.
I took a hit, coughing, then grinning.
“I’m always reckless.”
He laughed — dark, dangerous.
We fell into each other again, the way bodies do when they don’t want to feel the world pressing in.
But beneath the drugged haze, I saw him.
The flicker of control slipping.
The razor edge just barely contained.
I reached for him.
“Tell me what you want.”
His hands gripped mine, fingers bruising.
“I want you bound to me. Safe. Close.”
“But you’re scared.”
“Only of losing you.”
That night tangled and breathless, I saw the dangerous light in his eyes.
And I didn’t turn away.
RAFE
JJ was mine.
Every nerve in me screamed it.
But the outside world was tearing at the edges.
The Pogues were circling like wolves. The Kooks were whispering poison.
I could feel their eyes on us.
I wanted to burn it all down.
But instead, I planned.
I locked the doors. I stocked the house. I kept JJ close — too close.
The scent of him on my skin was a drug I couldn’t quit.
When he looked at me, bold and reckless and scared, I saw every scar, every fight, every broken piece.
He didn’t know it but he was eating me alive from the inside out.
That night, I let him taste the dark.
The fire in me was barely held back.
I kissed him harder than ever before.
“I’m yours,” I growled.
“And I’m not letting go.”
JJ
The Pogues were blowing up my phone again.
I turned it face down on the table, ignoring Pope’s fourth missed call and Sarah’s “wtf is going on” texts. Kie had sent a string of voice notes, her voice getting tighter with everyone. She didn’t say Rafe’s name, but it was all over her tone.
I didn’t need their judgment right now. Didn’t need their fake concern or the way they acted like I belonged to them. I wasn’t their fuckin’ mascot. I was tired of being the one they all worried about just enough to tell me what not to do.
They didn’t ask what I wanted. Not like Rafe did.
And Rafe asked in that way that didn’t leave room for lies.
He came in from the storm like some dark wolf of a man, soaked in salt and wet heat and something violent he hadn’t let loose yet. His shirt clung to his chest, and his hand was already around a bottle when he dropped the bag of supplies—more weed, more pills, a fresh fifth of bourbon, and a fucking armload of expensive clothes he said I should try on, “just for fun.”
But it wasn’t fun. Not really.
It was intimate.
He watched me dig into the bag, watched me tug the shirt off over my head, and then my jeans.
And then, the way he looked when I pulled my boxers down, slow and deliberate—just to fuck with him, just to see if he’d bite—
“Jesus Christ, JJ,” he muttered.
I smirked over my shoulder, not even pretending to be shy.
“You like what you see?”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
His eyes told me plenty.
When I pulled on the tight new briefs he’d bought—dark green, snug around my hips, fabric thin enough to leave nothing to the imagination—he stepped forward without meaning to.
His hand lifted. Stopped.
Lowered.
“Say it,” I said quietly.
He blinked. His jaw ticked.
“Say what?”
“That you want me.”
I could see him unravelling. Like his skin didn’t quite fit him anymore.
“You already know,” he said, voice thick with hunger and restraint and something feral.
I grinned, high off the power of it, of the heat rising in him, the possessiveness that burned through his cold façade.
“But I wanna hear it,” I pushed, stepping close, shirtless, cock half-hard in those stupid expensive briefs he’d bought. “If you don’t say it, I might not let you stay tonight.”
His hand caught my hip, thumb brushing the waistband, eyes devouring me.
“I want you,” he said, low and dark. “More than I should. More than I can stand.”
That’s when I kissed him.
Not cautious. Not testing the waters. Just went for it.
His mouth was warm and dry and tense, like he was holding back an earthquake.
I didn’t let him.
I wanted to feel what he was holding back. All of it.
When his mouth crushed mine in return, when his hands pinned my hips like I’d try to run, I knew I was in the right place.
He pulled back, breathing hard.
“You shouldn’t be here with me,” he said.
“Too late.”
“I’m not— I don’t know how to do this shit. With a guy.”
“Then let me show you.”
He looked at me like I was something holy and fucked up at the same time.
Like he was starving for it and ashamed of it all at once.
“I need you to be sure,” he whispered.
I slid his hand down my stomach, into the elastic of those expensive briefs.
“I’ve never been more sure.”
RAFE
JJ Maybank was making my mind implode.
He stood there in those tight fucking briefs, grinning at me like a devil, like he knew he had me on a hook, like he liked it.
And I did.
God help me, I fucking did.
I wanted to rip the clothes off his body. I wanted to pin him down, leave marks, make him cry my name. I wanted to see him drunk on me, ruined by me.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
Because he was trusting me.
And for the first time in my life, I wanted to be worthy of that.
When he kissed me—unprompted, bold, fearless—I almost came undone.
I kissed him like a man drowning.
And he let me.
No, more than let me—he leaned into it, moaned into my mouth like he’d been waiting for it forever.
I pressed him back against the counter, my thigh sliding between his legs, feeling the heat and hardness already there.
He made a sound that tore right through me.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I hissed against his throat.
“Try me.”
I could barely speak. My brain was haze and heat and hunger.
But I managed it.
“I think about you at night. Every night. In my bed. In the shower. When I follow you. When I watch you.”
He stiffened a little.
“You watch me?”
I met his eyes.
“Yeah. I stalk you. I fucking stalk you.”
He didn’t pull away.
He leaned in.
“You ever jerk off watching me?”
My mouth went dry.
“Every time.”
JJ’s breath caught, and then he was dragging me to the couch.
“Show me.”
I didn’t hesitate. Not anymore.
I dropped to my knees and ran my hands up his thighs like a prayer.
He was shaking, but he wasn’t scared.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging. Guiding.
“You wanna taste?” he rasped.
I nodded, dazed.
“Then taste.”
And I did.
He was everything I’d imagined—better.
Warm, flushed, real. Breathing hard. Making those sounds I’d fantasized about for months, years, forever.
He looked down at me like I was the one on my knees for him.
And I was.
Gladly.
Obediently.
Fucking mine.
Later, when we lay together in a tangle of sweat and limbs and half-spilled whiskey, JJ touched my face like he couldn’t believe I was real.
“I like it,” he said.
“Like what?”
“That you’re scary.”
I froze.
He held my stare.
“It makes me feel seen. Safe.”
“You’re not scared of me?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. I see it now. You’d kill for me.”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I whispered.
He kissed me again, soft and slow.
“I don’t need to. I can feel it.”
RAFE
He smelled like whiskey and rot before I saw him.
Luke Maybank.
Leaning against the rusted rail of the docks behind the gas station, cigarette pinched between yellow fingers, hood up, eyes twitching. He was asking around. Calling JJ’s name like he owned it. Like he hadn’t broken that boy into pieces.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t speak.
Just moved.
He was still mid-slur—something about “that little bitch son of mine”—when my fist shattered his cheekbone.
The fight wasn’t fair.
It never was, when it was about JJ.
I was bigger. Meaner. Sober.
He was all cracked teeth and trembling hands, swinging wild, spitting blood between slurs. I let him land one, maybe two. After that, I didn’t hold back.
I heard ribs crack under my knee. His breath wheezed, then caught.
I slammed his head against the concrete, leaned in so close he could taste how far I’d go.
“You ever look for him again,” I growled, “I’ll put you in the ground.”
He tried to speak.
I didn’t let him.
I took the satisfaction. Took the rage. Took the pain of every bruise I’d ever seen on JJ and fed it into every blow.
And then I walked away, knuckles split, ribs aching, blood soaking into my shirt—but lighter.
Freer.
Because that man would never touch JJ again.
JJ
I heard the truck door slam and knew something was wrong.
Rafe always moved quiet, even when he was angry. But this was different. This was unhinged.
He stumbled into the guesthouse like he’d crawled out of a war zone—shirt torn, one eye swelling, blood on his lip and knuckles.
I dropped what I was doing and rushed to him.
“Jesus fuck, Rafe—what happened?”
He just looked at me, chest heaving, shaking with some cocktail of violence and adrenaline. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Couldn't find the words.
So I stepped in, cupped his jaw, touched his split lip. He winced.
“You okay?”
He nodded slowly.
Then, under his breath: “It was your dad.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I saw him. Looking for you. Saying shit.”
“And?”
“I beat him until he stopped breathing right.”
Something cracked open in me. Not fear. Not shame.
Something else.
Something dark and warm and sharp.
No one had ever done that for me.
No one had ever made violence feel like protection.
I pulled his shirt off, careful over the bruises blooming on his side. His chest was broad, lean, scarred and beautiful. There were bloodstains down one arm, raw scrapes on his shoulder.
“Let me take care of you,” I said, quieter now.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t puff his chest.
He just nodded once.
I cleaned his wounds with hands that knew too well how to patch damage. Ice to the eye. Rubbing alcohol for the knuckles. Bandages tight where he flinched.
He never looked away from me.
Even when I unbuckled his jeans.
Even when I slid them down.
Even when I finally got him naked.
I’d never seen someone that strong look so exposed.
He wasn’t hard yet.
But he was watching me—like he didn’t understand what I was doing.
“Relax,” I whispered. “You’re always doing the looking. Just let me, this time.”
I kissed the bruise on his ribs.
Then his stomach.
Then lower.
When I took him in my mouth, his hands flew to my shoulders, but he didn’t push. Just held.
Tight.
Like he was bracing himself for something he’d never been given.
He moaned once—low and rough—and I thought I might die from the sound.
“JJ—fuck, wait—”
I paused, pulled back.
“You okay?”
“I’ve never—” He shook his head. “No one’s ever…”
“Touched you like you matter?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Just nodded.
I kissed the inside of his thigh.
“Well, I do want you. All of you. Let me show you.”
I climbed up his body, straddling him, careful of the bruises. His hands found my back. My thighs. My jaw.
He kissed me like it hurt. Like it healed.
Later, when we were tangled up together, sweat-damp and breathing in sync, I watched his face relax in a way I’d never seen.
“Was that okay?” I asked.
He nodded, eyes shut, voice raw. “It was everything.”
“Even the tenderness?”
He cracked a smile.
“Especially the tenderness.”
Then softer, almost too quiet:
“I didn’t know it could feel like that. Like… being wanted back.”
I curled against him, tracing a scar on his chest.
“You’re not alone, Rafe. Not anymore.”
He didn’t speak again.
But the way his arms wrapped around me—gentle, possessive, trembling—said enough.
Notes:
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Chapter Text
The guesthouse didn’t feel like a hideout anymore.
It felt like a pressure cooker.
Three days.
Three days since Rafe came home bloodied from tearing into Luke.
Three days since I sucked the breath out of him with my mouth, my hands, my need.
Three days since he let me see him naked—not just skin, but all of it. The aching. The wanting. The cracks in that fortress of a man.
We hadn’t left the property since.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.
The island was whispering. I could feel it through the walls. Word was spreading—something happened to Luke Maybank. Bad. No one had seen him since that night behind the gas station.
I hadn’t gotten a single call from any of the Pogues. Just one text from Pope, short and sharp:
“Where are you?”
I didn’t reply.
Part of me felt like I should be afraid. Like hiding here was wrong. Like letting Rafe bring me food, weed, and silence while the island turned on itself was coward shit.
But I wasn’t afraid.
I was high and warm and wanted for the first time in my whole life.
And Rafe looked at me like he was starving, like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to this plane of existence.
He made me dinner and stared at my mouth when I ate.
He cleaned the bruises on my ribs and kissed the ones on my hips.
He watched me change clothes, his breathing shallow, pupils dark.
When I teased him—“You like watchin’ me?”—he didn’t joke.
He just nodded.
“Too much.”
The only time he left was to make calls, to "check on things."
When I tried to ask who he was calling, he just said:
“Don’t worry. I’m making sure no one comes near you.”
The way he said it—
I should’ve been unnerved.
But it made me hard.
RAFE
I should’ve killed Luke when I had the chance.
That was the thought on repeat as I stood in the darkness of the main house, phone pressed to my ear.
Barry’s voice crackled through the line:
“Word’s out. You gave him a concussion and a collapsed lung. People talkin’. Cop at the station said your name came up.”
“I was never there.”
“Yeah? You sure you cleaned the scene?”
I hung up.
Too fucking late to worry about cleanup. The damage was done.
Luke wasn’t dead—but he was gone. Slunk back into whatever swamp spat him out, probably afraid to breathe wrong now.
I should’ve felt good.
But I’d tasted too much. I’d let myself have JJ, and now I couldn’t stop wanting more.
More skin. More closeness. More control.
He didn’t flinch when I got close.
Didn’t question my hands.
Didn’t pull away when I got hard from just looking at him.
When he kissed me, it wasn’t soft. It was curious.
When he touched me, it wasn’t pity. It was hunger.
And I wanted to drown in it.
But the world wouldn’t leave us alone.
I caught sight of Kooks on the property line.
Not deep—just watching.
Kelce, maybe. Some other prick in pastel. I didn’t care.
I stood on the porch in a wife beater, arms bare, belt still not buckled from JJ’s hands being in my pants thirty minutes ago.
I didn’t say a word.
They left first.
Back inside, JJ was stretched across the bed in nothing but briefs and one of my shirts.
He looked up, lazy-eyed, stoned, gorgeous.
“What was that?”
“Kooks. Watching.”
“Wanna fuckin’ fight ‘em?”
The grin he gave me—feral, stoned, excited—did something to me I couldn’t name.
“Nah,” I said, locking the door behind me. “They’re not worth it.”
He sat up, and for the first time since I beat his father half to death, he looked at me like he was the one circling prey.
“You gonna keep me in here forever?”
“If I have to.”
“And what if I want out?”
I moved toward him slowly. He watched every step like I was made of knives.
“You want out, you walk,” I said, voice low. “But I’ll be behind you every second.”
“Stalking?”
“Protecting.”
He stood.
Close.
Nose to nose.
“You think I’m scared of you?”
“No.” I touched his jaw. “You think I’m safe. That’s worse.”
He laughed—short, sharp—and leaned into my touch.
“I don’t want safe. I want you. Even if you’re fucked up.”
We didn’t fuck that night.
But he stripped in front of me again, slow, teasing.
And when he climbed into my lap—half-naked, hair mussed, eyes wild—I almost begged.
He kissed me with tongue and teeth.
And when he said, “Don’t stop looking at me like that,” I told him:
“I’ll never stop.”
JJ
The island hated me now.
Word was everywhere. I’d disappeared. My dad got what was coming. And I was with Rafe.
Some said I was kidnapped. Others said I was a whore. A traitor. A sellout.
Pogues wanted to find me.
Kooks wanted to fuck with me.
No one could touch me.
Because Rafe was always one step ahead. Always watching.
And I was starting to think… maybe this was what it felt like to be free.
Locked in.
Obsessed over.
Loved like a threat.
It started with quiet.
Not silence—Rafe didn’t do silence. Even when he wasn’t speaking, his presence made noise. The kind of noise that presses against your skin and gets into your bloodstream. A weight. A heat.
But now he was quiet.
No pacing. No locked jaw. No storm in his shoulders.
Just him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, freshly showered, wearing a black tee that clung to his chest and a pair of joggers low on his hips. Watching me like I was the answer to every violent impulse he’d ever tried to smother.
I’d just changed—slow, casual, shirtless, in boxers—and this time I didn’t tease.
Didn’t need to.
He was already burning.
I came to stand between his knees.
“You’re not gonna explode if I touch you, are you?”
He looked up, pupils dark, pulse hammering in his throat.
“Don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone this much.”
“That a yes or a no?”
His hands came to my thighs—heavy, warm, grounding.
“Touch me.”
So I did.
It wasn’t rushed.
That surprised me.
I thought when it happened, when Rafe finally gave in, it’d be like a floodgate breaking—messy, intense, maybe a little dangerous.
But it was—
Slow.
He let me unbutton his shirt.
He let me push it off his shoulders and trail my fingers over the bruises that still painted his ribs and collarbone. The aftermath of what he’d done to Luke.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, touching the edge of a purple-yellow bloom.
“No,” he said, staring at me. “You could carve your name into me and I’d let you.”
I smiled.
Then I kissed it.
Every mark. Every fracture of violence made soft under my mouth.
When I got to his waistband, he hissed through his teeth.
“JJ—”
“You still good?”
“More than good. Just—don’t stop. I need to feel it.”
We ended up on the bed, tangled in heat and breath and everything we’d kept between us for too long.
He kissed like he meant it.
Like he wanted to memorize me.
His hands shook when they skimmed my sides, not from fear—he wasn’t afraid—but from holding back. Like if he gripped too tight, I’d shatter.
I didn’t want gentle.
I wanted real.
“Don’t hold back,” I said, breath warm in his ear. “I’m not made of glass.”
“You’ve already been broken enough.”
“Then put me back together.”
That did it.
Something cracked in him.
And I saw it—that desperate, possessive storm under the surface—and I didn’t flinch.
I pulled him closer.
The first time Rafe touched me like that—really touched me—it was careful. Focused.
Obsessed, yeah.
But reverent, too.
He mapped my skin like he was memorizing a topography he’d only dreamed of.
Mouth at my chest, hips, thighs.
Breathless curses against my skin.
And when he pushed into me, eyes locked with mine, hands firm on my hips, he didn’t take—he gave.
RAFE
I never knew it could feel like this.
Not sex.
Intimacy.
All my life it had been about power. About release. Control.
With JJ, it was surrender.
He let me strip him slow, let me look, really look, and I wanted to fucking worship him.
His body—lean, strong, golden from the sun, roughened from fights and hard living—was better than every filthy fantasy I’d ever had.
And I’d had a lot.
But nothing prepared me for this.
The weight of his thighs around my waist.
The sounds he made—half-laughter, half-need.
The way he arched when I touched him just right, like his whole body was reaching for me.
He didn’t ask if I’d done this before.
He knew.
Knew I’d never touched a man like this.
Knew he was the first and only.
And he wore that knowledge like armour.
“You okay?” he asked, voice thick with want.
“Yeah,” I said, mouth at his neck. “More than.”
“You’re not freaking out?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
I looked at him. Brushed a thumb across his cheek.
“You make me feel like I can want this without shame.”
That shut him up.
For once.
It wasn’t perfect.
There were moments where I fumbled, where he laughed at my awkwardness, where I asked if it was okay one too many times.
But he didn’t push me away.
He pulled me in.
And when I finally came—body shaking, heart fucking raw—it wasn’t about the orgasm.
It was about him.
Letting me in.
Letting me have him.
Not like a possession.
Like a home.
JJ
Afterward, we didn’t move.
Just lay there.
My head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders, one of his legs tangled with mine.
He kissed my forehead like I was something sacred.
“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.
“So are you.”
“You scare the shit out of me.”
“You still want me?”
I kissed his chest.
Hard enough to bruise.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t a fairy tale.
The island still hated us.
The cops were asking questions.
My friends were losing patience.
But in that bed, wrapped in heat and breath and everything we weren’t supposed to feel—
I didn’t give a shit.
Because I’d finally found someone who saw the worst in me…
And stayed.
JJ
He was still there when I woke up.
That surprised me more than anything.
Rafe Cameron—trust-fund psycho, sharp-jawed menace, my literal worst and best mistake—lay tangled up in the sheets beside me. One arm draped over my waist. His face softer in sleep than I’d ever seen it.
Not handsome.
Beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that got under your skin and made you ache in places you didn’t know existed.
And he was still breathing slow and deep, like he didn’t expect to wake up hunted or hated.
I didn’t move for a while.
Just…watched him.
His hand twitched against my side. A small sound in his throat. Like he was dreaming something real.
I didn’t wake him.
Not yet.
Instead, I traced a line down the bruises on his arm. Still purple-green where he’d wrecked my dad.
A part of me—maybe the stupid, self-preserving part—knew I should be scared of how much that turned me on. Not just that he beat Luke. That he didn’t hesitate.
That he’d do it again.
For me.
He blinked awake after a while. Jaw tight, muscles tensing until he realized I was still beside him. Still looking.
“Morning,” I said, voice rough from sleep and everything else.
His expression shifted. Guard up for half a second, then dropping again. “You stayed.”
“Yeah, well,” I smirked, “you’re not a complete monster.”
His brow lifted. “Only partial?”
“Still deciding.”
He rolled over, muscles flexing under the sheets. The line of his back was obscene. Unfair, even.
“You didn’t expect me to be gentle,” he said, voice flat.
“Nope.”
“Thought I’d take you like I wanted to?”
“That’s what I was bracing for.”
He turned his head. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “I wanted to.”
“I know you did.”
We sat with that for a second.
No shame. No lies.
Just quiet honesty.
“You didn’t,” I added, softer now, “and I think that’s what fucked me up the most.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“‘Cause I didn’t know you could do that. Be soft. Be careful.”
“You thought I’d hurt you.”
“Rafe,” I said, watching him close. “You have hurt me. You’ve been hurting me for years.”
He flinched. A real wince, like I’d punched him in the chest.
“But,” I said quickly, “last night? That didn’t hurt. That was…”
“Good?”
“Better than good.”
He sat up then, head bowed, breathing like he was still trying to get a handle on whatever storm was eating him alive.
“I was scared,” he said finally.
“Of what?”
“That I’d snap. That I’d…forget.”
“Forget what?”
He looked up. Jaw tight. “That you’re not mine to ruin.”
I climbed into his lap, straddling him, hips brushing, and he tensed—just like I wanted.
“I am yours,” I said. “That’s the problem, right?”
He shook his head. “No. That’s the only thing that isn’t a problem.”
“You ever think about it?”
His breath caught. “All the time.”
“Tell me.”
RAFE
I couldn’t look at him when I started talking.
Couldn’t let him see how twisted it got in my head.
But he sat there, patient and warm, naked in my lap, coaxing the truth out like he wanted it.
And fuck me—part of me needed to give it.
“I’ve thought about pinning you down,” I said, voice low. “Using your belt to tie your hands. Making you beg.”
His pupils blew wide.
I kept going.
“Thought about gagging you just to make the sounds go quiet. Just to see the way your body would move without you mouthing off.”
He didn’t look scared.
He looked interested.
“I’ve fantasized about catching you when you’re high,” I admitted. “Too far gone to fight back. Just taking you. Letting you forget everything but how good it feels.”
I expected him to pull away.
But he leaned in.
And kissed me.
Slow. Deep.
Wanting.
“Jesus,” I whispered against his mouth. “You should be running.”
He grinned. “Maybe I like it when it’s dangerous.”
“That’s not healthy.”
He shrugged. “Nothing about us is.”
JJ
I liked it more than I should’ve.
Hearing it.
His sick, fucked-up little dreams.
Because here’s the thing—most people hurt you pretending it was love.
Rafe?
He loved me knowing damn well he could hurt me—and choosing not to.
That was the difference.
That was the trust.
“I want to try it,” I said. “Some of it. Not the blackout shit, not the gagging. But…a little of the rest.”
He stared at me like I’d just told him he was human.
“You trust me that much?”
“Not yet.”
His face fell.
“But I’m getting there.”
We kissed again.
Not to distract.
Not to silence.
But to feel.
And this time, when he pushed me back into the pillows, when he moved over me, breath hot and shaky—
It wasn’t obsession.
It was surrender.
JJ
It started with a look.
That’s all it took.
A little shift in the way Rafe’s eyes dragged down my body while I pulled on a clean t-shirt—one of his, still smelling like cigarettes and something expensive I didn’t know the name of. A pause when I bent to fix the hem of my boxers. A flicker of tongue against his lower lip.
Like he was holding himself back.
Again.
And I couldn’t stand it.
Not after everything.
Not when I could still feel him between my legs from the night before. The way he’d touched me like I was breakable, when all I wanted was to see what would happen if he stopped pretending I was fragile.
“You gonna look at me like that all day?” I asked, dragging the shirt down over my stomach.
He blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re afraid you’ll break me.”
“Because I will, JJ.”
I crossed the room, slow and deliberate, until I was standing between his knees on the edge of the bed. I tilted his chin up until I saw it—all that buried hunger barely kept in check.
“No,” I said. “You won’t.”
His throat bobbed. Hands clenched on his thighs.
I straddled him. “You’re not scared of hurting me. You’re scared I’ll like it.”
His breath caught hard enough to rattle his ribs.
RAFE
He didn’t know what he was saying.
Or maybe he did—maybe he knew exactly what he was inviting.
And I didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he wanted it…or that I did too.
Every sick fantasy I’d ever had about JJ Maybank came roaring up through my bloodstream like gasoline.
His wrists bound in my tie. His back arched beneath my palm. His mouth open on a half-sob while I—
“Do it,” he whispered, pressing closer, mouth at my ear. “Show me what you wanted.”
My hands trembled where they gripped his thighs.
“You trust me now?” I asked, voice gutted raw.
“I want to find out.”
We didn’t talk after that.
Didn’t need to.
I pulled him down hard against me, took his mouth like it was the last thing keeping me alive. My hands slid up under that goddamn shirt—my shirt—and I found skin, found heat, found the fragile ridge of ribs still healing from his father’s fists.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t stop me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I said, already lifting his arms to pin them above his head.
“It won’t be.”
“Say it anyway.”
“I’ll tell you,” he whispered. “If you promise not to stop unless I do.”
The first slap of my palm across his hip was gentle—testing.
The second made him gasp, eyes wide, hungry.
When I leaned in to bite down on the space just below his collarbone, he moaned.
God help me, I could’ve come from that sound alone.
I dragged it out.
Edge of pain. Breathless, wet kisses. Hands that held him down but never pushed too far.
And JJ—JJ didn’t break.
He rose to it.
JJ
The moment he tied my wrists, I knew I’d made the right call.
Not because it was hot—though Jesus Christ, it was. But because he was still careful.
Still asking me with every touch, every bite, Are you okay? Can I keep going?
He’d been fantasizing about ruining me for years, and he still hesitated every time my breath hitched too high.
“Rafe,” I whispered. “Please.”
He stared down at me, eyes wild and fucked-open. “Please what?”
I flexed my wrists against the fabric. Spread my thighs a little wider. Bit my lip.
“Please lose control.”
And he did.
Not in a way that scared me.
But in a way that made me feel.
Every thrust. Every scrape of teeth on skin. Every frantic gasp of my name when he finally came, shaking like he couldn’t believe I let him have me like this.
And when he untied me?
When he pulled me close and kissed every raw spot, every red mark?
That’s when I knew.
He could have destroyed me a hundred times over.
But he never would.
Not unless I asked him to.
RAFE
Later—hours later—we lay tangled together, sweat-damp and sore, and he said it without even looking at me:
“You know I see you, right?”
I blinked up at the ceiling. “What?”
“You think you’re some monster who has to be leashed. But I know you. I know what it looks like when you don’t hold back. You held back for me. That’s not scary.”
“It should be.”
He turned, resting his chin on my chest.
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s the first time I’ve ever felt…safe.”
Safe.
That word. From him.
It broke me in a way I didn’t know I could break.
I didn’t deserve it.
But I would kill anyone who tried to take it from me.
Anyone.
...
JJ hadn't meant to provoke him. Not really.
He’d just been standing in Rafe’s kitchen—bare feet on the cool tile, shirtless, stretching his healing ribs as he leaned against the counter—when he peeled off the sweat-damp briefs and tossed them lazily onto a chair. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t naked under the morning light, golden and cut and careless, like a god who didn’t know he’d already been worshipped in secret.
Rafe had stood still for a beat too long. Just watching. Then blinked like he’d been hit. Turned to the fridge. Muttered something that might’ve been “you trying to kill me?”
JJ grinned. “You like what you see?”
That had been it. The spark.
And now?
JJ was on the counter, knees spread, breath catching in his throat as Rafe pressed between his thighs—still dressed, but wild around the edges. Like the last thread of civility was fraying under his hands. And maybe it was. Maybe JJ wanted it to.
“You have no fuckin’ idea,” Rafe muttered against his jaw, mouth trailing down to JJ’s throat, biting just hard enough to make the blond tilt his head back and groan.
“I used to dream about this. You, naked. Smart mouth. Just…letting me look. Letting me touch.”
JJ’s hands were in his hair now, tugging, not gently. “You’re touching now. So what’re you waiting for?”
Rafe’s eyes met his—dark, glassy, flooded with the kind of hunger JJ should’ve been scared of. But he wasn’t.
“You sure?” Rafe asked, voice gravel-smooth. “You sure you want me?”
JJ nodded. Slow, deliberate. “I trust you.”
That cracked something open in Rafe’s chest.
Because he’d spent years thinking JJ Maybank would never say that to him.
Not after everything. Not after the violence, the stalking, the sick obsessive fantasies he used to get himself off when no one else could scratch the itch.
Fantasies where JJ was crying, gagged, begging—and Rafe was the one who made him feel safe only by owning him. Twisted, feral shit he buried under drugs and parties and rage.
He told JJ all of that. Whispered it, trembling.
“I used to want to ruin you,” he admitted, fingers skimming over JJ’s ribs like the ghost of a bruise. “Couldn’t stand the idea of you choosing anyone else. Thought if I couldn’t have you, I’d at least be the reason no one else could.”
JJ didn’t flinch. Just licked his lips. “And now?”
“I want you safe,” Rafe rasped. “And close. And fuck—I want you begging, yeah, but only ‘cause you want it. Not ‘cause I’m scaring you.”
JJ pulled him in. “You’re still scary.”
Rafe smirked. “That a problem?”
“No.” JJ’s grin was all teeth. “It’s why I trust you.”
And with that, JJ pulled Rafe in for a kiss—deep, rough, messy. The kind of kiss that said: I see what you are. I like what I see.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom.
Later, when JJ was a wreck of sweat and slick skin on the counter, draped over Rafe like he never wanted to move again, the peace shattered.
It started with a knock. A sharp, arrogant rap at the guesthouse door.
Rafe was instantly alert. He shoved on a hoodie and grabbed the pistol from the drawer—JJ’s now, technically, though Rafe had loaded it himself. “Stay inside,” he ordered, pressing a kiss to JJ’s temple. “Don’t move.”
JJ didn’t argue.
He heard it, though. The words outside. Smug, loud, unmistakable Kook accents dripping with contempt.
“So this where you’re hiding, Cameron? Heard your little Pogue pet’s been limping around like a back-alley whore. That why you’ve been laying low? Finally let him suck you off?”
JJ flinched from the other side of the door.
Rafe didn’t.
He opened it slow. Quiet.
And then he snapped.
It was fast. Ugly. Beautiful.
Three of them—older Kooks, cousins of assholes Rafe had hated since childhood. One swung first.
Rafe caught the fist and shattered the wrist in one move. Elbowed another in the throat hard enough to collapse him. The third tried to run.
Rafe caught him by the collar and threw him into the hedges.
“I told you,” Rafe snarled, fists already bloody. “Don’t talk about him.”
The last one, barely wheezing through cracked teeth, said, “He’s a Pogue—you said he wasn’t shit—”
And Rafe kicked him in the ribs. Hard. Hard enough to make it personal.
“I was wrong.”
He left them there. Broken.
Back inside, JJ was silent. Watching.
Rafe tried to explain. The rage, the shame, the white-hot pulse of wanting to end anyone who dared demean JJ.
Not just because he wanted him. But because JJ wasn’t less. Never had been. Not for being poor. Not for being his.
JJ helped him clean the blood from his knuckles.
“You ever fantasise about me fighting for you like that?” Rafe asked, low, hoarse.
JJ kissed his palm. “No. But now I will.”
The blood had dried in the cracks of Rafe’s knuckles by the time JJ sat him down on the edge of the tub.
The air in the bathroom was thick with steam and something heavier—unsaid things, the kind that didn’t belong to people like them. But JJ was quiet as he knelt between Rafe’s legs, hands gentle and unhurried while he cleaned the cuts and scrapes.
Rafe watched him like he might vanish.
JJ didn’t look away.
"You always fight like that?" JJ finally asked, voice low, teasing. "Or was that just for me?"
Rafe gave a half-smile, lip split. "Just for you."
JJ’s eyes flicked up. "You ever scared you’ll go too far?"
He didn’t say with me, but it hung there, thick as blood in the drain.
Rafe exhaled. "Every fucking second."
JJ dabbed at the worst cut, pressing harder than necessary. "Good."
Rafe raised a brow. "Good?"
JJ gave him a crooked smile. "Means you care if you break something."
Rafe’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, he touched JJ’s wrist. Thumbed the inside where the skin was soft.
JJ let him.
"Why’d you kiss me like that earlier?" Rafe asked. "Like you weren’t scared. Like you wanted it."
JJ didn’t hesitate. "Because I did."
"I thought you expected something rough."
"I did," JJ said, voice quieter. "And I kinda wanted that too. But you… surprised me."
He leaned closer, still holding Rafe’s busted hand like it wasn’t a weapon.
"You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, haven’t you?"
Rafe’s mouth was dry. He nodded.
"How long?"
"Years," he admitted. “Long enough to make myself sick over it.”
JJ tilted his head, studying him. "You gonna tell me what those fantasies were?"
Rafe froze.
JJ smiled—slow, wicked. "C’mon. You owe me. You made me see stars on your kitchen counter, and I didn’t even get the backstory."
Rafe barked a short, disbelieving laugh. He looked down, then back up, and something in him—some old, rotted beam—finally cracked.
"Alright," he said hoarsely. "But you don’t get to judge me."
"I wouldn’t," JJ said, inching closer. "You think I didn’t have some dark thoughts about you too?"
Rafe blinked. "You?"
JJ nodded. "You were hot when you were an asshole. I hated it."
"And now?"
JJ shrugged, smirking. "Still hot. Less hate."
Rafe let that settle before answering the earlier question.
"I used to think about holding you down. Not hurting you. Just… keeping you. Making you beg for it. Not letting you leave until I was sure you wanted to stay."
JJ's breath hitched.
"I wanted to hear you say my name like it belonged to you. Even if I had to wring it out of you. I wanted to fuck you until you forgot the world outside existed."
JJ's pupils dilated. "That all?"
Rafe looked away, jaw tight.
"Sometimes I wanted to make you cry. From wanting it. From needing it so bad it scared you. I never—" His voice cracked.
"I never wanted to scare you, JJ. But I didn’t know how else to want you."
Silence.
Then JJ stood. Pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the tile.
"You wanna try something dark?" he asked, voice calm, clear.
"Not tonight. We're still sore and fucked up. But when I’m healed? When you’re not bleeding all over my towels?"
Rafe stared at him. "You sure?"
JJ nodded. "I trust you not to break me. And I’m not scared of your dark side anymore."
He reached forward, touching the side of Rafe’s face. "I like that you could hurt anyone who looked at me wrong. I like that you don’t let people fuck with me."
"You’re not scared of me at all?"
JJ kissed him. Slow. Then pulled back.
"You’re the safest dangerous thing I’ve ever known."
They spent the night curled up in the bed, not talking much. Rafe on his back, JJ half on top of him, legs tangled, sharing breath. Their bodies still humming from earlier.
But under it all was a steady beat—trust, obsession, want. Growing louder.
They didn’t need words for that.
Not yet.
But morning would come.
And with it, the world.
And Rafe already knew he wouldn’t let it touch JJ again.
Not if he had to kill for it.
Chapter Text
It started with JJ’s mouth at Rafe’s throat.
That sharp, sudden press of lips and teeth, warm breath spilling down over skin still bruised from the last fight. Rafe hadn’t expected it—not the kiss, not the heat, not the low, steady voice in his ear whispering:
"I want to see it."
He was seated on the edge of the bed, towel slung loose around his hips, still wet from the shower. JJ stood in front of him, shirtless, wearing nothing but the pair of clean boxer briefs Rafe had bought him three days ago—black cotton stretched tight over those strong thighs, the curve of his hips impossible not to stare at.
Rafe swallowed hard. "See what?"
"You," JJ said. "What happens when you stop pretending you're safe."
The air went still.
JJ held his gaze, unflinching. "I want it. I want to know what you’ve been holding back from me. I trust you now, Rafe. Don’t make me beg."
Rafe’s fingers twitched where they gripped the edge of the bed. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
"Yeah," JJ said, stepping closer, knees brushing Rafe’s. "I think I do."
Rafe let his head drop for a moment—shaking it, jaw flexing, fighting the impulse to grab him and devour.
"This isn’t some game, JJ. This is years of sick obsession clawing under my skin. You don't just pull the thread and expect it not to unravel."
JJ leaned in. Kissed the corner of Rafe’s mouth. "Then unravel."
—
The first thing Rafe did was shove JJ onto the bed.
The second was crawl over him, slow and deliberate, a hand at JJ’s throat—not squeezing, not hurting, just there. A warning. A question.
JJ didn’t flinch.
He smiled.
"That all you got, rich boy?"
Rafe kissed him hard enough to bruise.
It was rough. Controlled, at first—until JJ arched under him, legs spreading, hands tangling in Rafe’s hair.
He moaned, real and sharp, when Rafe bit his lower lip. When he pinned JJ’s wrists to the mattress and ground against him, letting him feel just how hard, how desperate, how unhinged this made him.
"Is this what you wanted?" Rafe growled, voice thick and ragged against JJ’s jaw. "You like being fucked by the guy who used to scare the shit out of you?"
JJ’s eyes were wild, pupils blown. "I like being fucked by the guy who'd kill for me."
"You’re playing with fire."
JJ grinned up at him. "I’m not afraid of getting burned."
Rafe didn’t speak after that. His mouth was too busy on JJ’s chest, teeth sinking into muscle, marking. Hands everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming. When he finally stripped JJ bare, he paused, just for a second, to stare.
The sight of JJ naked beneath him wasn’t new anymore. But it still wrecked him.
Every inch of skin was better than the thousands of times he’d imagined it. The way JJ moved, the way he offered himself, wide open and unashamed—it made Rafe ache.
"You’re fucking perfect," he muttered, voice almost reverent.
JJ snorted, breathless. "Tell me something I don’t know."
Rafe lost the thread then. He gave in.
The sex wasn’t just rough—it was raw. Frenzied. All teeth and nails and sweat, JJ panting beneath him, pushing back with just as much hunger.
There were bruises forming where Rafe’s fingers gripped his hips. Scratches down his spine. JJ didn’t shy away from any of it.
When JJ finally came, shouting Rafe’s name like it belonged to him, Rafe nearly blacked out from how hard it hit.
And when it was over, when they were a tangled, panting mess on the bed, JJ rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead to Rafe’s shoulder.
"See?" he murmured. "Told you I could take it."
Rafe turned his head. Kissed his hair.
"You took everything," he whispered.
—
Later, when JJ was asleep, Rafe stood on the back porch of the guest house smoking a cigarette, bare chest cooling in the coastal air. He could still feel JJ under his hands. Still taste him. Still smell the sex clinging to his skin like smoke.
But his eyes were on the dark tree line.
There’d been voices earlier. Kooks. Pogue kids. He’d seen the way they looked at JJ that morning at the convenience store. Like they could smell the shift. Like they knew JJ wasn’t just a Pogue anymore—not quite.
He was Rafe’s now.
And that wouldn’t go unpunished.
Rafe flicked the cigarette into the wet grass. He wasn’t scared.
Let them come.
He'd tear them apart, one by one.
Anything to keep JJ exactly where he was now: in his bed, in his house, tangled up in him—safe.
His.
....
It started with a silence too clean.
JJ woke mid-morning, sunlight cutting a line across his bare stomach, and the first thing he noticed was the stillness. No pounding bass from the distance. No muffled voices from town. No calls, no messages. His phone—burner or not—was stone-cold quiet on the nightstand.
Rafe was gone, but not far. JJ could feel it.
Still naked from the night before, he rolled out of bed slowly, sore in the best kind of way. Every step made his thighs ache, hips bruised where Rafe’s grip had held him tight.
JJ didn’t mind it. He liked the ache. Liked the memory behind it.
He pulled on a pair of Rafe’s boxer briefs—soft, worn in, hung loose on him in that casually slutty way he knew Rafe liked—and padded into the kitchen to find the coffee already brewed, an old Outer Banks hoodie waiting on the counter. Not JJ’s. Rafe’s.
His heart kicked a little harder than he wanted to admit. He slipped it on, inhaled the sharp scent of expensive aftershave and ocean salt and smoke.
That’s when the first uneasy feeling came.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard from John B.
He picked up his phone. No messages. No missed calls.
Not even from Pope.
It had been three days now—maybe four—since JJ had gone radio silent. But Pope would’ve texted. John B would’ve called. Unless—
Unless someone made it seem like he didn’t want to be found.
JJ stared at the screen.
And then he really started to wonder.
.....
Meanwhile, Rafe stood in the shade of a pawnshop in Kildare, flicking a silver chain between his fingers and watching the security footage play back one more time on the tiny screen behind the counter.
“You sure this is what you want?” the clerk asked, a nervous, rat-faced man Rafe had already paid more than enough to keep quiet.
Rafe’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
“I’m sure.”
The footage showed a Pogue kid—shaggy, wiry, mid-twenties—stealing a radio and slipping it into his backpack. Clear as day.
It wasn’t JJ. Wasn’t even someone JJ liked.
But Rafe made sure that the cops got a tip that named JJ’s last known address. Just enough to keep noses pointed elsewhere. Just enough to shift the heat if anyone started sniffing too close.
The Kooks were already whispering. Two days ago, one of them—Kelce—had tried to corner JJ outside the corner store, sneering about Pogue sluts and rich boys going queer for trailer trash.
Rafe had made sure Kelce wouldn’t be talking for a while.
His knuckles were still healing.
.........
Back at the guesthouse, JJ felt the walls closing in.
He didn’t want to leave. Not really. Not yet. But it was beginning to feel like he couldn’t. Like the outside world had melted away, and only this place—this man, this obsession—existed.
He tried to tell himself he was imagining it.
Then he checked his old stash spot in the shed. Empty.
That had never been empty before.
He found his second burner hidden in the kitchen drawer. Dead battery.
And a post-it on the fridge that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Don’t worry about the noise. You’re safe now. – R”
JJ’s stomach twisted.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
And somehow, that was worse.
....
Rafe came back in the late afternoon—leather jacket slung over one shoulder, blood on the collar, not his. He was smiling. Casual. Like he hadn’t just spent the day planting false evidence, threatening Kooks, and keeping the Pogues distracted with carefully placed chaos.
JJ stood at the edge of the living room in that same hoodie and nothing else, arms crossed.
“You been messing with my people?”
Rafe shrugged. “Define messing.”
JJ stepped closer. "Define my."
That got Rafe's attention. His gaze darkened, slow and focused, as he closed the space between them. His hand slid around JJ’s jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip.
"You’re mine now,” Rafe said softly. “That’s all I care about."
JJ should’ve been angry. Should’ve pulled away.
Instead he kissed him—hard. Needy. Just this side of desperate.
He wanted to hate how much it turned him on.
..........
That night, they didn’t talk much.
JJ fucked him for the first time.
He took control—slow, firm, relentless—guiding Rafe’s body like he knew the man had never let anyone this close before. Rafe trembled under him. It wasn’t fear. It was restraint. Trying not to cry out. Trying not to break apart.
JJ didn’t let him hide.
He kissed Rafe through every second of it—kissed his throat, his collarbone, his jaw. Held his hand. Touched him like he meant it.
And when Rafe came, body arching hard, biting JJ’s shoulder just to stay quiet, he finally felt it.
Felt safe.
Loved.
Owned, yes—but by someone who saw him.
Afterward, JJ whispered into Rafe’s hair:
"You’re still scary."
Rafe barely moved. Just curled closer.
"And you still like it."
JJ smiled.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."
Rafe
The first thing Rafe feels is JJ’s hand on his hip—bare, steady, confident.
It’s not the first time JJ’s touched him like this, not even close, but something’s different now. Rafe knows it. His body knows it. He’s stretched out on the couch in the guesthouse, shirtless, loose sweats riding low on his hips, the early morning stillness wrapping around them like static. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He certainly hadn’t expected to wake up to this.
JJ straddles him slowly, his weight deliberate, grounding. He’s shirtless too, still flushed from the whiskey, pupils blown wide. There’s something hungry in his expression—but not scared. Not fragile. Not teasing, either.
“Hey,” JJ murmurs, fingers brushing over Rafe’s abdomen, nails catching just enough to make him flinch. “You awake?”
Rafe’s throat works. “Yeah.”
JJ’s smirk is slow. “Good.”
They’ve been orbiting this for hours—maybe days. JJ had already kissed him, already undressed in front of him, already touched him in ways that had left Rafe trembling behind his teeth. But this is different. There’s nothing casual about the way JJ is pressing into him now.
“You gonna let me?” JJ asks, voice low but edged with something sharper—testing, challenging.
Rafe doesn’t answer at first.
He can’t.
His whole body is locked. Not from fear, not from resistance. From shock.
Because he’s fantasized about this—about being taken apart, held down, used—but never with JJ. Or rather, never with this version of JJ. Bold. Unafraid. Looking at him like Rafe’s a locked door and JJ already has the key.
“You don’t want it?” JJ asks, pulling back slightly, already retreating, and Rafe panics.
His hand darts out and catches JJ’s wrist.
“I want it,” Rafe rasps.
JJ’s eyes darken. “Then say it.”
Rafe swallows hard. His throat is dry, his heart racing. He’s never said the words before. Never needed to.
But this isn’t about need. This is JJ.
“I want you,” Rafe says. “I want you to fuck me.”
JJ’s breath stutters out. “Jesus.”
It’s clumsy, at first. Neither of them is sober. But there’s lube in the drawer—Rafe had stashed it weeks ago, too hopeful or too delusional to admit to himself why—and JJ finds it without asking. The silence between them is thick, crackling. Rafe half-expects JJ to hesitate, to ask again, to joke it off.
But he doesn’t.
JJ gets him naked with reverent, almost aggressive hands. Rafe’s body is all tension, his spine rigid, his fists clenched at his sides until JJ leans over him and whispers, “Let go.”
And he does.
JJ’s fingers are slick and gentle at first, but Rafe’s not used to gentleness, not there. Every nerve in him lights up as JJ works him open, slow but insistent, lips brushing Rafe’s throat, collarbone, chest. When Rafe shudders, JJ slows. When Rafe pants, he steadies him.
“You okay?” JJ asks, voice a little rough.
Rafe nods, but it’s not enough. “More,” he breathes. “JJ, more.”
And JJ gives it to him.
When JJ pushes into him, Rafe gasps—stunned by the fullness, the pressure, the rightness of it. It’s brutal and beautiful.
It’s better than every fantasy Rafe’s ever buried deep in the filthiest part of his mind.
JJ’s hands grip his hips, firm but not cruel, and for the first time in Rafe’s life, he lets himself go. He breaks apart under JJ, eyes wet, throat raw, skin on fire. He’s never felt so exposed. Never felt so alive.
He reaches up, wraps a hand around the back of JJ’s neck, pulls him close.
“Don’t stop,” Rafe growls.
JJ doesn’t.
He fucks him hard. He fucks him slow. He kisses Rafe through it—mouth hot and open and desperate—and Rafe kisses him back like it’s the only thing that might hold him together.
The couch creaks. Their bodies slick with sweat. Rafe moans and shakes and claws at JJ’s shoulders, at his back, needing to feel him. Needing to be ruined.
JJ’s voice breaks. “You feel so good.”
Rafe turns his face, gasping into JJ’s neck. “You’ve got me,” he mutters, shame thick and sweetness bleeding through. “You’ve fucking got me.”
JJ finishes first—groaning against Rafe’s throat, buried deep—and then strokes Rafe through his own climax, the touch careful, soothing, reverent.
Afterwards, they don’t speak. Not right away. JJ lays on top of him, breathing hard, one hand on Rafe’s heart like he’s keeping it in his chest.
And Rafe just… feels. Safe. Seen. Owned, in the gentlest way.
He’s never been fucked before. Never let anyone inside him. Never wanted it, not until JJ. Not until he had something worth submitting to.
And now?
Now he can’t stop replaying it.
Every bruise JJ left on his skin feels like a signature. And Rafe? Rafe wants to be marked.
He wants it again. He wants everything.
Rafe wakes up feeling ruined.
Not just sore—though there’s that, a deep ache in his hips and thighs that leaves him breathless when he stretches—but undone. Like something cracked wide open inside him last night and never healed.
JJ is still asleep beside him, arm flung over Rafe’s stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. There’s a scratch on his shoulder from where Rafe gripped him too tight. A hickey blooming at the base of his neck. His hair’s a mess. Lips swollen. Faint bruises on his hips, too—Rafe’s bruises.
And he’s still here.
Rafe stares at him for a long time, unmoving. His own heart feels like it’s been scraped raw. There's no shield left. No armour. Just that mouth, those hands, the weight of JJ on top of him, inside him, pounding everything Rafe thought he knew into dust.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t even just power. It was him. JJ. Letting Rafe come apart. Giving him something no one else ever had.
Rafe had spent his whole life fucking people to prove something. Dominance. Detachment. Control. He'd never once let someone else be the one with their hands on the reins—never thought he could. But now all he wants is to let JJ do it again.
Not because it made him weak.
Because it made him feel safe.
And maybe that was the most terrifying part.
He slips out of bed quietly, bare feet against cold floor, and pulls on yesterday’s jeans. JJ shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. His breathing stays deep. Trusting. Open.
Rafe wants to keep him like that forever.
He steps outside the guesthouse for the first time in two days. The sun hits hard, too bright after so much darkness. His phone buzzes the second he flips it off airplane mode.
Four missed calls. Two texts from his father.
Ward: “Where the fuck are you.”
Ward: “Come home. We need to talk.”
Rafe ignores it.
But the next message isn’t from Ward. It’s from an unknown number.
Unknown: “You seen JJ? Tell him John B is trying to reach him. Said he’s not answering anyone. Worried.”
His fingers tighten around the phone.
It takes everything in him not to smash it into the concrete.
They’re trying to pull him back. All of them. John B, the rest of the Pogues. They’ll sniff around. They’ll pry. They’ll try to take JJ back into that world—one that left him vulnerable, left him bleeding, left him calling out for help and no one came except Rafe.
He stares at the message.
Deletes it.
He’s not letting JJ go back to that. Not after what they’ve shared. Not after last night.
Inside, JJ’s awake now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. Wearing only Rafe’s t-shirt. When he glances up, there’s a quiet heat in his expression—but also a question.
“Where’d you go?”
“Outside.”
JJ eyes him. “Everything okay?”
Rafe nods. A lie. “Yeah.”
He crosses the room, leans down, and kisses JJ hard, pulling his face up, pouring everything unspeakable into it—gratitude, fear, obsession. JJ melts into him. But when Rafe pulls away, JJ’s still watching him closely.
“You’re different today,” JJ says.
Rafe doesn’t answer.
JJ tilts his head. “Last night… that was the first time, huh?”
Rafe nods slowly.
“You ever think you’d want that?” JJ asks.
Rafe’s throat tightens. “Only with you.”
JJ’s grin is soft, a little surprised. “Yeah?”
Rafe brushes his knuckles down JJ’s jaw. “You’ve been in my head for years, Maybank. You’ve got no idea what I used to think about. What I used to want.”
JJ raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”
Rafe doesn’t smile. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“Rafe.”
He exhales shakily. “I used to imagine breaking you. Hurting you. Owning you. Tying you down. Making you beg. Not because you wanted it—because you didn’t. Because I thought I’d never get anything else from you.”
JJ’s face stays unreadable. “But that’s not what you want now?”
“No,” Rafe says. “Not without you asking for it.”
JJ reaches forward and grabs Rafe’s belt, pulling him between his knees. “What if I did ask?”
Rafe closes his eyes.
“You don’t get it,” he says. “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever wanted to destroy.”
JJ leans in, voice low. “That’s the hottest, most fucked-up thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Rafe laughs once, bitter and breathless. “I’m serious.”
“I know,” JJ says, and kisses him again, soft but full of promise. “That’s why I feel safe.”
They don’t leave the house again.
Not that day. Not the next.
But the outside world doesn’t stop pressing.
There’s a knock at the main house. A car parked on the road too long. A familiar voice outside calling “JJ?” when he’s in the shower and Rafe has to keep him quiet, one hand over JJ’s mouth, his own heart thudding like a war drum.
Afterwards, JJ pulls back and finally asks, “What are we doing, Rafe?”
And Rafe, eyes dark, replies, “Keeping you alive.”
JJ doesn’t push it—yet.
But something’s shifting.
And Rafe knows. The closer they get, the more dangerous this becomes.
Because he’ll never let him go.
Chapter Text
JJ’s eyes dart across the room, restless as he paces in Rafe’s guesthouse, the thin walls feeling thinner every minute.
He runs his fingers through damp hair, still smelling faintly of the shower, and pulls on a hoodie that swallows his slight frame.
The scratch on his shoulder from last night’s reckless tumble itches sharply, a reminder of his vulnerability despite all the bravado.
Rafe watches him from the worn leather couch, quiet, intense. Every twitch and tick of JJ’s body is a roadmap to some secret he doesn’t quite know how to navigate yet.
“Why do you keep me locked up in here like some prize?” JJ finally snaps, voice low but edged with frustration. “You say it’s to keep me safe—but I feel like a fucking caged animal.”
Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “I keep you close because I don’t trust the outside world to not break you again.”
JJ scoffs, pacing faster. “So you think the Pogues or the cops or the Kooks are gonna just roll over and leave us alone? They’re gonna circle tighter, Rafe. You’re just making it worse.”
Rafe stands, looming, and crosses the room in two long strides. He grabs JJ’s wrist, firm but not crushing. “And what would you have me do? Let them take you? Let them hurt you because you want to run wild and tear shit up?”
JJ pulls back his arm, meets Rafe’s gaze without flinching. “I want to live, not just survive in your shadow.”
The words hang in the air, raw and shaking something loose in both of them.
Rafe’s eyes darken with a storm brewing behind the surface. “Living means risk. And I’m not ready to lose you to any of those bastards.”
JJ’s breath hitches. “You’re scared,” he says, voice softening.
“Yeah,” Rafe admits, voice low and rough. “I’m scared. Scared you’ll see me like the others did. Scared you’ll run the second I let my real self show.”
JJ steps closer, the boldness that first drew Rafe to him sparking back to life. “Show me, then.”
Rafe’s lips twitch into something like a smile, a flicker of something dangerous and tender all at once. “You want to see the dark? To see how deep this obsession goes?”
JJ nods.
Rafe pulls him close, the heat between them like a live wire, and presses a hard kiss to the corner of JJ’s mouth before whispering, “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted like this. The only one I’m scared to lose. The only one I want to hurt and protect.”
JJ’s fingers curl into Rafe’s shirt, steady. “I’m not scared of you.”
For the first time, Rafe lets a slow, brutal honesty spill out. “I want you to push me. To test the edges of what I can give. But I need you to know… sometimes, the dark I carry… it’s a fucking wild thing. Not always gentle.”
JJ’s grin is sly, wicked. “I like wild.”
They fall into a tangled mix of need and trust, the lines between protection and possession blurring further.
Outside, the whispers grow louder. Kooks sneer from the shadows; Pogues glare from afar. And Ward? He’s watching. Waiting.
But inside, for now, there is only shared breaths. Dangerous. Broken. Obsessed.
Rafe’s hands tremble slightly as they thread through JJ’s hair, tugging him closer, holding him like he’s afraid he might disappear if he lets go. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths—half adrenaline, half something softer, something dangerously close to hope.
JJ’s body is warm beneath his palms, every scar, every curve engraved in Rafe’s mind like a sacred map. The way JJ’s pulse thuds in his neck, the faint scent of sweat mixed with salt and something sweeter, something addictive.
Rafe’s head spins with all the things he wants to say but can’t, all the violent, tender fantasies tangled up in his gut.
“I’m not good at this,” Rafe admits, voice low, barely more than a growl. “At this… us thing.”
JJ pulls back just enough to meet his eyes. “Neither am I. But maybe that’s why it works.”
The silence between them thickens with everything left unsaid. Outside, the world is closing in—voices taunting, threats simmering just beneath the surface. The Kooks haven’t forgotten. The Pogues are restless, protective in their own chaotic way. And Ward’s suspicion is a slow-burning fuse.
But here, now, in the fragile bubble of Rafe’s guesthouse, JJ feels something he’s never let himself have: safety. Not the kind that comes from walls or weapons, but the kind that seeps from the brutal honesty between them.
“You scared me earlier,” JJ confesses, fingers tracing patterns along Rafe’s forearm. “I thought… you might hurt me like before. But this,” he gestures between them, “this feels different. Like maybe you don’t want to break me.”
Rafe’s lips press against JJ’s temple. “I want to own you,” he says darkly, “but not in a way that leaves you bleeding.”
JJ’s laugh is breathless, a little reckless. “Good. Because I’m not exactly fragile.”
They fall into each other again, a tangle of desperate need and hesitant trust, bodies mapping new territory. Rafe’s hands are both a shield and a chain, and JJ leans into the pull, hungry for all the dangerous closeness.
Later, as they lay tangled in sheets heavy with sweat and whispered promises, Rafe’s mind drifts to the fantasies he’s never dared voice—the sharp edges of pain and pleasure, the desperate, frantic hunger he’s kept buried beneath years of rage and denial.
JJ stirs beside him, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Rafe’s face. “We can try those,” JJ murmurs. “When you’re ready. When I’m ready.”
Rafe swallows the lump in his throat, a fierce protectiveness flaring through his veins. “I’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he vows. “Not while I’m breathing.”
Rafe’s breath hitched as JJ’s fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, skin warm beneath calloused hands. The dim light cast shadows across their tangled limbs, but it was the unspoken between them that pulsed thick and heavy in the room.
For years, Rafe had buried these fantasies—violent, desperate, raw—locked deep in the darkest corners of his mind where no one could see. But now, with JJ here, so close, so vulnerable, the dam threatened to break.
He swallowed hard, voice rough. “I used to imagine… doing things to you. Things that would scare you, maybe even hurt you. But not because I wanted to break you. Because I wanted to own every part of you. Your fear, your fire, your fight. To see you lose control, and still know you were mine.”
JJ’s eyes flickered, wide but unafraid, as if he understood the storm inside Rafe better than anyone ever had. “Like… rough?” His voice was tentative, searching.
Rafe’s lips twitched, the hint of a grim smile. “More than rough. Frantic. Dangerous. Darker than anything I thought I could share without pushing you away.”
JJ shifted, rolling onto his side to face him fully. “I’ve never had anyone who wanted me like that. Not really. Not with all the chaos and the pain.” His fingers brushed a faint scar on Rafe’s shoulder. “But with you… it feels different. Like you see me—every messed up part—and you still want me.”
Rafe’s gaze darkened, obsession burning fierce. “Because you’re the only one who’s ever mattered. The only one I want to be dangerous with.”
The confession hung between them, fragile and charged. JJ’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “You don’t have to hide the dark with me. I like it. Hell, I want it.”
A shiver ran down Rafe’s spine. “You want to take that risk? To dive into the madness with me?”
JJ’s laugh was soft but sure. “Yeah. Because with you, I feel seen. Protected. And even when it scares me, it makes me feel alive.”
Rafe’s hands tightened around JJ, a possessive grip that never crossed the line into control, but whispered promises of fierce devotion and brutal love.
“I won’t hurt you,” he vowed. “Not without you wanting it. And I’ll never let anyone else touch you the way I do.”
JJ leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Rafe’s mouth, tasting the raw honesty there. “Then let’s not hold back. Let’s see how deep the dark goes.”
In the quiet aftermath, their breathing synced, the room charged with a dangerous tenderness. Outside, the world snarled and clawed, but inside, two broken souls were forging something new—twisted, fierce, and utterly theirs.
The guesthouse was too quiet.
JJ sprawled across the bed, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, staring at the ceiling fan like it might answer the itch building in his chest. He’d been clean for two days—no weed, no booze, nothing harder—and it made him twitchy, made the silence too loud and Rafe’s gaze too constant.
He could feel Rafe’s attention like a weight, every time the man passed by, pretending not to watch him. Pretending not to be consumed.
“Hey,” JJ said casually, stretching just enough to draw the eye. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Rafe, halfway to the kitchen, froze mid-step like he’d been shot.
JJ grinned. “You can’t keep me in this box forever.”
“That’s not what this is,” Rafe muttered without turning around. But his shoulders were tense. Dangerous tense. “It’s not safe out there.”
JJ rolled onto his side. “It’s never been safe for me. The difference is now I’ve got you.”
Rafe turned then. Something feral in his expression. “You think that’s comfort?”
“I think it means if someone fucks with me, you’ll break their jaw and buy me a drink after,” JJ said, standing up and walking barefoot across the floor until they were chest-to-chest. “I wanna go out. With you. Like... an actual date.”
Rafe stared, eyes flicking down to JJ’s mouth, then back up.
“Where?” he rasped.
JJ shrugged. “Don’t care. Just wanna be seen with you. Wanna know how it feels.”
Rafe’s stomach twisted. He knew how it felt already—like exposure, like a gun pressed to his temple. The idea of JJ out in public, visible, vulnerable—it made his skin crawl and his fists ache. And yet...
The other part of him, the hungrier part, wanted JJ on his arm like a fucking trophy. Wanted everyone—Pogues, Kooks, cops—to see what was his and know better than to even breathe near him.
JJ saw the war on Rafe’s face and leaned in, whispering against his mouth, “Don’t you want people to see you with me? Don’t you want them to know?”
Rafe’s control cracked. He kissed JJ then—hard, claiming, tongue slick and possessive. When he finally pulled away, his voice was low and ruined.
“Get dressed. But I swear to God, if anyone touches you...”
JJ just smirked and grabbed his jeans.
The restaurant was small and tucked down a side street in Figure Eight—upscale enough for Rafe, low-key enough not to be mobbed by the worst of the Kook set. They took a table in the corner. JJ insisted on sitting next to him instead of across, thigh pressed to Rafe’s, hand loose on his knee.
Rafe could barely eat. JJ, high off the thrill of being seen, was animated and golden in the low light, talking fast, laughing louder, eyes flicking around with that predator-spark that made him look alive.
And then he walked in.
Grant Mallory. A third-generation Kook. Trust fund scum. Pretty, empty, vicious behind the scenes. And he spotted them immediately.
Rafe felt the burn of contempt across the room before the words even landed.
“Cameron,” Grant drawled as he passed their table. “Didn’t realize you were... slumming it.” His eyes dragged over JJ, all teeth and malice. “You trading in daddy’s yacht for something more... flexible?”
JJ tensed beside him, jaw clenched. Rafe didn’t look at Grant. Just kept his hand on JJ’s knee, firm, grounding.
“Keep walking,” Rafe said quietly.
But Grant didn’t. He leaned a little closer, too casual. “Pity. He’s cute. Bet he squeaks when you—”
Rafe stood so fast his chair skidded, the crash silencing half the restaurant.
Grant barely had time to flinch before Rafe’s fist connected with his jaw.
JJ didn’t stop him. Just stood slowly, like he knew better than to interfere.
The blow knocked Grant off his feet. Rafe followed him down, grabbing him by the shirt collar, snarling low in his face. “Look at him again, and I’ll fucking gut you. You understand me?”
Security arrived before Rafe could follow through with the promise.
JJ didn’t speak until they were outside. Rafe’s knuckles were bleeding. JJ’s expression unreadable.
“You okay?” JJ asked finally.
Rafe blinked at him like he was waking up. “You’re asking me?”
JJ stepped in close, brushing blood from Rafe’s hand with his sleeve. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did,” Rafe growled. “Because he looked at you like you were less. Like you weren’t mine.”
JJ tilted his head, curious, still a little high off the adrenaline. “You really think I’m yours?”
“I know you are,” Rafe said, voice trembling under the weight of it. “And if that scares you, tell me now.”
JJ didn’t. He leaned in, kissed Rafe’s bruised mouth slow and sweet and filthy with meaning.
“Not scared,” he whispered. “Not of you. I know what’s underneath all that fury.”
Rafe grabbed his waist, burying his face against JJ’s throat. “You mean everything to me,” he breathed. “Even with the fantasies. Even with the obsession. I don’t care if it’s fucked up. It’s real.”
JJ smiled against his cheek. “Then let’s go home. You can show me what some of those fantasies feel like.”
Rafe’s entire body shuddered.
And somewhere, deep in the sickest corners of his soul, something dangerous purred.
JJ lay sprawled across the mattress, bare-chested, cigarette dangling from his lips, bruises fading but still visible like watermarks from a storm they hadn’t named. He was watching Rafe. Really watching. The way a man watches another man when he’s not sure where the line is but wants to find it with his teeth.
Rafe hadn’t said a word in ten minutes. He was sitting in the armchair, shirtless, jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching. A match between his ribs and his willpower.
JJ exhaled. “You’re doing that thing again.”
Rafe looked over.
“What thing.”
“Like you’re about to jump out of your skin or eat me alive. Not sure which, but both sound pretty good right now.”
Rafe’s throat worked. “You’re playing with fire.”
JJ grinned around the cigarette. “Don’t want you to be fire. I want you to be honest.”
That silenced the room. JJ let the moment stretch before putting the cigarette out in a half-empty beer can and pushing himself upright. His voice was lower now. Serious.
“You said you used to fantasize about hurting me.”
Rafe flinched. JJ didn’t miss it.
“I’m not judging,” JJ added quickly. “I want to understand. What did you imagine?”
Silence again. Rafe looked away, but JJ crossed the space between them and crouched at his feet, hands on Rafe’s knees, forcing eye contact.
“You don’t scare me, Cameron.”
“You should,” Rafe said quietly.
JJ tilted his head. “I’ve been scared before. Real scared. Of my dad, of cops, of going hungry, of waking up in a ditch. You? You make me feel like I’m finally somewhere no one can touch me.”
Rafe’s breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it to be true. I want to believe I can keep you safe. Even from me. But the shit I used to think about—when I thought you’d never want me, never look at me like this—I’d picture pinning you down and fucking you until you cried. I'd imagine your wrists bruised under my hands. Your mouth broken open under mine. I wanted to destroy you. And the worst part was it made me feel calm. Like violence was the only way to touch you without losing my mind.”
JJ’s fingers curled tight over Rafe’s thighs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look disgusted.
Instead, he said, “And now?”
Rafe’s eyes locked on him, pure ice over flame.
“Now I want to ask. I want to be rough when you want it. I want you begging because you like how it feels, not because you’re scared. I’d rather cut my own fucking throat than hurt you without your say-so.”
JJ stood slowly, every inch of him deliberate, until he straddled Rafe’s lap and settled against him. Their chests were flush. JJ’s lips just brushing his ear.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Rafe’s fingers dug into JJ’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Don’t.”
JJ rolled his hips once, slow, steady, and Rafe let out a sound between a growl and a prayer.
“Don’t what?” JJ whispered.
“Don’t tease me unless you’re staying.”
JJ kissed the corner of his mouth. “I am staying. That’s why we’re having this talk. I want to know what else you’ve imagined.”
Rafe looked at him like he couldn’t believe he was real. “Why?”
“Because I got fantasies too,” JJ said simply. “I want to be wanted like that. I want to know someone could wreck the world for me—and then choose not to. That’s how I know I’m safe.”
Rafe swallowed hard, his voice nearly broken. “I thought I was disgusting. For wanting that with you.”
JJ pressed their foreheads together. “Maybe we’re both a little fucked up. But I trust you, Rafe. Now tell me what else you want.”
Rafe’s voice, when it came, was low and hoarse.
“Sometimes I think about tying you up. Not hard, not scary. Just enough that I could take my time with you. So you’d have to lie there and feel it. Every second. Every inch of it. I want to hear you whimper when I make you come and then keep going. I want to see you helpless, not because you are, but because you trust me enough to let go.”
JJ groaned softly, shifting against him. “Yeah. That. I want that.”
“You have no idea how fucking perfect you are,” Rafe whispered. “You’re better than anything I ever let myself imagine.”
They didn’t fuck again that night—but the tension between them was so thick it felt like a live wire thrumming through every look, every brush of fingers. Instead, JJ passed Rafe a blunt, curled up on his lap, and let the heat smoulder.
And before they drifted off, JJ murmured, “I’ll tell you my fantasies tomorrow. I got some dark shit too, you know. You’re not the only one.”
Rafe didn’t respond for a moment. Then he pressed his lips to JJ’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Text
The door didn’t knock.
It detonated.
JJ’s spine went stiff beneath Rafe as the guesthouse entry flung open with a bang like a shotgun, the wood splintering against the inside wall. Rafe was inside him, breath caught in his throat, hands locked to JJ’s hips like he could hold the world in place. But the voice that followed froze everything in a far crueller way.
“Get your goddamn hands off him.”
Ward.
Rafe barely had time to yank the blanket over JJ before Ward was inside the bedroom, red-faced, choking on his own fury. JJ scrambled, chest heaving, sweat-soaked, still slick between the legs and shaking. Rafe moved faster.
He was off the bed in one motion, bare, hard, furious. “Get out.”
Ward didn’t. He took one look at his son, and another at JJ—wild-blond JJ, flushed and naked under the sheets, bite marks blooming on his neck—and his face twisted into something ancient. Disgust. Hatred.
“You’re fucking a Pogue,” Ward spat. “You’re seriously—God, you’ve gone off the deep end. You’ve lost your mind, Rafe.”
Rafe didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, every muscle in his body bared, teeth bared, a living weapon. “Say one more word about him. One.”
JJ’s heart was hammering. Not just from fear—though it was that too—but from awe. He’d never seen Rafe like this. He’d seen him violent, yes. Protective. Possessive. But not like this.
Rafe looked like he’d kill for him without a second thought. Naked and unashamed, not hiding his body or his obsession or the truth.
Ward shoved a finger toward JJ, jabbing the air like it could wound. “He’s got you drugged up and twisted around his little trashy finger—”
Rafe struck.
It wasn’t a punch. Not at first. It was a shove so hard Ward slammed into the wall with a gasp. Then the punch came—a crack across his jaw that made JJ flinch, but didn’t move to stop.
“You don’t talk about him,” Rafe hissed, low, deathly quiet. “You don’t get to come into my space, scream slurs at the boy I’m with, and act like you’re still my father.”
Ward wiped his mouth, dazed. “So it’s true. You’re queer. You’re taking it up the ass from some—some goddamn street rat—”
Rafe punched him again.
It was ugly. It was personal. And JJ, wide-eyed, watched Ward Cameron’s pride break under the weight of the son he’d made.
“Pack your shit,” Rafe said, voice guttural as Ward staggered out. “We’re leaving. You and me.”
The door slammed.
And then there was silence.
JJ was still sitting on the bed, breath shallow. Rafe turned to face him slowly, blood on his knuckles, trembling now in the aftermath, like it had taken everything not to beat Ward into the ground.
“I’m sorry you saw that,” Rafe said, throat raw. “I didn’t plan—he wasn’t supposed to know. I’ve kept everything so locked down, and still he found out. Still John B opened his stupid mouth, and now it’s out, and I can’t—I can’t have you here, not after that. He’ll come back. He’ll ruin everything.”
JJ stared at him, still silent.
Rafe knelt at the side of the bed, still naked, trembling. Not from cold.
“I’ll take you anywhere,” he said. “We’ll disappear. I’ve got money. I’ve got land. Hell, I’ve got a car out back gassed up and ready. Just… just say the word. If you want to go. If you want to stay with me.”
JJ blinked. “You think I’d let you leave without me?”
Rafe looked up. “You don’t have to. You saw how he looked at you.”
“I’ve seen worse,” JJ said, voice steadier now, some of the swagger sliding back in. “Rafe, I grew up with Luke Maybank. That—what just happened? That’s nothing.”
Still, Rafe didn’t move.
JJ leaned forward, and gently, without fear, touched Rafe’s jaw. “You gonna put some clothes on before we go? Or are we driving off into exile with your dick out?”
A half-crazed laugh broke from Rafe’s mouth. “You’re insane.”
JJ shrugged. “You’re the one fucking a Pogue. Guess we match.”
Then, quieter. “You’re really taking me with you?”
“I’d burn the island to ash before I left you here.”
JJ rolled his eyes. “That was almost poetic. But yeah, alright. I’m in.”
Rafe stood, and for a second he looked so young—still hard from before, blood on his hands, eyes shining like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t being left behind.
He pulled JJ into a crushing embrace.
JJ let him.
And somewhere in the dark, headlights blinked to life.
They weren’t coming back.
The ferry cut across black water, silent and final. Rafe stood at the railing, arms locked, shoulders hunched, breathing like a man who’d been stabbed and couldn’t stop checking to see if the blade was still buried.
JJ sat on the floor inside the cabin behind him, cross-legged and shirtless, wearing the hoodie Rafe had tossed him when they ran. He hadn’t said much since Ward. Since that explosion. Since Rafe—violent, unhinged, protective—had thrown his father out and begged JJ to come with him.
JJ had said yes. Of course he had. But the word still echoed between them like a bruise.
Now they were on the mainland. In the car. On the road.
The first two hours passed in silence. JJ curled up against the passenger door, staring at passing trees. Rafe gripped the wheel like he wanted to crush it. He didn’t know where they were going—only away. South. Fast.
“I miss the weed already,” JJ muttered finally.
Rafe didn’t answer.
“Or maybe the ocean. Or maybe I just miss not feeling like someone’s gonna shoot me every time I walk into a room.”
Still nothing.
JJ slouched lower. His voice went quiet. “Didn’t know your dad hated you that much.”
Rafe’s jaw twitched. “He doesn’t. He just hates what I am.”
JJ stared at him. “You mean gay?”
Silence. Then Rafe exhaled sharp. “I mean weak. Soft. Vulnerable. Fucked over by a Pogue.”
JJ didn’t flinch. He just reached out and turned the radio off. “You’re not weak. You’re obsessed, controlling, scary, and deeply fucked-up—but you’re not weak.”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched. “That supposed to be comforting?”
JJ grinned lazily. “I think it’s what passes for a compliment from me.”
Then he kicked his bare feet up on the dash, tugged Rafe’s hoodie off, stretched—slow—exposing every inch of lean golden skin under the too-short tank he’d pulled from Rafe’s duffel.
Rafe tried not to stare. He failed.
JJ caught him.
“You’re doing that thing again,” JJ said, head tilted.
“What thing.”
“Looking at me like you’re starving.”
Rafe glanced away. “You’re not helping.”
JJ’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Not trying to. You think I wore this tiny shirt by accident?”
Rafe groaned. “JJ…”
“You gonna pull over?” JJ grinned now, wide and bright.
“Because I swear, Rafe, I’ve been thinking about it since the ferry. You and me. Somewhere no one can see. You grabbing me like you used to fantasize about—only now I’m begging for it.”
Rafe’s grip on the wheel whitened.
JJ kept going, voice low and sinful.
“You’d slam the car door. Push me over the seat. Rip my pants down and fuck me so hard we’d fog the windows. You’d swear, grunt, lose it in me. And I’d love every goddamn second of it.”
A full minute passed. No sound but the wind.
Then Rafe’s voice, hoarse: “Get in the back.”
JJ blinked. “What?”
The car jerked onto the shoulder, headlights spilling across gravel.
“Get in the fucking back,” Rafe said, already killing the engine and unbuckling. “Or I’ll bend you over the hood.”
JJ’s cock twitched in anticipation.
They didn’t make it to the back seat.
Rafe yanked JJ out of the car, lips crashing onto his, pinning him hard against the passenger side. JJ gasped against his mouth, hips grinding forward, moaning when Rafe spun him, slammed the car door shut, bent him over the open window frame.
Pants down. Boxers around his thighs. JJ arched back and whispered, “Yes.”
It was rough. Desperate. Months—years—of obsession and denial unravelling in the low beam of roadside moonlight. Rafe gripped JJ’s hips like he needed to mark him, to remind himself this was real. That JJ wanted him.
“Tell me,” Rafe growled, breath ragged. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” JJ gasped. “Want you, like this. Always did.”
That broke him.
Rafe fucked him hard—fast and filthy, his hands braced on JJ’s back, mouth open against the base of JJ’s neck, panting into his skin like a man possessed.
JJ cried out, clawed at the door, ground back into every brutal thrust. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.
It was perfect.
Afterward, neither of them spoke.
They cleaned up in silence, redressing awkwardly, shivering slightly under the midnight air.
Then JJ climbed into the back seat and tugged Rafe after him.
They didn’t spoon so much as collapse sideways, tangled in limbs and breath, JJ’s cheek against Rafe’s chest, Rafe’s hand buried in JJ’s curls like he was afraid he’d disappear.
Eventually, JJ whispered, “You good?”
“No,” Rafe said, voice rough. “I’m fucking in love with you.”
JJ went still. Then he lifted his head, looked into Rafe’s eyes.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”
Then he kissed him.
And this time, it was soft.
...
The car hummed down the nearly empty road, headlights sweeping across forgotten gas stations and shuttered diners. JJ was curled sideways in the passenger seat now, legs pulled up under him, Rafe’s jacket tucked around his shoulders, skin still damp where Rafe had kissed the back of his neck hours ago. They hadn’t spoken much since.
Not because there was nothing to say—but because the silence was… warm.
Comfortable.
Full.
Rafe, for once, let it linger. One hand on the wheel. One mind running over everything he hadn’t ruined yet.
JJ broke the silence first, of course.
“We pulling over again soon, or you planning to drive until we crash?”
“We’re almost there,” Rafe muttered. “Couple more hours. Got a place a guy owes me. Quiet.”
JJ stretched. “You’ve got hideouts?”
“I’ve got regrets,” Rafe muttered. “And enough favours to cash in one at a time.”
JJ looked sideways at him, sleepy but curious. “You’ve been real quiet since the side-of-the-road thing.”
Rafe grunted, jaw twitching. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
Rafe’s knuckles flexed on the steering wheel. Then, slowly: “About how long I used to want that. Exactly that.”
JJ blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Used to park outside your place,” Rafe said, voice low, ragged.
“Before I even admitted to myself what the fuck I wanted. I’d sit in my car with my hand on the gearshift like if I let go I’d drive straight through your front door. Sometimes I just sat there, staring at your porch light, thinking about getting out. About knocking. About dragging you to the hood and fucking you right there.”
JJ was completely still.
Rafe didn’t stop.
“Not even knowing if you were gay. If you’d laugh. Or fight. Or scream. I just—couldn’t stop imagining it. You, bent over my car. Begging for it. Me, holding on just enough not to wreck you.”
He ran a hand down his face, ashamed and somehow... lighter.
“And tonight,” Rafe said hoarsely, “you gave it to me. You fucking made it real.”
JJ reached out. Placed a hand on Rafe’s thigh.
“I wanted to,” JJ said quietly. “Not ‘gave.’ I wanted to see what it looked like when you lost control for me.”
Rafe’s breath caught.
“Was it everything you thought it’d be?” JJ teased.
Rafe couldn’t answer for a second. Then: “It was better. Because you were louder. Hotter. Fucking braver than I ever gave you credit for.”
JJ’s voice dropped, teasing, low. “You had a whole library of car-fucking fantasies about me, huh?”
“Volumes,” Rafe muttered. “Annotated.”
JJ snorted. “I like knowing that. Makes me feel like I’ve got leverage.”
“You already do,” Rafe said, too serious. “You’ve got all of me.”
JJ’s smirk faded. He didn’t say anything. Just curled his hand tighter on Rafe’s thigh.
Rafe shifted lanes. The horizon was beginning to lighten slightly. The forest thinning. They were getting closer. To safety. To whatever this next chapter was.
JJ sat up a little. “Where are we actually going?”
“Somewhere quiet. Where nobody asks questions.”
JJ made a face. “Sounds boring.”
Rafe laughed softly. “It’s just a place to land. Rest. We can go wherever you want after.”
JJ tilted his head. “You serious?”
“Anything, JJ,” Rafe said. “You want mountains? A city? A farm in the middle of nowhere? We’ll go. I’ll make it happen.”
“Damn.” JJ grinned. “And all I had to do was take it like a champ against the car door.”
Rafe’s smile dropped into something darker, fonder. “You did. And you ruined me.”
JJ leaned across the seat. His voice was soft now. Honest. “I don’t want a fucking city. Or a farm. Or a skyline. I want you.”
“You’ve got me,” Rafe whispered.
“Good.” JJ leaned in and kissed his jaw. “Then let’s get there. Wherever there is. And when we wake up… we’ll make some new fantasies.”
Rafe swallowed hard.
This was it.
Not just the escape. Not just the sex. Not just the obsession, or the protection, or the spiralling possessiveness.
This was love. Bruised, bleeding, earned.
He hit the gas.
Chapter Text
The place Rafe brought them to wasn’t flashy. It looked like a crumbling ex-pat’s retirement dream from the seventies—weather-worn paint, crooked porch railing, a lonely gravel drive swallowed by moss and salt air. But it was quiet. Private. No neighbours for miles. And more importantly, it was theirs.
Rafe watched JJ’s expression as they pulled up. He didn’t expect awe. Didn’t need it. He just needed JJ to feel safe.
JJ took one long look at the overgrown driveway and turned to him with a grin.
“This your idea of a honeymoon suite?”
“You like the isolation,” Rafe murmured. “Don’t lie.”
JJ smirked. “I like that you want me somewhere no one else can reach.”
Rafe didn’t respond. Just stared at him, heat behind his eyes, hands tight on the wheel.
They hauled their gear inside, kicked open windows, and dusted off furniture. Rafe moved with efficient silence, clearly familiar with the space. JJ wandered, cracked beers, tested the couch springs. Eventually he disappeared into the small bathroom, returned shirtless with a towel slung over his neck, damp curls sticking to his temple.
He looked clean and flushed and young, eyes still bright despite everything.
Rafe watched him like he always did—like JJ might vanish if he blinked.
JJ noticed.
“What?” he asked, flopping onto the bed with a groan. “You still thinking about earlier?”
Rafe just nodded.
JJ rolled onto his side. “Tell me.”
“You want that?” Rafe’s voice was hoarse. “More of it?”
JJ’s mouth curled. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“I could’ve gone harder.”
“I know. You didn’t. That’s the part that matters.”
Rafe came to stand over him. Barefoot. Jaw tight. His eyes scanned over JJ’s bare chest, the faint fingerprints still rising along his hip.
“I used to dream about you cracked open,” Rafe murmured. “Helpless. Taken.”
JJ didn’t flinch. “And now?”
“I want you like this,” Rafe said. “Sharp. Bold. Looking me in the eye while I ruin you.”
JJ’s breath caught.
“You want ruined?” Rafe asked.
JJ licked his lips. “Sometimes.”
Rafe crouched down beside the bed. “I’ll give you everything. But you have to tell me. You have to want it.”
JJ leaned in, forehead brushing Rafe’s. “I want it.”
They didn’t fuck again right away. The room was still too full of exhaustion and memory. Instead, Rafe settled behind JJ in bed, one arm slung over his waist. The silence was heavy, not with tension, but with weight. Things unsaid. Things growing.
JJ broke it.
“I got fantasies too,” he said.
Rafe didn’t move. “Tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking,” JJ said slowly, “about what it would feel like if you ever let go completely. No restraint. No guilt. Just… want.”
Rafe’s grip tightened.
“I wanna see it,” JJ whispered. “The real version. The one you were so scared to show me.”
“You’re not scared of that?”
JJ rolled over, faced him. “I was. Until you made me feel safe. Now I just want to see what you look like when you don’t have to hide.”
Rafe stared at him, eyes wide, almost undone.
“You sure you’re not the dangerous one?” he whispered.
JJ smiled.
“Not unless you ask real nice.”
They lay in silence after that. One body curved around the other. Their breathing slow, in sync.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Rafe whispered into JJ’s skin, “I’ve never had someone ask for more of me.”
And JJ, half-asleep but completely honest, murmured, “That’s because nobody ever saw all of you before.”
JJ didn’t speak. Hadn’t for twenty minutes. Not since Rafe had almost throttled a guy at the last gas station for staring too long.
The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was electric. Thick with things unspoken. And JJ was the one holding the wire.
“You good?”
Rafe didn’t answer right away. Eyes flicking around like he expected someone to bust through the wall.
JJ stepped closer. His voice was soft, but sharp: “That was one hell of a stare you gave that guy.”
“He looked at you,” Rafe muttered.
“And?”
“He looked at you like he wanted you.”
JJ licked his lips. “So?”
Rafe’s jaw flexed.
JJ leaned against the wall, watching him. “You gonna keep acting like the whole world’s a threat, or you gonna admit you’re scared shitless now that you’ve actually got what you want?”
That got a reaction. A flicker of something across Rafe’s face—shame, maybe. Or rage. The difference between the two was always razor-thin with him.
“You’re mine,” Rafe said.
JJ tilted his head. “That supposed to make me feel better? Or owned?”
Rafe stepped toward him—barely restrained, all sharp lines and twitching hands. But JJ didn’t flinch. Just waited.
“Strip,” JJ said quietly.
Rafe blinked. “What?”
JJ pushed off the wall. “You heard me. Take off your shirt.”
A muscle in Rafe’s neck jumped. “Why?”
“Because I want to see you. For once.” JJ’s eyes burned into him. “I want to see what you look like when you’re not performing. When you’re not trying to be the monster. Just you.”
Rafe looked like he might punch the wall. But then—slowly—he pulled the shirt over his head.
Scars. Old bruises. The wreckage of a life spent chasing the edge. JJ’s eyes traced every inch of it.
“You’ve been fantasizing about me for how long?” JJ asked.
“Years.”
“And you never touched yourself to the idea of me making you beg?”
Rafe’s silence was louder than a scream.
JJ walked forward, close enough to touch, but didn’t. He just looked up into those tortured eyes and said, “On your knees.”
Rafe stared at him.
JJ’s voice dropped. “You can say no. But if you do, I’m sleeping alone tonight.”
The threat landed. Not as anger. As fear.
Rafe sank to his knees.
JJ moved slowly—deliberate. Like he was tasting power for the first time and finding it sweet.
“I want to know,” he said. “All the shit you thought about when you watched me. From your truck. From the woods. From wherever the fuck you were hiding.”
Rafe’s voice was hoarse. “You don’t.”
“I do.”
Rafe swallowed. “I used to jerk off thinking about pinning you. Hurting you. Making you cry.”
JJ exhaled slowly, heat blooming low in his stomach. “Did you ever imagine me doing it back?”
Rafe’s breath hitched.
JJ crouched, face inches from his. “Did you ever imagine me grabbing your hair, shoving your face down, telling you that you’re mine now?”
Rafe nodded, a tiny twitch. Humiliation curling in his shoulders, but his cock already straining his jeans.
“You ever want to be used, Rafe?” JJ asked, voice velvet and dark. “Not just in your head. For real.”
Rafe’s lips parted. “I want whatever you want.”
That broke something in JJ. Not because he didn’t expect it—but because it was so honest. So fucking raw. And finally equal.
JJ touched Rafe’s face. Gently. “You ever think maybe all those years of watching me was just you begging to be seen?”
Rafe nodded again, slower this time.
JJ kissed him. Slow. Deep. Nothing like the ones Rafe had fantasized about—better.
He stood, pulling Rafe up with him, and led him to the bed.
JJ walked him backward to the bed, their bodies pressed close, but it wasn’t rough—it was weighted. Intentional. Rafe’s skin felt like fire under JJ’s touch, nerves frayed from years of imagined versions that never got this far. And now? JJ was touching him like he belonged here.
JJ sat on the edge of the bed, pulled Rafe forward by the waistband of his jeans. “Get naked.”
Rafe obeyed. Slow, mechanical, still watching JJ’s face like he was waiting for judgment. But JJ’s gaze was hungry, not disgusted.
When Rafe stood there fully nude—feeling vulnerable for the first time in his goddamn life—JJ let his eyes roam. “Do you even know what your body does to me?” he said, voice low and rough.
Rafe made a small sound in his throat. Desperate. Like approval hurt more than rejection.
JJ tugged him closer, kissed the edge of a hipbone, teeth scraping lightly. “You ever think maybe the part of you that wanted to destroy me just wanted to be undone instead?”
Rafe shuddered.
JJ pushed him gently until Rafe was flat on his back on the bed, head turned toward JJ, eyes blown wide with arousal and fear and something dangerously close to awe.
He started touching Rafe like Rafe had touched him in his own fantasies—teasing, controlling, inch by inch. JJ’s mouth on his neck, collarbone, stomach. Rafe squirmed but never pulled away. His cock was flushed, leaking, twitching with every brush of JJ’s tongue.
When JJ took him into his mouth, Rafe whimpered—actual, helpless sound. It cracked something in both of them.
JJ didn’t rush. He edged him for what felt like hours—keeping him on the brink, gripping his thighs to hold him down when he started to beg.
When he finally crawled up Rafe’s body and kissed him again, Rafe’s hands trembled as they cupped JJ’s face. “I didn’t think— I never thought—” He stopped, voice broken.
JJ kissed him again. “I know.”
And then—JJ fucked him. Slow at first, both of them shaking. JJ whispering in his ear, checking every second, because for all the want, this was a boundary. A history. A reversal.
And Rafe—Rafe couldn’t stop touching him. Holding his wrists, digging fingers into JJ’s shoulders, locking their legs together like he was scared he’d be left empty. He didn’t cry, but he wasn’t far.
JJ leaned down during it, pressed their foreheads together and murmured, “You’re still the scariest motherfucker I know.”
Rafe laughed. It cracked and slipped, but it was real.
When JJ finally came, it was with a stuttered gasp into Rafe’s neck—and when Rafe followed a few seconds later, it was silent. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Like surrender had finally fucking arrived.
They lay tangled in the motel bed, sheets twisted beneath them. JJ traced lazy circles on Rafe’s hipbone. The silence this time was safe.
Rafe eventually spoke. “I used to dream about you doing that. But I thought I’d hate it.”
JJ glanced over. “Did you?”
Rafe shook his head. “No. It was... the only time I ever felt like someone saw me. And didn’t run.”
JJ kissed his shoulder. “Then you’re welcome.”
The room was quiet, the hum of the broken A/C and the faded glow of parking lot lights wrapping the room in an almost surreal calm. JJ lay across the mattress, shirtless, still flushed from earlier. His bruises were fading. The ones Rafe hadn’t put there. The ones that had made Rafe’s hands shake with rage and shame when he touched them.
And still—JJ was here. Looking at him like he wanted more.
JJ stretched, lazy and smug. “You ever gonna stop staring at me like you don’t know what to do with yourself?”
Rafe sat at the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees. Tense. “I don’t.”
JJ cocked a brow. “You’ve already had my cock in you, Rafe. Little late to play shy.”
Rafe swallowed. His voice was rough. “You said you wanted to know the rest. Of what I used to think about.”
JJ sat up now, interest flashing like hunger behind his eyes. “I do.”
Rafe didn’t look at him when he spoke, the words jagged and hard to push out. “Before I thought I could ever have you, I used to imagine what it’d take to make you mine. Like—physically. Brutally. I used to think about pinning you down. Shutting you up. Making you want it.”
JJ was quiet, too quiet. Not afraid. But watchful.
Rafe finally turned. “I thought if I ever touched you for real, I’d ruin you.”
JJ tilted his head. “You still want to do that to me?”
Rafe flinched. “I’d never—”
“That’s not what I asked.” JJ crawled closer, putting a knee between Rafe’s thighs. “I asked if you still want to.”
Rafe’s silence was enough.
JJ kissed him—hard, fast, claiming. Then pulled back with a dark smile. “Then do it.”
“JJ—”
“I trust you. You know I do. So if that part of you still wants it—let it out. Show me.”
Rafe’s breath was shallow. “Limits.”
JJ nodded. “No hitting. No real pain. No marks that last. I want the feeling of danger. Not danger itself.”
“You say stop,” Rafe said, voice low.
“I say stop,” JJ confirmed. “And if I say don’t stop—you fucking don’t.”
It was the only green light Rafe needed.
What followed wasn’t love. It was hunger.
Rafe pushed JJ back against the headboard so hard the frame rattled. His hands were everywhere—gripping JJ’s jaw, forcing eye contact. “You think you’re so untouchable,” Rafe growled. “Mouthy little Pogue. Always asking for it.”
JJ grinned, even breathless. “Then take it.”
Rafe did.
He grabbed JJ by the hair and forced him to his knees, muttered, “Open,” and fed him his cock like he’d wanted to for years. Rough. Controlled. Watching JJ gag and moan and fucking love it. Spit slicking his chin. Eyes glassy.
“You like being used?” Rafe rasped, fingers digging into JJ’s scalp. “Like being on your knees for someone who used to want to break you?”
JJ pulled off just long enough to pant, “Want to see how far you’ll go.”
That broke something in Rafe.
He manhandled JJ onto the bed, forced him on his stomach, shoved his own hand down to lube himself hastily with spit. He yanked JJ’s hips up, teeth bared, voice raw: “I dreamed about this. Thought I’d do it while you slept. Or after I knocked you out.”
JJ growled over his shoulder. “I’m not unconscious now, am I? Fucking do it.”
So Rafe did.
He slammed in with a brutal thrust, hands gripping JJ’s waist like a lifeline. JJ arched, cried out, pushed back harder. No hesitation. No fear. Just the throb of matched desire—raw and feral.
Every thrust was a catharsis, every sound JJ made a release valve on years of guilt. Rafe couldn’t believe he was allowed to want this. To have this.
And JJ—JJ let him go dark. Encouraged it.
“Harder,” he begged, hoarse. “You want to own me? Show me.”
Rafe bent over him, hand on the back of JJ’s neck, body weight pressing him down. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” JJ breathed. “Yours.”
After.
It was quiet again.
JJ lay flat on his stomach, breath evening out slowly, bruised in places they’d agreed on, raw in all the right ways. Rafe sat beside him, head bowed like he couldn’t believe what they’d done.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, softly.
JJ opened his eyes, lips curved. “You made me feel wanted. In the worst way. It was perfect.”
Rafe stared. “You’re not afraid of me?”
“No,” JJ said simply. “You’re the only person I feel safe with. Even when you’re like that.”
Rafe covered his face with both hands. “Fuck. JJ.”
JJ rolled over, bruised, beautiful, cocky. “Hey. You didn’t destroy me. You unleashed me.”
Then he curled into Rafe’s side. “Now go clean me up before we pass out.”
Chapter Text
The next day they gathered their things and hit the road again.
The cabin was farther north than JJ expected—deep in Carolina woods, no cell service, no neighbours close enough to hear screaming. Rafe made the joke first.
JJ just raised a brow. “You planning to murder me now?”
“Depends,” Rafe said, setting his bag down. “You planning to run?”
JJ stepped in close, mouth inches from his. “Why would I run from the only person who makes me feel safe?”
The tension didn’t snap. It just settled deeper. Familiar now. Not something to fear. Something to explore.
They stayed naked the first day.
Rafe stripped the bed, opened the windows. JJ rolled a blunt, poured whiskey into enamel mugs, tossed ice cubes at Rafe’s chest when he took too long getting in bed.
They smoked. Drank. Made out until JJ’s lips were red and slick and swollen. Rafe sucked a bruise into JJ’s hip and said, low and wrecked, “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”
JJ laughed. “No one’s ever said that to me sober.”
“I’m not sober,” Rafe admitted.
“Still counts.”
On the third day, they played cards on the floor and bet kisses and confessions. JJ was high. Shirtless, dirty blonde hair pushed back, bruises faded now but still faint at his collarbone and inner thigh—reminders. Chosen marks.
He won with a full house, leaned in, stole a kiss, then sat back, flushed and cocky.
“Your turn,” JJ said. “Tell me a fantasy you haven’t told me yet.”
Rafe went still.
JJ watched him carefully. “You said there were more. Said there were things you couldn’t say because they scared you.”
“They still do.”
“But we talk about this shit now. We made a deal. Full honesty. No judgment.”
Rafe studied him for a long beat.
Then, voice low: “Before this… before you, I used to park outside your house. Just sit there. Hours.”
JJ didn’t flinch.
“I’d see the lights go out. Watch you stumble home drunk. Sometimes I imagined dragging you into the back seat. You fighting me for real. I didn’t want you to say yes—I just wanted to win.”
JJ's face changed—not frightened. Interested. Considering.
“And now?” JJ asked.
“I still think about it,” Rafe admitted. “But now it’s not about hurting you. Not like that. It’s about you giving me that fight. Letting me chase you down. Letting me take it rough because you trust me not to take it too far.”
JJ leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You think I don’t want that sometimes too?”
Rafe blinked.
JJ gave him a slow grin. “You ever wonder what I fantasize about?”
“All the time.”
JJ’s voice dipped. “Sometimes I think about being tied up. Not in a scared way. In a way where you could hurt me—but you won’t. And sometimes I want you to. Just a little. Just enough to make me forget everything else.”
The air went still.
Rafe exhaled, shaky. “Jesus.”
“I know,” JJ said. “We’re fucked.”
But he wasn’t pulling away. He was closer now. Still smiling, sharp and soft all at once.
Rafe tucked a hand behind JJ’s neck. “You’re serious?”
JJ nodded. “I want to try it. When we’re sober. When we talk through limits. When it’s about us.”
Rafe kissed him—hard, grateful, a little shaky.
“I’ll go slow,” Rafe promised. “You say stop, I stop.”
JJ’s voice was steady: “I won’t.”
That night, they lay in bed, heads touching, both staring at the ceiling fan spin.
Rafe broke the silence. “What if we stay here a while?”
JJ turned his head. “Like a week?”
“Like longer. No phones. No trackers. Just… quiet. Just you and me.”
JJ let out a slow breath. “You think we’d survive not fucking each other to death?”
“Maybe,” Rafe said. “We could build something. We could think about what happens next. Not just hiding.”
JJ looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, his voice was soft. Hopeful. “You think we could have a real future?”
Rafe looked right back. “I think you’re the only thing that makes me want one.”
....
He wanted the chase. JJ wanted to be caught.
The rain hit the cabin roof like warning shots.
JJ had waited all morning—fidgeting, barefoot, practically vibrating with anticipation as Rafe checked their stash, moved the truck under the lean-to, then finally locked every window and door.
No way in or out without Rafe’s say-so. That was the point.
JJ stood by the hearth, back straight, nerves hidden under his practiced smirk. “So,” he said, “you gonna make me beg, or are we doing this?”
Rafe turned, slowly.
He looked at JJ like he was already halfway devoured.
“We talked about limits,” Rafe said, voice low, gravelled. “You’re sure.”
“Yeah.” JJ stepped forward, hand on Rafe’s chest. “And we agreed on the safe word.”
Rafe nodded. “Three times if it’s a no-go. Once to slow down.”
JJ smiled, leaned in. “And if I don’t say it, you keep going. Right?”
“Only as far as we agreed.”
JJ kissed him—brief, taunting. “Then come and get me.”
Rafe gave him a five-second head start.
JJ bolted out the back hallway in nothing but briefs and a black T-shirt, high on adrenaline, heart already slamming.
The house wasn’t big, but it was dark. Quiet. Full of corners.
He made it to the far bedroom, pressed himself against the wall, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
Then—footsteps.
Measured. Heavy.
JJ pressed his hand over his mouth to silence the gasp.
Rafe didn’t speak.
The bedroom door creaked.
JJ tried to stay still, but it didn’t matter. Rafe found him. Just like that.
One arm slammed against the wall beside his head. The other gripped his jaw—not cruelly, not tight, but enough.
“You think I wouldn’t find you?” Rafe growled.
JJ’s pulse surged. “Was hoping you would.”
Rafe spun him and shoved him toward the bed.
JJ stumbled forward, caught himself on the mattress, and turned just as Rafe pounced—catching his wrists, dragging him flat across the bed, face down.
“Tell me to stop,” Rafe said against his neck, every breath ragged.
JJ’s answer was to push his hips up.
“Fuck,” Rafe hissed.
The clothes came off rough. Rafe’s grip left marks. JJ gasped when his knees hit the edge of the bed and Rafe bit his shoulder.
“I used to dream of this,” Rafe said, panting, one hand holding JJ down by the back of the neck, the other stroking between JJ’s legs. “Just like this. You pinned. Fighting a little. Wanting it more than you should.”
JJ groaned. “So show me.”
Rafe fucked him hard—no hesitation, no softness. Just control. Just years of pent-up need loosed all at once. JJ moaned, bucked, clawed at the sheets, never once said stop.
When Rafe gripped JJ’s hair and growled, “You think anyone else will ever touch you like this?”—JJ came from that alone.
After, Rafe curled around him like a shield, hands still trembling.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, breath warm at JJ’s ear.
“No.” JJ turned his head, kissed him. “You made me feel… exactly how I wanted to feel.”
Rafe pulled him closer. “You didn’t say your fantasy.”
JJ hesitated, then whispered, “Maybe next time.”
They didn’t sleep.
At dawn, JJ stood naked at the window while Rafe smoked in bed, eyes fixed to him like he was watching the moon rise.
JJ spoke without turning. “You really used to stalk me?”
Rafe didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I’d park at The Wreck or that old pier by the chateau. Watch you walk by. Watch you fuck up your life.”
JJ looked back, lips twitching. “And now you’re fucking it up with me?”
Rafe dropped the ash, came to him, touched his hip. “Now I’m trying to give you something else. A place where you don’t have to be afraid.”
JJ tilted his head. “Let’s build something together.”
Rafe nodded. “Name it. Anything. Anywhere. I’ll take you.”
JJ wasn’t wearing a shirt when he opened the cabin door—just a mug of coffee in his hand and Rafe’s old jeans low on his hips. His hair was wild from sleep and sex, his lips still swollen from the rough kiss that had woken him up an hour earlier.
The man standing on the porch didn’t belong here.
Ward Cameron. Sweating in a windbreaker, stiff and pale as a corpse in the misty dawn, expression unreadable. Except for the cold fury in his eyes.
JJ blinked once. “You got lost or something?”
Ward’s jaw clenched. “Where is he?”
Rafe’s voice came from behind JJ. Calm, quiet. Lethal.
“I’m here.”
JJ stepped back without being told. Rafe moved into the doorway like a storm front rolling in slow. Shirtless, barefoot, bruises old and new blooming on his ribs. He looked feral—possessive, protective, and fully prepared to kill.
Ward looked between them. The bed rumpled behind them. The way JJ didn’t flinch when Rafe’s hand landed on his hip.
“You really are fucking him,” Ward said.
Neither of them answered.
“I thought… Jesus Christ, I thought the rumours were just trash talk from that Pogue kid—”
“John B,” Rafe said, lips curling. “Who you ignored for years unless it benefited you.”
Ward’s hands curled into fists. “You’re my son. You’re supposed to be a Cameron. This—this is what you’ve thrown your name away for?”
JJ bristled. “Say what you’re really thinking, Ward.”
“Fine. You’re white trash. A criminal. You dragged my son into—”
JJ stepped forward, but Rafe blocked him with a forearm, eyes locked on his father.
“You think I was dragged?” Rafe said. Quiet. Deadly. “You think I didn’t want him? I wanted him for years. I wanted him when you were too busy laundering money and killing men to notice I was coming apart. I wanted him when I thought he’d never touch me. I wanted him so bad I made myself sick with it.”
JJ exhaled like he’d been hit.
Rafe didn’t stop. “I chose this. I chose him. And I would choose him again, every fucking time.”
Ward’s voice cracked with disgust. “And you’re just gonna throw away your future for this—this mistake?”
Rafe stepped down off the porch.
He walked up to Ward so fast JJ barely processed it before Rafe had him slammed against a tree, his forearm pressing into Ward’s throat.
“You were my mistake,” Rafe hissed. “And if you ever come near us again, I will bury you so deep they’ll need sonar to find you.”
JJ didn’t move.
He just watched.
Watched Rafe defend him like it was instinct. Like nothing else mattered.
Ward didn’t fight back. Maybe he didn’t know how to anymore. Maybe he finally realized he’d already lost.
When Rafe let him go, Ward staggered off without a word.
JJ didn’t speak until the truck had vanished down the trail.
“You really meant all that?” he asked quietly, staring at Rafe’s back.
Rafe turned. His hands were shaking. His mouth opened, then closed.
He nodded.
JJ stepped off the porch, took Rafe’s face in both hands, kissed him slow.
Then: “Go pack. We’re not staying.”
Rafe looked at him like he’d just said I love you again.
By noon they were in the truck, throwing mud behind them.
The cabin shrank in the rearview mirror. The past didn’t. But JJ curled into Rafe’s side as the highway opened up in front of them.
He didn’t ask where they were going.
Because it didn’t matter.
They’d already chosen each other.
And this time, they weren’t looking back.
They cross state lines before noon. A rundown motel, paid in cash, becomes home for a few days—long enough to stop, breathe, and figure things out. No new names. Just distance.
JJ sprawls on the motel bed, weed burning slow between his fingers, and asks, half-serious, “So… are we boyfriends? Or like, something worse?”
Rafe snorts from where he’s sitting on the floor, back to the wall, cleaning the knuckles he scraped on Ward’s throat. “Worse,” he echoes, “in what way?”
“In the ‘I’ve thought about choking you while you cried my name’ kind of way,” JJ replies. “And also in the ‘I’d probably do dumb things if you left me’ way.”
Rafe goes very still.
JJ shrugs. “That’s kind of partner territory, right?”
From there, they talk. Messy, halting, honest. Laughter and silence. They admit things. Fantasies. Fears. JJ admits he’s never had to try at intimacy before. Not like this. Rafe admits he never even imagined he'd deserve it.
They negotiate sex—top/bottom, who needs what, when it feels safe to switch. JJ says he wants to feel owned sometimes, but not always. Rafe says he wants to let go sometimes but doesn’t know how yet. They talk about safewords. Limits. The difference between fantasy and consent.
They talk about drugs—how far is too far? What’s fun, what’s coping? What happens when they need to stop?
And violence. Rafe says he doesn’t want to lose JJ to the part of himself that still likes hurting people. JJ says he doesn’t want to lose Rafe to shame. That if they’re going to survive each other, they need more than sex and obsession.
They need plans.
Maybe JJ gets a job fixing boats again. Rafe says he’s decent with numbers, could run security for a bar or a construction site. They talk about places that don’t ask questions, and people who might not care they’re together. They talk about staying off the radar without hiding.
They don’t solve it all.
But they start.
Chapter Text
The next day, JJ did what JJ does best. He found a local weed connection like a bloodhound, while picking up cigarettes at a gas station.
JJ found a cheap run-down house available immediately and not too far out of town, which Rafe didn’t like but paid for in cash.
While JJ dozed from his high, Rafe cleaned and rearranged the worn furniture, stocked the small kitchen with food JJ liked. And for the first time in what felt like years, Rafe and JJ had nowhere they had to be.
JJ sprawled on the bed in nothing but Rafe’s oversized T-shirt. He still looked flushed from the hours they’d spent entwined on that same mattress—fucking, talking, sleeping, fucking again. His hair was messy and his lips were still red from Rafe’s teeth.
“Hey,” JJ said, voice low. “What are we?” Rafe glanced up from his position by the sink, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. He didn’t answer right away.
JJ leaned back on his hands. “I mean, like. Are you my boyfriend? My partner? My psychotic kidnapper-turned-lover?”
Rafe spit into the sink, wiped his mouth on a towel, and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”JJ just looked at him. Waiting.
Rafe exhaled through his nose. “I want to be whatever you’ll let me be. Boyfriend, partner, whatever. You already own me. Might as well call it what it is.” That made JJ snort. “You think I own you?”
“You do,” Rafe said, quiet but deadly serious. “Have for a long time.” JJ chewed his lip. “So we’re… together?”
“Yeah,” Rafe said, walking over, standing between JJ’s knees on the bed. “We’re together. You’re mine. I’m yours. I don’t care if we don’t have a word for it yet.”
JJ nodded slowly, eyes flicking down to Rafe’s bare chest, then up again. “Good. ’Cause I want all of it. Not just the sex. Not just the protection. I want to know who the fuck you are when you’re not trying to scare me or save me.”
That landed hard.
Rafe knelt in front of him, resting his hands on JJ’s thighs. “You ready for that?”
“I think so,” JJ said. “You gonna run if I start asking the hard shit?”
“I might need a cigarette,” Rafe said, dry, but then his voice dipped low. “But no. I won’t run. Not from you.”
JJ’s smile was crooked and beautiful and a little reckless. “Then let’s start with the obvious. What the hell does this life look like now?”
They spent the next hour talking. Like really talking.
No lies. No posturing. Just sprawled together on the bed, sheets tangled at their feet, alternating between swigs of shitty motel bourbon and long, careful looks.
JJ said he didn’t know if he could ever hold a normal job, but maybe he could do something under the table—fixing up boats, stripping copper, landscaping if he had to.
Rafe said he could pull money from some offshore accounts, maybe get them a trailer somewhere nobody would ask questions.
JJ said he wanted to be around people again eventually, maybe find someone who wasn’t just a junkie or a criminal or a psycho. “No offense,” he added, nudging Rafe with his knee.
“None taken,” Rafe said. “I’m all three.”
They laughed, then fell into a long, sticky silence.
Eventually, JJ broke it. “What about sex?”
Rafe’s gaze snapped to him. “What about it.”
“I mean… this thing between us. The power stuff. It’s hot. It’s real. But we can’t live in a fantasy forever. We both got shit in our heads that could tear each other apart if we’re not careful.”
“I know,” Rafe said. “I think about it every time I touch you. Every time you let me.”
JJ studied him. “So what do you want?”
Rafe hesitated. “You know what I want.”
JJ pushed. “Say it.”
“I want to be the only one who touches you like this. I want to keep you somewhere safe. I want to know that if you go out, it’s because I said it was okay. I want to fuck you so hard you forget anyone else ever existed.” He looked down, ashamed. “I want to own you.”
JJ was quiet.
Rafe added quickly, “But I won’t. Not unless you want it. I’ll never take anything you don’t give me.”
JJ sat up straighter. “Good. Because I’ve got fantasies too, Cameron. And not all of ’em are about getting pushed around. Some of ’em are about you begging.”
Rafe swallowed. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” JJ said, low and amused. “Didn’t think you were the only one with a dark side, did you?”
They kept going, trading confessions like grenades with the pins already pulled.
JJ admitted he liked feeling small under Rafe’s weight, but also wanted to make him beg again the way he had when he first topped him.
Rafe confessed that the first time JJ had smiled at him—like, really smiled—he’d gone home and jacked off three times in a row, half-hating himself for it.
Eventually JJ got up to piss, and when he came back, he tossed his phone onto the table. “We should ditch these.”
Rafe nodded. “Tracking?”
“Yeah. And… I just wanna feel like none of them can reach us anymore.”
That night, they shared the same pillow. JJ's ankle was slung over Rafe’s hip, his hand on the scar near Rafe’s ribs. Rafe ran his fingers through JJ’s hair until they both fell asleep.
And when the sun came up through that cheap window, it found something raw and barely beginning—but real.
Whatever they were, whatever they were becoming, it was theirs now.
JJ
He hadn’t worked a real job in a long time. Not one with shifts and expectations and a cash register that didn’t belong to him. But when the bar manager, a wiry woman in her fifties named Doreen with cigarette voice and jail tattoos, said, “You got charm, boy. Start Thursday,” JJ had felt something like pride stir in his chest.
He didn’t tell her he’d been living in a stolen car three months ago. He didn’t tell her he was a runaway Pogue with a dangerous boyfriend and a habit of stealing tips from wherever he drank. He just smiled that disarming grin and leaned on the bar like he owned the place. That’s what people liked. The illusion.
Rafe had been lurking across the street the whole time.
“You really didn’t have to come,” JJ said as they walked back to the truck, half-smiling, half-sighing. “I can charm my way into a job just fine without you burning holes in the manager’s skull.”
“I wasn’t watching her,” Rafe said without apology. “I was watching everyone else.”
JJ didn’t argue. He never did, not about things like this. Not anymore. He liked the way Rafe hovered at the edges of everything. It made him feel like someone was always ready to kill for him. Because someone was.
RAFE
He didn’t like the bar.
Too many men. Too many eyes. Too much rough laughter that sounded just a shade too close to violence. He watched JJ work from his spot near the back wall, hidden in shadows. He hated every drunk asshole who leaned too far across the bar when JJ bent to grab a bottle, every man who dared to laugh too hard at one of JJ’s jokes.
He hated the way JJ’s shirt clung to him when he got sweaty. Hated that other people saw it. Hated that JJ still didn’t see himself the way Rafe did—wild and golden and so fucking irresistible he felt like he might lose it just watching him light up the room.
He left halfway through the shift, took a drive around the block, smoked two cigarettes with shaking hands, and returned fifteen minutes before close like he always did now. Couldn’t stay away.
He stood outside in the dark, watching through the cracked door, when the fight broke out.
It wasn’t even JJ’s fault.
Just some local redneck shithead trying to slap a waitress’s ass. JJ stepped in—cocky as hell—and told him to “fuck off and take your gator-wrestling cousin with you.”
And then it was chaos.
Rafe didn’t hesitate.
He was inside before the first punch landed on JJ. He saw the guy twist JJ’s wrist hard—JJ yelping, stumbling back, hand clutched against his chest. Rafe was across the floor in seconds, slamming the man into a table so hard the wood cracked.
“You touch him again,” Rafe said, voice low and venomous, “and I will fucking bury you.”
The guy’s friend swung. Rafe ducked. Countered. His knuckles split on teeth. Elbow to temple. Knee to gut. One man down, then two.
JJ was behind him, leaning against the bar, breathing hard. Rafe didn’t take his eyes off the others until they were out the door and the cops weren’t coming and no one else looked ready to try him.
JJ
“You okay?” Rafe asked, finally turning to him.
JJ nodded, silent.
His wrist ached. Not broken, but sore. He flexed it experimentally, grimacing, and then looked up at Rafe—his Rafe—breathing heavy, blood on his lip, knuckles bruised, still radiating heat and danger and wild-eyed protectiveness.
JJ said, very softly, “You came back.”
“I always come back.”
The manager called the next day.
“Your guy,” she said. “He’s got anger issues.”
JJ didn’t deny it.
“He’s hired,” she added. “Tell him he starts Friday. I need a bouncer, and someone to handle the late-night cash runs. Think he can do that without killing anyone?”
“I’ll talk to him,” JJ said, already smiling.
RAFE
He stood behind JJ that night while JJ counted his tips, arms caging JJ in against the kitchen counter of the small rental. JJ’s bruised wrist was wrapped in gauze. Rafe had done it himself.
“You don’t have to protect me from everyone,” JJ said, voice low and amused. “Just the ones who call me a fag and try to twist my wrist.”
Rafe nuzzled the back of his neck. “I’ll protect you from everyone if I want.”
JJ leaned back into him. “Even me?”
Rafe stilled.
And then JJ turned in his arms, held him by the jaw, kissed him soft.
“No,” Rafe said quietly. “Never from you.”
The bar smelled like sweat and spilled beer and old lust. Rafe hated it immediately.
Not because JJ didn’t look good in it—he did, too good—but because everyone else thought so too. The lowlife redneck crowd didn’t know what they were looking at when JJ leaned across the counter to serve a drink, or when he laughed at some idiot’s joke just because tips depended on it. They didn’t see him for what he was—sharp, clever, fucked-up, a little reckless, and his.
JJ was his.
Rafe stood against the far wall, watching. He hadn’t planned to stay long tonight, but something about the crowd felt off. Too loud. Too many stares aimed in JJ’s direction. Rafe could feel it like a pressure in his chest, building with each second someone’s gaze lingered too long on JJ’s mouth, or the sway of his hips when he moved to the music playing low behind the clink of glasses.
JJ didn’t know he was being watched. Not the way Rafe did it. Not the way he always had.
Rafe’s fingers curled into fists. He forced them to relax.
He didn’t like the way JJ looked when he was scared. But he liked being the one to make sure JJ didn’t have to be.
JJ laughed at something again. Tossed his head, easy and natural, blond hair falling into his eyes. It was the kind of laugh that made you think he hadn’t been hurt at all. That he didn’t flinch in his sleep sometimes, or grind his teeth down through dreams that left his back slick with sweat. That his ribs hadn’t been bruised by the man who called himself his father.
Rafe had watched that too. Heard it through thin walls. He hadn’t stepped in then—not until later—but he remembered the sound. The way JJ had stayed silent through the blows. Not crying. Not calling for help. Just taking it.
Rafe hadn’t slept that night.
Now he couldn't stop staring at him. JJ in a faded Henley, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Rings on his fingers, because he liked how they felt, and Rafe liked the marks they left behind. He was leaning down now, picking up a dropped bottle, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to show a flash of skin, hipbone, the waistband of his briefs riding low.
Rafe swallowed hard.
His fantasies had gotten darker over the years, sharper around the edges. There were years when all he’d had was imagination—when he hated himself so much he couldn’t even admit what he wanted. JJ on his knees. JJ bent over his lap, crying not from pain, but from the surrender of it. JJ wanting him.
That was the part that fucked him up the most now: JJ wanted him.
Even after the violence. Even after the years of hatred and stalking and everything in between. JJ had looked him in the eye and said, I trust you. Show me who you really are.
He wasn’t used to that. Being seen. And not rejected.
Not even when he told JJ about the fantasies he used to have—ones that scared him, even in the privacy of his own head.
JJ had said, “We’ll talk about it. We’ll figure out what’s safe. I want the truth.”
Rafe would kill for him. He had killed, in the old way. Not literally, not yet. But he could. For JJ, he could.
The fight broke out fast.
Some drunk guy bumped into JJ, sloshed beer over the bar. JJ apologized, easy and smooth, and reached for a rag. The guy grabbed his wrist. Rafe saw JJ’s expression go still. Blank.
Then came the word.
“Fucking faggot.”
Time slowed.
Rafe moved before he thought. Cut through the crowd like a knife. He didn’t hear the rest of what was said. Didn’t care.
His hand connected with the guy’s jaw and the sound it made was almost pleasant. Cartilage and teeth and skin splitting under his knuckles. Another guy came in—friend, maybe. He reached for Rafe’s shoulder and Rafe caught his wrist and twisted, hard enough to make the man scream.
Rafe only let go when he saw JJ had climbed over the bar to try and stop him. He was limping again. Lip bleeding from where he’d taken a bottle that got thrown somewhere in the chaos.
That’s what stopped Rafe. Not JJ’s voice. Not the shouting.
JJ was hurt.
Rafe almost went after the guy again.
Instead, he was dragged out, shoved toward the alley, and told to cool off.
It was the next day when Rafe accepted the job. Late nights, cash drops, maybe some security. “You already work like a bouncer,” he said. “Might as well get paid.”
Rafe agreed without hesitation.
JJ was worth guarding.
Later that night, back at the cabin, JJ sat on the floor with his back against the bed, rolling a joint between his fingers. His lip was split but healing. Rafe had iced it twice already.
JJ kept batting him off with, “I’m fine, man, let it be,” but hadn’t really meant it.
JJ looked up at him now, eyes red-rimmed from weed and fatigue, but open.
“You okay?”
Rafe didn’t answer at first. He sat down beside him, legs long and loose in front of him. He wanted to say I couldn’t breathe when I saw him touch you, but what came out was quieter.
“He hurt you.”
JJ shrugged. “Not the first time.”
That made it worse.
“He said something,” Rafe added. “That word. Did it…?”
JJ glanced over, exhaled a stream of smoke, then passed the joint. “Used to bother me,” he said. “When I didn’t know who I was. Now it just pisses me off.”
“You sure?”
JJ nodded. “I mean… yeah. I know what I want. I know who I want.”
Rafe didn’t move. He let the words sink in.
“You’re the only one I want,” JJ said.
There was silence for a beat.
Then, softly: “You fantasize about that too?”
Rafe turned his head. “What?”
“Shutting people up. Hurting the ones who look at me wrong.” JJ’s mouth curled into something sly, playful, a little mean. “I’ve seen you, Rafe. The way you look when someone stares too long.”
“Yeah,” Rafe admitted. “I fantasize about that.”
“And me?”
“…Always.”
JJ shifted closer. Their knees touched. “Tell me.”
Rafe closed his eyes. Took a breath.
“I used to imagine pinning you to the hood of my car. After watching you for hours. After you made me snap. I’d fuck you hard enough the paint would peel. You’d scream for me and scratch up the windshield and I’d tell you it was too late to pretend you didn’t want this.”
JJ didn’t flinch.
Instead, he whispered, “Fuck. Yeah. I’ve thought about that too.”
Rafe’s eyes snapped open.
“You—”
“Not with anyone else,” JJ said quickly. “Just you.”
Rafe leaned in. “Why?”
JJ kissed him. Slow and deep, tasting like smoke and blood and heat.
When they pulled apart, JJ whispered, “Because it’s dark. And because it’s safe. With you.”
That was the part Rafe never thought he’d get to hear. That he could be both.
The next time they kissed, it didn’t stop. JJ climbed onto his lap, hands sliding under Rafe’s shirt, teasing fingers tracing the scars he’d earned for JJ.
They didn’t undress fully—not yet—but Rafe was hard and aching, and JJ ground down against him with lazy, filthy confidence. When JJ came with a quiet gasp into the waistband of his briefs, Rafe held him through it, whispering, mine over and over against the crook of his neck.
Later, they lay side by side, tangled and quiet.
JJ’s voice, drowsy: “So… we’re doing this now, huh?”
Rafe smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“You gonna keep stalking me at work?”
Rafe grinned. “Obviously.”
JJ laughed. “Creep.”
Rafe didn’t say it—but only yours echoed in his head like a promise.
Chapter Text
The town was smaller than the island, quieter in a different way. No salt in the air, no tide rolling in, just stretches of land and a gas station on every second block.
They’d settled into a rental on the edge of it—bare floors, mismatched furniture, and a second-hand coffee machine Rafe hated but refused to replace because JJ liked the sound it made when it steamed.
They’d been here just over a month.
JJ was barefoot, shirtless, and sprawled across the threadbare couch when Rafe came back from the store. He had groceries in one arm, a six-pack tucked under the other. His shirt was soaked at the collar—he still ran when his thoughts got too loud—and his phone buzzed endlessly in his pocket. He ignored it.
JJ didn’t look up right away. His legs were spread, a joint burning between two fingers, the TV playing reruns they never really watched. His hair was damp from a shower. He looked like summer. He looked like something Rafe had stolen off the edge of a dream.
“You left the window open,” Rafe said, eyeing the empty cereal box on the floor. “Again.”
JJ grinned, tilting his head back against the cushion, eyes half-lidded. “You’re real uptight for someone who just bought me chocolate milk.”
“You’re a menace when you’re high,” Rafe muttered, but he was already putting the groceries away, watching JJ in the reflection of the microwave door.
The tattoo on JJ’s ribs was new. He’d done it himself, sitting in front of the bathroom mirror with a needle and ink. It wasn’t perfect. Rafe couldn’t stop looking at it.
He’d been trying to act normal. Domestic. Human. The kind of person JJ could build a life with.
JJ padded into the kitchen behind him and wrapped his arms around Rafe’s waist, chin on his shoulder. “Wanna skip dinner and go straight to dessert?”
Rafe turned in his arms. JJ kissed like he was starving for affection, always. But now there was something else—a comfort in the touch, not just desperation.
Rafe tasted weed and sugar and whatever fake fruit flavour JJ had been chewing earlier. He pressed their foreheads together.
“You working tonight?”
“Behind the bar until close” JJ nodded. “You gonna lurk in the shadows like some deranged ex-boyfriend?”
“I’m not your ex,” Rafe growled. “I’m the current one. And yes.”
JJ laughed. “You know they’re gonna think you’re psycho security or something.”
“They already gave me the job.” Rafe’s hands rested low on JJ’s hips, thumbs stroking bare skin under the loose band of his boxers. “Said I’ve got the look.”
“You do,” JJ murmured, then quieter: “You scare people. Even when you’re being good.”
Rafe flinched. He always did when JJ saw him that clearly.
“But I’m not scared,” JJ added, voice dropping. “Not of you. Not when you look at me like this.”
There was a long moment where Rafe didn’t speak. He just held him. Breathed him in.
They didn’t say I love you often. But it was there—in the way JJ let Rafe brush the hair back from his eyes. In the way Rafe handed over his knife when JJ said he didn’t feel safe walking to work. In how JJ cooked eggs for both of them even when he didn’t want any. In the way Rafe couldn’t sleep unless JJ’s hand was somewhere on him—hip, ribs, thigh, chest.
The bar wasn’t fancy. But it was a job. JJ poured drinks, charmed tips out of locals, and laughed too loud when he was nervous.
Rafe hated every second he wasn’t beside him. When someone got too close, too handsy, Rafe tensed like he’d learned to take a bullet, waiting for JJ’s signal.
That night, a fight broke out.
A couple of rednecks, drunk and snarling. Someone called JJ a slur. Rafe didn’t hear the rest.
By the time anyone could blink, he’d vaulted the bar, taken one by the collar and slammed him into the jukebox. The other reached for something in his coat—Rafe didn’t wait to find out what.
He left them both in a bleeding, groaning pile near the entrance, eyes black, fists raw.
JJ had a cut on his cheekbone. A shallow split lip. Rafe cradled his face in the dark outside the bar, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. He didn’t ask for permission before kissing him then, right there under the humming neon light.
“Are you going to kill every homophobe asshole in town?”
“Not unless you ask real nice,” Rafe said, climbing over him, all teeth and heat. “But yeah. Looks like I’m your bodyguard now.”
JJ smiled. Not just the flirtatious kind—the real one. The kind he only gave Rafe now.
“You gonna be okay?” JJ asked later, his voice quieter, more serious. “Like, with this life? Without the island, the name, the power? Just… us?”
Rafe laid back beside him. “I’ve got a job. I’ve got you. I’ve got something to protect. That’s more than I’ve ever had.”
JJ tangled their fingers together. “We’re really doing this?”
Rafe pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “We are.”
And for once, Rafe Cameron didn’t feel like he was pretending to be someone else.
He just felt like theirs.
It was the kind of morning that felt like it might stick to your skin—lazy, sun-warmed, and too quiet. JJ stood barefoot in the kitchen in nothing but low-slung jeans, flipping pancakes with a cigarette in his mouth and music low on the speaker. Something twangy, ironic, a little sweet. He glanced up at the window.
Rafe was out back, shirtless, barefoot, and chopping wood like they were preparing for a mountain winter instead of a mild spring in the foothills.
JJ couldn’t help but stare.
The muscles in Rafe’s back moved with each swing—graceful and brutal at the same time. Like he was still learning how to not be angry. Like the axe was keeping him sane. JJ leaned against the counter and took a long drag, smoke curling up into the sunlit haze. Domestic bliss, he thought dryly. Or something like it.
He still wasn’t used to how much he liked this. The us part. The way Rafe looked at him like there was no one else in the world. Or how he kissed JJ’s shoulder absentmindedly when he passed behind him in the kitchen. Or the way he’d stand too close in the grocery store line, silent, watching everyone like a ticking bomb.
Rafe came in with his shirt tucked into his back pocket, wiping sweat off his neck. “Smells good.”
“You’re dripping on my floor, country boy.”
Rafe walked up behind him and took the cigarette from JJ’s mouth, finishing the drag, then placing it back like it was nothing. His fingers brushed JJ’s jaw. “You taste better.”
JJ’s lips twitched. “You tryin’ to get laid before breakfast?”
“I’m always tryin’ to get laid.” But Rafe’s tone was rough with something else—something darker, needier. “You’re the one who walked around half-naked all morning.”
JJ smirked and tilted his head. “Guess I’m a menace.”
“No,” Rafe said. “You’re mine.”
The air sharpened. JJ’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. He liked when Rafe got like this—barely hanging on, protective, possessive in a way that no longer scared him. It did something to him now. Made him feel safe, wanted, even when the world had written him off.
“We got work,” JJ said after a beat, voice quieter.
“I know.”
They worked together now—JJ behind the bar, Rafe unofficial security and muscle, especially on weekends.
The owner liked how quickly things calmed down when Rafe stood up or raised an eyebrow. Nobody liked getting thrown out by a tall, silent ex-rich boy with scars on his knuckles and a look like he wanted to be provoked.
It was a weird fit, this town. Neither of them belonged, but they fit here better than anywhere else had. Fewer ghosts. Different shadows.
That night, the bar was loud but not awful. JJ was in his element—charming, grinning, tossing drinks and insults with the rhythm of someone born to chaos. Rafe stood by the side exit, arms folded, watching.
He hated the way people looked at JJ.
Sometimes it was admiration. Sometimes it was hunger. But too often, it was disrespect—the kind JJ played off with a laugh, but Rafe could feel the tension behind his eyes.
And then it happened. A redneck asshole at the end of the bar tried to grope JJ when he reached for an empty glass. Called him a “pretty little queer” loud enough for half the bar to hear.
JJ went still. Didn’t even flinch, but his jaw twitched.
Rafe was across the room in seconds.
He didn’t punch the guy—at first. Just grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled him halfway over the bar.
“You ever touch him again,” Rafe said, low and cold, “I will put your face through this fucking counter.”
The man made a joke about “faggot lovers” and Rafe stopped holding back.
Two broken teeth and a shattered nose later, the drunk was out cold on the curb. JJ came out, blood on his knuckles from breaking up the fight, and sat next to Rafe on the edge of the loading dock, both of them breathing heavy.
“Overkill,” JJ muttered.
“Not sorry.”
JJ looked at him. “Didn’t think you would be.”
“You okay?”
JJ held up his hand. “Got clipped. Nothing serious.” Then after a beat: “But yeah. I’m okay. ‘Cause you were here.”
Rafe turned his head, eyes too sharp in the dark. “I will kill someone one day over you.”
JJ didn’t flinch. Just leaned into him, head on Rafe’s shoulder.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m into that.”
Rafe choked on a laugh. “You’re fucked up.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Rafe shoved him against the wall and kissed him hard. “Keep talkin’. I’ll cuff you with your own belt and make you late for work.”
JJ grinned against his mouth. “Promises.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
They were a strange pair. Two disasters clinging to each other in the ruins. But it was starting to look like something real.
....
The tattoo parlour wasn’t busy when they walked in—just the low hum of a machine and the sharp smell of disinfectant. JJ had been quiet on the ride over, chewing the inside of his cheek, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands like he was trying to disappear. Rafe hadn’t said anything, but his knuckles stayed white on the wheel.
The tattoo on JJ’s ribs was a mess. A drunken dare on a night Rafe hadn’t been there to rein him in—half-formed script, jagged lines, and red where it shouldn’t have been. It hurt to look at. Rafe hated it not because it was ugly, but because JJ had done it when he was hurting. Alone.
The artist didn’t say much. Just gave a low whistle, then nodded like he’d seen worse. “I can work with this. Touch-up, shading. It'll still be yours.”
JJ nodded. His voice was barely a whisper. “Yeah. Just… make it look like I meant it.”
Rafe sat behind him, one hand resting heavy on JJ’s back as the machine started buzzing. He watched the way JJ tensed, how his jaw set—not in fear, but focus. Pain like a kind of penance.
Rafe’s own heart was crawling out of his chest.
Not for the first time, he imagined tearing the original artist's hands off. Breaking his fingers one by one for scarring JJ’s skin. For leaving a permanent mark when JJ hadn’t been safe, hadn’t been thinking. Rafe should’ve been there.
When it was done, JJ stood to look at the mirror, shirt off, skin red and raw but cleaner now. Sharper. The shitty lines had been transformed into something more deliberate, almost haunting. It wasn’t perfect—but it looked like him. It looked like someone surviving.
“I wanna get one too,” Rafe said.
JJ blinked. “You?”
“Yeah. For you.”
JJ laughed nervously, but his eyes welled. “You serious?”
Rafe didn’t even blink. “Dead serious.”
He got it on his chest—left side, close to the heart. Just JJ’s name, etched deep and simple, but the script matched the new lines on JJ’s ribs. It made them a matched set—refined from pain, bound by intention.
JJ cried halfway through. Didn’t even try to stop it.
Rafe kissed the top of his head as the artist wiped him down. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” JJ wiped his face with the sleeve of Rafe’s hoodie. “You’re insane, y’know that?”
“Only for you.”
—
The drive home from the tattoo parlour was mostly quiet. JJ’s fingers kept brushing over the gauze covering his ribs, where a jagged crown wrapped in thorns now marked him. Rafe had insisted on paying for the touch-up—more than that, he’d leaned in close during the artist’s work, one possessive hand on JJ’s thigh, his gaze fixed and unreadable.
JJ wasn’t sure which made him more shaky: the burn of the needle or the intensity of how Rafe looked at him afterward, as if JJ had given him something sacred.
He had.
But he wasn’t done.
The cabin door clicked shut behind them, the sudden stillness wrapping around the space like velvet.
JJ had already dropped to his knees on the rug, slow and deliberate.
Rafe’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I don’t want a collar,” JJ said, voice soft but sure. “Not your boy. Not a pet. That’s not what this is.”
“No,” Rafe murmured. “It’s not.”
JJ’s hands flexed on his thighs. “But I am yours. I’ve been yours since you looked at me like you wanted to ruin me but couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else trying. And now I’m giving you permission, Rafe.”
“To what?”
JJ lifted his gaze. “To use what you already have.”
That broke something open in Rafe—he stepped forward and cupped JJ’s jaw, rough thumb running along the edge of JJ’s cheekbone. JJ didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into the touch.
“You’re not afraid of me?” Rafe asked, voice low, torn between reverence and disbelief.
“I was,” JJ said honestly. “Now I’m afraid of what it means that I’m not.”
Rafe let out a breath that sounded like a prayer.
JJ reached up and took his wrist, guiding that hand from his face down to his collarbone, then lower, until it rested against the centre of his chest. “I want you to show me how it feels when you’re not afraid of breaking me. Because you won’t.”
“I’ve imagined this,” Rafe said, his voice shaking now. “You on your knees. You giving yourself to me. But in the dark versions—those old fantasies—you didn’t want it. You didn’t ask. And I hated myself for wanting it anyway.”
JJ smiled faintly, eyes still shining. “Well, I want it now. And I’m asking.”
Rafe dropped to his knees too.
He kissed JJ then—not brutal, not dominant. But consuming. Reverent. Their mouths slow, Rafe’s fingers tangling in JJ’s shirt, pushing it up to touch bare skin. He broke the kiss only to whisper, “You’re sure?”
JJ leaned forward and bit his jaw, gentle but claiming. “Take me to bed and find out.”
—
The bed creaked under the weight of both of them. Clothes peeled away in quiet rustles. JJ lay back, sprawled open but completely in control of his surrender. Rafe moved over him like a man crawling through holy ground.
It wasn’t rough, not yet.
But it wasn’t gentle either.
It was possession. Worship. A slow escalation of pressure that made JJ gasp and cling, until Rafe’s mouth was at his throat, whispering what he wanted to do—what he used to fantasize about—and how much better it was now that JJ wanted it too.
They didn’t speak titles. No "sir," no "master," no “good boy.”
What they had was more complicated. And truer.
After, JJ curled into Rafe, their legs tangled, sweat cooling between them.
“You didn’t hold back,” JJ whispered.
“No,” Rafe said, forehead against JJ’s shoulder. “You told me not to.”
JJ traced a finger along the line of ink etched into Rafe’s chest—a tribute to the crown he now bore. “I want to stay here with you. This house. This time. This way”
Rafe kissed his knuckles. “Then we’ll do it together”
JJ was quiet a long time.
Rafe didn’t say it out loud, but JJ felt it in the way he pulled him closer:
You’re mine, no matter where we go.
Chapter Text
JJ sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch, fingers nervously twisting the hem of his shirt. Rafe sat opposite him on the floor, back against the coffee table, eyes locked on JJ’s hands as they fidgeted.
“Okay,” JJ began, voice low but steady, “I want to tell you what I’m into—what I want you to know before we go deeper.”
Rafe’s mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Go on.”
JJ inhaled.
“I like spanking. Not too hard, but enough to sting. Fingering—rough or gentle, depending on your mood. Hair pulling—I like the feeling of you having control there. Wrist binding—I’m curious, but only light stuff, nothing that cuts off circulation. Maybe some toys, but I want to be the one to pick them out. Consensual nonconsent—I trust you, but it has to be carefully set up, with safe words and all. Biting—only gentle marks, nothing that bleeds. And dirty talk—I love when you get rough with your words.”
His eyes lifted, searching Rafe’s face for a reaction. “But I’m not into spitting or face slapping. Full-on bondage or knives, blood play, piss, humiliation, Leatherman gear, ATM, CBT—that’s all out. I want this to be intense, but safe.”
Rafe’s grin widened, almost predatory. “You’re opening the door just wide enough to let me in, huh?”
JJ blushed but nodded. “Yeah. I want you. But I want limits, too. You know how dark you can get. I need to know you won’t cross the line where it hurts me emotionally or physically in a way I didn’t agree to.”
Rafe’s gaze softened for a moment. “That’s fair. Here’s what I need from you.”
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of JJ’s hair behind his ear.
“I need honesty, always. If I start pushing too hard, I want you to stop me. You’re my anchor when my obsession spins out. And I need you to tell me when you’re scared or overwhelmed. I want to be your protector, but I have to know you’re safe inside your head.”
JJ swallowed, heart pounding. “I will. And I want you to know... I want to keep finding out about your darkness. I’m not afraid.”
Rafe’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “You’re everything, JJ. And that makes me both stronger and more dangerous. But I’m learning how to hold it together—for you.”
The room fell into a charged silence. JJ leaned forward, hand slipping into Rafe’s. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Rafe’s grip tightened, a promise and a warning in his eyes. “Always.”
The tension between them lingered as the evening deepened into night. Rafe’s fingers traced patterns on JJ’s hand, grounding himself in the reality of this fragile connection — a blend of darkness and tenderness neither had dared to fully embrace before.
JJ’s voice was low but steady. “I want to push boundaries with you, but I need to know you’ll listen when I say stop. That you want this to be safe for both of us.”
Rafe nodded, eyes intense. “That’s the only way it works. I’ve got demons, JJ, but I’m learning to channel them—let you into the chaos without breaking you.”
JJ smiled, the vulnerability in his eyes making Rafe’s chest tighten. “I want to explore all the parts of you. The scary ones and the soft ones.”
Rafe’s thumb brushed over JJ’s knuckles. “Then we take it slow, together. I want to show you things I never thought I could. But only if you’re ready.”
JJ’s gaze dropped shyly. “I am.”
They leaned in, a slow, tentative kiss sealing a pact of trust, obsession, and growing love — a promise that whatever darkness lay ahead, they’d face it side by side.
...
The small old house sat quiet in the foothills as late afternoon breeze blew through the worn curtains, casting long shadows across the cramped living room where Rafe sat hunched on the edge of the couch. His gaze was distant, eyes tracking the slow movements of dust motes in the air, but his mind was anything but still.
JJ was in the kitchen, humming low to himself while washing dishes, the familiar domestic sounds pulling Rafe back from the edge. He loved this—this normalcy, the soft rhythms of their shared life—but underneath it, the sharp thrum of possession and dark obsession refused to ease.
Since they’d moved here, since they’d carved out this fragile space apart from the island’s chaos, Rafe had kept his violent urges tightly contained. At the bar, he was the steady, watchful security guy, making sure no drunk redneck got too close to JJ. The occasional fights he broke up or started were the only outlets for the storm swirling inside.
But those moments weren’t enough.
He’d begun thinking about rules—lines JJ should never cross, consequences for when the world’s temptations pushed too close. Punishments that weren’t just about control, but about safety—for both of them.
Not the casual, teasing rules JJ already knew from their play. No, something darker, more serious. Something born from years of stalking, fear, and need.
But he hadn’t said a word. Not yet.
Rafe swallowed hard as JJ glanced over his shoulder and smiled, completely unaware of the dark thoughts swirling just beneath Rafe’s calm exterior.
“Hey,” JJ said softly, “you alright?”
Rafe forced a tight smile, nodded. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
JJ came over and sat beside him, fingers brushing Rafe’s wrist. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
That was what terrified Rafe most—letting JJ see the full scope of what he wanted, what he feared, what he was willing to do.
For now, though, the silence stretched between them, heavy and charged, as Rafe’s mind raced with plans he wasn’t sure he could voice.
Later that evening, at the bar
The place was packed with the usual mix of locals—some rough, some just looking to unwind—but Rafe’s eyes never left JJ. He stood behind the bar, easy going, flashing that dangerous smile that made his heart catch every damn time. JJ was in his element, charming the crowd, making the regulars laugh, sliding drinks across with effortless grace.
But Rafe’s attention wasn’t just on JJ’s charm.
It was on the way a few men lingered too long at the bar, the way their eyes flicked to JJ’s hips or his smile with something too eager and ugly underneath.
A group of rednecks near the dartboard caught Rafe’s gaze. One of them let out a low whistle as JJ moved past.
Rafe’s jaw clenched. He kept his hands loose at his sides but felt the familiar coil of dark possessiveness tighten in his chest.
When one of the men took a step forward, obviously about to say something, Rafe didn’t hesitate.
He moved forward, placing himself deliberately between JJ and the threat. His voice was low but cold, “Back off.”
The man sneered. “Relax, man. Just admiring the bartender.”
Rafe’s eyes burned. “You’re done here.”
The tension broke as Rafe’s imposing presence sent the drunks scurrying for their beers and their pride.
Back at the bar, JJ caught Rafe’s eye, nodding his thanks.
But inside, Rafe’s mind was elsewhere.
I need rules, he thought, boundaries that keep you safe but keep me from losing it.
Not just for the outside world—
But for you. For us.
He imagined things he hadn’t dared voice yet. Limits JJ would need to respect. Punishments for slipping—whether from recklessness or the world pushing its poison their way.
Maybe it’s about control, he thought bitterly, about taking the chaos and shaping it so it doesn’t swallow you.
Later, once they closed the bar, JJ caught Rafe’s quiet mood.
“You’ve been tense all night,” JJ said softly, setting down the last glass. “Want to talk?”
Rafe hesitated but felt the warmth in JJ’s eyes—the safety he had never known before.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rafe admitted, voice low, “about how to keep us… safe. How to keep myself from going too far.”
JJ’s fingers found Rafe’s hand, squeezing gently.
“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” JJ said. “We figure it out together, yeah?”
Rafe nodded, heart hammering. “There are rules I want to make. For us. Punishments too. But I don’t want to freak you out.”
JJ smiled, a hint of mischief dancing there. “I don’t scare easy. And you’re not exactly subtle.”
They laughed softly, the tension easing just a bit.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to JJ’s lips, thinking about all the ways he could protect and claim and care for this wild, fearless boy who’d stolen his heart.
Rafe had always thought obsession would feel frantic. Feral. Desperate and raw and clumsy. But this—this thing with JJ—was quieter than that. Still dangerous, still sharp beneath the surface, but settled too. Like something primal had finally curled up and gone to sleep in the centre of his chest, lulled by the sound of JJ’s voice in the other room, the scent of weed and lemon cleaner, the low crackle of a playlist on the Bluetooth speaker.
Their cabin in the foothills was never quiet for long, not with JJ clattering through it, talking back to the radio, throwing himself onto furniture like he didn’t have bones. But it was safe. More than Rafe had ever expected to have. And it was theirs.
He watched JJ now through the kitchen doorway. Shirtless, in a loose pair of sweats, bare feet tapping against the old hardwood as he wiped down the kitchen counter with slow, distracted circles. His tattoo had faded a little from the touch-up they’d gotten the week before, but Rafe could still see the cleaned-up lines and the ink that framed JJ’s chest like a secret. A secret Rafe would never stop reaching for.
The silver cuff around JJ’s wrist caught the light. Slim, discreet. Elegant in a way JJ would’ve mocked if Rafe had tried to give it to him a month ago. Inside the cuff—engraved just for them—were four simple letters: mine.
JJ hadn’t taken it off.
Rafe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the afternoon sun hitting the side of his face. He should’ve felt calm. Satisfied.
Instead, the hunger was back. Not the kind that begged to fuck JJ against the wall—not just that, anyway—but the kind that made his palms itch for control.
He’d let himself go soft, let the peace between them be enough. But every time JJ smirked at another customer or bent over in front of someone who wasn’t him, Rafe had to bite back the urge to mark him all over again. Not just sex. Ownership. Structure.
He needed rules. Needed to give JJ rules.
He hadn’t said anything. Not yet.
Because Rafe Cameron might be fucked in the head, but he wasn’t going to cage someone who didn’t want to be caught.
They’d worked the bar together that night. JJ behind it, charming for tips, pouring shots like he was daring the town to keep up with him. Rafe near the door, his usual post, arms folded and eyes scanning. Watching everything. Watching him.
The longer the night dragged on, the more tension built beneath Rafe’s skin. JJ laughed too freely at one guy’s joke. Got his fingers brushed when handing over a beer.
One of the local regulars—a wiry redneck with sun-scorched skin and a flannel tied around his waist—lingered too long by the taps, watching JJ move. When JJ turned away, the man made a quiet comment to his buddy Rafe didn’t catch, but the way they laughed made his jaw lock.
He barely restrained himself.
Just. Barely.
Back at the cabin, JJ kicked off his shoes by the door and stretched like a cat, spine arching, hair a mess. “Good shift,” he said, yawning. “Only had to throw out one asshole, and he almost pissed himself before you even touched him.”
Rafe was quiet. Watching.
JJ glanced over, blinking, then tilted his head. “What?”
Rafe stepped forward. “You wore the cuff.”
JJ looked down, turning his wrist to catch the light, the silver glinting. “Haven’t taken it off.”
“You remember what I said?”
JJ nodded. “Take it off when it stops being true.”
Rafe’s throat tightened. “Or when you need me to leave.”
JJ’s smile faded a little, softening into something quieter. “You think I don’t know what this is?” he said, stepping close. “I like being yours, Rafe. You don’t have to earn it every time I smile at someone.”
“That’s not—” Rafe stopped. Looked away. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” JJ leaned up, kissed the edge of his jaw. “I see it.”
“I think about rules sometimes,” Rafe said after a beat. “Not cages. Not chains. Just…structure. So I don’t lose my head.”
JJ’s mouth quirked. “Like what?”
“Things you can do. Or shouldn’t do. Punishments if you break them.” His voice stayed low. Controlled. “You wouldn’t have to say yes.”
JJ touched the cuff. “Try me.”
Rafe held his gaze. “No flirting at the bar. Not for tips. Not to piss me off. Not even to get a reaction. If someone touches you, you tell me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to know.”
JJ shivered.
Rafe’s eyes darkened. “You want more control?” he asked, stepping forward. “Give it to me. Let me handle the things that scare you. Let me protect you from yourself.”
JJ nodded slowly. “I trust you.”
Rafe’s hand brushed the side of JJ’s face. “Even when it gets dark?”
“Especially then.”
Later, after they’d smoked and fucked and curled into each other under a quilt with the windows cracked open to the night air, JJ lifted his hand and turned the silver cuff in the moonlight.
“Mine,” he murmured.
Rafe pulled him closer, burying his face in JJ’s neck, lips brushing over the pulse there like a vow. He’d never let anyone touch him the way JJ did. And he never would again.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not yet.
Tomorrow, he’d start writing those rules down. Quietly. Carefully.
Because if JJ wanted to belong to him, Rafe needed to figure out what it meant to deserve that.
And how not to destroy it in the process.
Rafe bought the bracelet on instinct. Sleek silver, barely thicker than a ring of wire, clean-lined and masculine enough that JJ wouldn’t roll his eyes. But it was the engraving that mattered.
Not on the outside.
Inside. Hidden, where it pressed against skin.
mine.
He didn’t say anything the night he gave it to JJ. Just slid the small black box across the table in the low light of their cabin, heart tight in his chest, ready for a joke, a smirk, or worse—discomfort. JJ opened it, thumbed it over once, then looked up at him with that wary, too-knowing gaze that always undid Rafe.
“What’s the catch?” JJ had asked, voice light but not joking.
Rafe hadn’t looked away. “Take it off if it stops being true. Or if you need me to back off. Or if you ever want out.”
JJ’s eyes softened. He hadn’t said anything—just unclasped it and slid it onto his wrist, where it stayed.
For days now.
JJ wore it behind the bar like a charm. Polished, unobtrusive, half the town probably thought it was something cheap from a tourist kiosk. But Rafe saw the way JJ looked at it when he was zoning out. The way he touched it when he thought no one was watching. Like it meant something. Like Rafe meant something.
It should’ve been enough.
But Rafe was starting to itch.
Not the wild, self-destructive kind of craving he’d known back on the island. This was slower. A stalking kind of want. The urge to shape something. Rein something in. Not out of fear, but because the idea of JJ being his still didn’t feel real unless it was enforced. Confirmed. Reaffirmed.
He didn’t want to cage him. He didn’t want to hurt him.
But Rafe knew himself. The longer he didn’t say anything, the worse it got.
He’d started writing it down in a notebook he kept tucked in the drawer beside their bed. Not rules, not yet. Just… thoughts.
No flirting for tips.
No wandering without texting.
Tell me if someone touches you.
Tell me if you want someone else to.
Punishment: spanking, proportionate to rule breaking
Permission = respect.
Submission = trust.
Safeword: your call.
He didn’t show JJ. He wasn’t ready. And part of him still hated that he needed this. That even now, months into something tender and raw and good, he still craved the power he used to fantasize about when JJ hated him.
They were curled on the couch after a long shift—JJ in his lap, shirtless, wrapped in Rafe’s flannel and smelling like lime and tobacco. The TV was on mute. JJ had half a joint in one hand and the other on the back of Rafe’s neck.
“I’ve been thinking,” JJ said, lazy and open. “About what I like.”
Rafe tensed under him. “Yeah?”
JJ looked up at him, eyes clearer now. “What about you?”
Rafe leaned his head back on the couch and exhaled. “You know what I used to think about. You’ve heard the worst of it.”
“Tell me again.”
He hesitated. “Hurting you. Back then, when I thought I could never have you. I used to imagine pinning you down. Making you take it. Not caring what you wanted. That’s what I was ashamed of.”
“And now?”
“Now?” Rafe met his eyes. “Now I want to fuck you until you cry—but only because you want me to. I want to make you feel everything I feel for you. Own you without ever taking away your choice.”
JJ was quiet. Then: “That bracelet? It already means more than a collar ever would.”
Rafe kissed the side of his head, lips brushing his temple. “I want to make rules. For us. For me. You don’t have to say yes.”
JJ blinked up at him. “Try me.”
Rafe’s breath caught.
“I’m yours,” JJ said softly. “You already know that. So use it. If it helps. If it makes you feel sane. We can talk about boundaries, we can stop anything, but I want to go deeper with you.”
He reached down, brushing the inside of his wrist. “Just keep this on me. And don’t let me forget what it means.”
Rafe closed his eyes.
Mine.
He’d been so afraid JJ would run if he ever knew the full truth of how dark it got inside him.
But here he was. Staying.
So maybe now it was time to see how far they could go—together.
Rafe left the notebook on the kitchen table like a coward.
Not handed over. Not read aloud. Just there, beside JJ’s half-eaten apple and his old Zippo lighter and the receipt from their last grocery run. Domestic camouflage for something he could barely name without swallowing the sick taste of fear.
He didn’t sleep. Just lay there in the dark with JJ’s warm weight beside him and every possible reaction crowding his chest like smoke.
Laughter. Disgust. Pity.
You’re insane.
This is too much.
This isn’t love.
When morning came, JJ was gone—off for his early shift—and the notebook was missing.
He came back that night loose-limbed and flushed from work, his hair damp from the walk home, smelling like whiskey and lime rinds and cigarettes. Rafe watched him like a man waiting for a blade.
JJ leaned over and kissed him. Light. Thoughtful. He pulled something from his jacket and dropped it on Rafe’s lap.
It was the notebook.
With a new page added in different handwriting.
Rafe blinked. JJ just walked past him, barefoot, into the kitchen. "Hope you weren’t too attached to being the only one with rules."
Later, on the couch, JJ sat beside him and stretched one arm lazily across Rafe’s shoulders. He looked tired and content. And—beneath it—bright with something dangerous and intimate.
“You okay?” JJ asked.
“Yeah,” Rafe said hoarsely. “I think.”
“Good.” JJ flipped the notebook open and turned it to the marked page. “I read yours. You’re terrifyingly thorough.”
Rafe said nothing.
JJ smirked, then sobered. “I liked it. A lot of it. Most of it. Some of it made me hard, some of it made me a little nervous. But in the good way.”
Rafe’s throat was dry. “And the rest?”
JJ looked up at him, and something sharpened in his expression. “Well. I had some additions.”
Rafe stared down at the paper.
JJ’s list was titled, in block capitals: “IF YOU WANT RULES, YOU GET RULES TOO.”
JJ’S RULES FOR RAFE
- No lying. About anything. Not your feelings, not your past, not your plans.
- No manipulation. That includes guilt trips, silent treatment, or withholding things just to get control.
- You tell me when your head gets too loud. I’m not a mind reader and I don’t want you to self-destruct just because you’re trying to protect me.
- No hurting people unless they’re a threat. I know it’s hard. We’ll work on it. But no rage spirals, no retribution beatdowns. (Bar fights don’t count if someone calls me a fag and spills my beer.)
- If you violate any of these—or any of my hard limits—you get punished.
Rafe felt his skin prickle. “Punished?”
JJ didn’t look away. “Yes. Submission is a two-way street.”
He reached beside the couch and pulled out a slim envelope.
Rafe opened it. A catalogue.
Adult toys. Dozens of pages. Most of it familiar. Some of it…
He blinked.
A few things were circled. Not randomly.
- Better lube (“we deserve good lube” was written in the margin).
- A set of vibrators, escalating in size.
- A leather strap.
- Nipple clamps.
- Wrist and ankle cuff sets.
- A thick cock ring.
- A silicone butt plug.
- A collapsible spreader bar.
In small, neat writing next to a cluster of the toys, JJ had written:
“When you break the rules, I want you to wear these. All of them. I’ll watch. You’ll ask before you come. You’ll say please. You’ll give me your body the way I give you mine. Not because I don’t trust you—but because I do.”
Rafe stared at the page. It took longer than he liked to speak.
“This is—”
JJ shifted, climbing into his lap without permission, without waiting, like they’d done this a thousand times.
“I’m not your property, Rafe,” he said quietly. “I chose to wear that bracelet. I chose you. But I’m not a toy. And if you want to get rougher, darker, if you want to own me on your terms—then you’re going to submit to mine.”
His mouth brushed Rafe’s jaw, a soft warm dare.
“Unless you’re scared.”
Rafe’s hands flexed on JJ’s thighs.
He wasn’t scared. Not of this.
He was in awe.
Later that night, when JJ was asleep, Rafe reread the list again, carefully, under the kitchen light. His hand trembled slightly, but the ache in his chest was different now—more pressure than pain. He added one more line to his own page, in dark ink.
- Obey his rules. Accept his punishments. Trust that submission isn’t weakness.
And when he climbed into bed beside JJ and wrapped an arm around his bare waist, he kissed the inside of his wrist—just above where the bracelet rested, cool and eternal.
Mine.
But also: his.
Chapter Text
It was too quiet. That was Rafe’s first clue.
JJ was doing dishes—which was already suspicious—but he was humming. Actually humming. Some dumb upbeat tune that didn’t fit the weather, the hour, or the tiny smirk playing on his mouth.
Rafe leaned against the cabin doorway, arms crossed. "You're plotting something."
JJ didn’t turn. "I'm washing your coffee cup, which I found in the bathroom, by the way. That’s not a war crime."
“You’re humming.”
JJ rinsed the mug and set it on the drying rack like he was in a detergent commercial. “You’re paranoid.”
“That’s not an answer.”
JJ finally turned, water dripping off his wrists, mouth curled like he’d already won something Rafe didn’t know he was competing for. “Maybe I’m just in love with my big scary boyfriend.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “You only say that when you're trying to distract me from something.”
“I say that because it’s true, asshole.”
Rafe crossed the kitchen in two steps and backed JJ up against the counter, hands braced on either side of him. JJ just looked up at him, grinning like the devil in a tee that said Spill Something On Me and Die.
Rafe tilted his head. “Tell me.”
JJ blinked all wide-eyed innocence. “Tell you what?”
“What you're waiting for.”
JJ bit his lip. "That’s a very broad question."
Rafe leaned in close. Nose against his temple. "I know you’re trying to bait me into punishing you.”
JJ gasped—not like a denial, more like arousal wrapped in mock horror. “Me? Bait you?”
Rafe growled low in his throat, nudging JJ’s head back by the chin. “You’re lucky the parcel hasn’t arrived yet.”
“I am lucky,” JJ said sweetly, pushing up on his toes to kiss the corner of Rafe’s mouth. “Which is why I’m on my best behaviour. I’ve been so good, haven’t I?”
Rafe snorted. “I give it three days.”
“Two,” JJ whispered, lips brushing his. “Max.”
Their days had started to settle into something that felt—if not normal—then at least liveable.
Work was steady. The bar gave them cash, a rhythm, a place to belong even if most of the locals gave Rafe a wide berth. JJ was adored, of course. Loud and fast with a bottle opener, sweet with the regulars, flirting just enough to earn tips without making Rafe homicidal.
And Rafe had found a strange sort of peace in looming.
Bouncer, security, whatever—they gave him the keys to the bar at closing and a paycheck to stand between JJ and the world. He didn’t need more than that.
They came home together almost every night. Cooked or didn’t. Smoked. Laughed. Fucked. Argued about who finished the almond milk. The kind of mundane shit Rafe never thought he’d have.
JJ still picked fights sometimes. Teasing ones. Sometimes it was bratty—snatching Rafe’s shirt off the floor and wearing it too loose and not asking permission. Sometimes it was emotional—pushing back on boundaries Rafe didn’t know he’d built, getting under his skin in a way only JJ could.
But lately, it was something else.
Measured.
Strategic.
JJ had been waiting for something. And Rafe knew exactly what.
“I circled stuff for a reason,” JJ said that night, barefoot on the couch, nursing a beer. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what you picked.”
Rafe didn’t look up from the stove. “You’ll find out soon.”
“Is it humiliating?”
“No.”
“Is it sexy?”
Rafe smirked. “You tell me after I use it.”
JJ groaned dramatically. “You’re such a bastard.”
Rafe turned, plating their food, and caught the flicker of anticipation JJ tried to hide behind his teasing. It made something warm twist low in his spine. Dangerous. Worshipful.
“You know,” JJ added after a minute, “when the parcel comes… I wanna drink with you. Put on porn. I have downloaded some spanking ones. Watch it together.”
Rafe raised a brow. “What for?”
“To show you what I like. See what you like. Share the remote.” He grinned again. “And maybe get my ass spanked for being mouthy.”
Rafe almost dropped the pan.
That night, after dinner and one long, hot joint, JJ curled up in Rafe’s lap on the worn armchair with a familiar kind of electricity in his limbs. They didn’t need to talk about it.
They were waiting.
For the box with JJ’s name on it. For the line they both knew they’d cross again, this time on purpose. For the rules they’d written to stop being words and start being real.
JJ kept shifting, pressing back against Rafe’s crotch every time he moved.
“You keep that up,” Rafe said roughly, “and I’m gonna start punishing you before the box even gets here.”
JJ just tilted his head, that golden surfer hair messy and falling into his eyes, and said—
“I dare you.”
The box was heavier than it looked.
JJ held it like a sacred object, stepping backward into the living room with reverence while Rafe locked the door behind him. The air shifted immediately—like they were both too aware of what was inside. What they’d been promising each other without saying it outright.
JJ set it on the table like he didn’t want to spook it.
“Drinks first,” he said. “I need you loose.”
Rafe arched a brow. JJ tossed him a beer. And smirked.
They didn’t open the box. Not yet. JJ was in no rush—not when he had something else on his mind first. He dug through their stash of downloaded porn and queued up the spanking video he’d picked.
The opening scene was cheesy: a guy mouthing off to his dom boyfriend, pushing just a little too far, bending over a couch with an exaggerated pout. JJ was already grinning.
Rafe, arms crossed, leaned back against the sofa, studying the scene like he was watching an instructional documentary.
“Okay,” JJ said, already half into his second drink, “I like that he pushes first. He wants to be punished. I get that.”
Rafe glanced sideways at him. “You are that.”
“Mm-hm,” JJ agreed. “Also into how long he’s made to wait. He’s all bratty until he realizes it’s real.”
Rafe nodded slowly. “So you like the mental part.”
JJ turned to face him fully on the couch, one leg tucked under him. “Yeah. I like knowing it’s for something. A reason. Even if I gave you the reason on purpose.”
Rafe’s jaw flexed. “So if you mouthed off too much at work—got in over your head—”
“—and you pulled me out back and bent me over your truck?” JJ cut in, eyes dark. “Yeah. That.”
Rafe stared at him, visibly swallowing.
On screen, the sub was squirming through a rhythm of hand slaps and paddle hits. JJ nudged closer, elbow brushing Rafe’s.
“You like this?” JJ asked.
“Yeah,” Rafe said quietly. “I like watching him learn what his limits are.”
JJ hummed. “Would you stop if he said no?”
Rafe looked at him then. Serious. “Yes. Always. But you already knew that.”
JJ nodded once. “Just checking.”
Rafe leaned in, brushing JJ’s hair back. “You know I used to fantasize about this. For years. You being mine. Pushing me on purpose just so I’d drag you into a dark room and—”
JJ kissed him before he could finish. Open-mouthed and deep.
When they broke apart, JJ whispered, “You don’t have to wait anymore.”
They didn’t make it through the whole video.
JJ didn’t need to. He’d gotten what he wanted—confirmation. Mutual interest. Permission. And now he was pressed against the kitchen table, palms down, jeans halfway off, and his own cock leaking against the wood.
“Say it,” Rafe growled behind him, breath hot against his spine. “Why are you getting punished?”
JJ gasped. “Because I was a brat.”
“For how long?”
JJ looked over his shoulder, flushed and grinning. “Days.”
Rafe’s hand came down sharp and satisfying.
JJ moaned, pushing back against it.
“You’ve been winding me up all week,” Rafe said, punctuating each word with another firm slap. “Acting like you didn’t want this. Like you weren’t begging for it.”
JJ’s voice was breathless. “I was.”
Another smack. Another moan. His legs were shaking and he didn’t care.
Rafe’s fingers slid between his cheeks then, slick from the bottle he’d grabbed earlier, and pushed inside without warning.
JJ nearly collapsed onto the table.
“Keep your hands flat,” Rafe ordered. “Take it.”
JJ whimpered—needy, messy, already leaking—and forced himself to obey.
Rafe kept him like that for what felt like forever. Fingering him slow and deep, spanking in rhythm when JJ started to wiggle too much, keeping him grounded and on edge.
When JJ came—groaning into the wood like he was dying—Rafe kissed the back of his neck and whispered, “That was the instructional session.”
JJ laughed, still panting. “What’s next?”
Rafe bit his ear gently. “We open the box.”
Later, sprawled across the floor with the flaps of the box open like treasure, they sorted through toys and gear like they were planning a heist.
JJ picked up the leather strap, running it through his fingers. “You’re glad I picked this, right?”
Rafe smirked. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
JJ held up the cock ring. “You gonna wear this for me next time you break my rules?”
Rafe raised a brow. “Only if you use those cuffs on me too.”
JJ’s eyes glittered.
“Deal.”
When they finally climbed into bed, JJ curled against Rafe’s chest like he always did. Sweaty, boneless, blissed out. But this time, with that glow in his eyes.
Rafe watched him, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.
“You know you’re mine,” he said.
JJ smiled lazily. “I like being yours.”
“And if it ever stops being true—”
JJ sat up suddenly, reaching toward Rafe and bringing his cuff to his lips.
“Not even close,” JJ said. “But if it ever is… you’ll be the first to know.”
Rafe didn’t respond with words.
He kissed him instead—hard and claiming—and whispered a promise into his mouth that wasn’t quite safe.
But JJ didn’t need safe.
He needed real.
JJ woke slowly, warm and drowsy, his thighs and ass aching in that deep, satisfied way that made him smile before he even opened his eyes.
He was sprawled face-down on their bed, tangled in the sheets like wreckage. Rafe wasn’t next to him, but he could hear movement from the kitchen—the scrape of a chair, the click of a lighter, a low, familiar hum.
JJ stretched lazily and winced when his muscles protested. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Yeah. That happened.
The bedroom door creaked open a moment later, and Rafe leaned against the frame, shirtless, holding a mug in one hand. He looked devastatingly satisfied—hair mussed, chest still scratched faintly from where JJ had clawed at him the night before.
“You look wrecked,” Rafe said, voice thick with pleasure. “You should see yourself.”
JJ flipped him off, face still half-buried in the pillow. “You’re the one did this to me!”
“Mm,” Rafe agreed. “And I’ll do it again, too,” he smirked.
He walked over, set the mug on the nightstand, and knelt beside the bed. His hand found the swell of JJ’s ass under the sheets and caressed it like he was checking on a bruise he was proud of.
“You were so good last night,” Rafe murmured. “All bent over the table for me, ass pink, squirming with my fingers inside you…”
JJ groaned. “You’re gonna make me late for work.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the part where you were gasping.”
JJ shoved at him, laughing. Rafe caught his wrist and kissed the inside of it.
“Seriously,” he said, quieter now. “You looked so fucking beautiful. I could barely breathe. All that trust in your face. Letting me… do that. Touch you like that.”
He trailed kisses along JJ’s shoulder. “Next time I’m taking a photo. Just for me. Just so I remember what it feels like to have you like that.”
JJ turned toward him, mouth soft and surprised. “You’re a sap when you’re horny.”
“I’m a monster when I’m horny,” Rafe said, grinning now, but he kissed JJ again like he meant it. “And I’m completely gone for you.”
They lingered like that a little longer—kissing, murmuring, JJ teasing Rafe by shifting just enough to stroke his half-hard cock under the sheet. Rafe groaned and tried to catch his hip, but JJ pulled away with a smug little smirk.
“You promised I could pick a toy tonight” JJ reminded him, pushing out of bed and stretching, stark naked and deliberately showy.
Rafe watched him like he was starving.
“You’re killing me.”
“Good.” JJ tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll go with the vibrating plug. Or that double-ended one you looked terrified of.”
“You’re evil.”
JJ just winked, pulling on his work clothes.
At the door, Rafe caught him again, this time with a kiss that melted from teasing to reverent in an instant—hands on JJ’s cheeks, breath warm, body humming with possessive devotion.
“I’ll be waiting for you until the end of your shift,” Rafe said low against his mouth. “And you can do whatever you want to me.”
JJ blinked, then gave a crooked grin. “Even the cock ring?”
Rafe made a pained sound. “Fucking brat. Get to work before I drag you back in here.”
JJ was still laughing as the door shut behind him, leaving Rafe in the quiet, half-hard and heady with everything they were becoming.
Chapter Text
JJ was floating.
Not the weed kind of floating, though he wouldn’t rule out a joint behind the bar later if Rafe didn’t show up early and drag him home by the waistband. This was the fucked-out, claimed, slightly sore but still smirking kind of floating that made him whistle while stocking the beer fridge and flirt twice as hard with the regulars.
“You in a good mood or something, sunshine?” Tammy asked from the other end of the bar, raising an eyebrow as JJ wiped down a row of freshly polished shot glasses with actual humming involved.
JJ shrugged, still grinning. “Let’s just say I had a great night and a better morning.”
He didn’t say I got my brains fucked out by my psycho ex-enemy turned boyfriend turned maybe-dom who fingered me half-sobbing over the table like I was a Sunday sermon, because even he knew that kind of confession might be too spicy for small-town gossip to absorb before lunch.
But he was having trouble keeping his mind out of the gutter.
Especially when his phone buzzed again.
Rafe: thinking about your thighs all pink again.
Rafe: wonder how long it would take to get you there with my hand this time.
Rafe: 10 minutes after close, you’re mine.
JJ choked on his water and dropped a glass into the sink.
“You good?” Tammy asked, squinting at him.
“Yeah, yeah—soap suds in my eye.”
He definitely did not tell her that Rafe was sexting him from somewhere on the street, because JJ had already seen that matte black Jeep roll past the front windows twice in the last hour. Slow. Like he was circling prey.
It wasn’t threatening—it was familiar. Intimate. Creepy if it were anyone else.
But with Rafe?
It was… comforting. Kind of hot.
Once upon a time, Rafe Cameron had followed him from school to the surf shop. Parked down the block from the Chateau. Showed up at bonfires and sat silently on the hood of his car watching JJ laugh with other Pogues, eyes heavy with something mean and wanting. Back then, JJ hadn’t known what to do with the weight of that attention.
Now?
He smiled to himself, wiping down the bar with a fresh towel and texting back:
JJ: you keep circling the block like that and people are gonna think you’re still stalking me
JJ: or worse, that you’re worried I’m gonna flirt with someone
Buzz.
Rafe: i am worried
Rafe: and i am stalking you
Rafe: wait til i get my hands on you tonight
JJ’s stomach flipped. He bit the inside of his cheek and quickly typed:
JJ: you say that like i’m not still deciding which one of us gets the toy tonight
No response for a few minutes. Then:
Rafe: which toy?
Rafe: wait. which TOY??
Rafe: what the fuck did you order, JJ
JJ nearly dropped his phone, laughing silently behind the bar while two dudes argued over pool in the back corner.
He hadn’t exactly told Rafe he’d added a couple of extra things to the toy order. A little variety. A little something to tease out the switchy power games they were still playing footsie with.
The cock ring was in there. The vibrating plug. A leather strap. A double-ended toy. Some lube with a “warming” label that JJ wasn’t entirely sure about, but was down to experiment with.
And some nipple clamps.
Maybe he’d try those on Rafe just to see if that perfectly composed psycho could beg for something that wasn’t JJ’s attention for once.
He texted back:
JJ: you’ll see
JJ: hope you’ve been good. if not, you’re getting cuffs and the ring
JJ: and no coming
Another few minutes passed. Then:
Rafe: you’re killing me
Rafe: that’s the entire fucking point, Maybanks
Rafe: and you’re gonna beg by the end of the night
JJ flushed, laughed, and then glanced down at the clock. Four hours left in his shift.
He was not going to survive four hours.
The door chimed. JJ looked up just in time to see the Jeep parked across the street again. Not even subtle anymore. Rafe didn’t get out. He just sat there in the driver's seat with sunglasses on, jaw clenched.
Watching.
JJ swore under his breath. His knees went weak.
Tammy walked by with a bucket of ice and gave him a weird look. “What is wrong with you today?”
JJ shot her a wink. “Nothing. Just... excited to get home.”
…..
Rafe
The package had come last night.
They’d torn it open together, grinning like little freaks on Christmas. JJ had perched on the couch half-buzzed and shirtless while they pulled each item out one by one, inspecting, teasing, imagining uses. JJ had flushed scarlet when he found the leather strap—something he had slipped into the order at the last minute. JJ had said he liked the idea of it, but wanted to “see how bad it stung” before committing. He was all cocky bravado until Rafe bent him over the armrest and smacked the cushion beside his ass with it, just to hear JJ yelp.
JJ picked a toy for tonight—didn’t say which one yet, just bit his lip and gave Rafe a look that made him want to chew through the couch.
And now Rafe was left to spend the next six hours in hell.
Or something worse: domestic limbo.
JJ had work. Rafe had the day off. He could have relaxed, smoked, gone for a run. Instead he stalked JJ.
He drove by twice and parked outside the bar once, just to get a glimpse through the windows. Just to see the flash of JJ’s hair, that cocky sway in his hips as he moved between customers, smiling at everyone, being fucking loved by the whole town. Rafe didn’t go in. He didn’t need to.
Seeing him was enough.
And it made him crazy.
At one point, he caught JJ glancing through the front window. Their eyes met. JJ grinned like he’d spotted a wild animal. Then turned away, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder with a little extra hip, just to make Rafe twitch.
Rafe drove straight to the pharmacy. Bought batteries. Hair clippers. A bottle of water he didn’t touch.
He drove home in a fugue, hands tight on the wheel, hard the whole time.
Back at the house, he laid the toys out on the bed—again. They’d already unpacked everything, already played with the plugs in their hands, already compared cock ring sizes like they were choosing outfits. But now?
Now Rafe was alone. And he needed to prepare.
He washed each toy methodically. Dried them with clean towels. Installed batteries with the focus of a surgeon, then tested the vibrators in his hand one at a time. Low buzz. Medium. High. The third one rattled his palm so hard he nearly dropped it. He chuckled, then swallowed hard, dick pressing painfully against his jeans.
He picked up the cuffs next.
Black leather. Lined. Buckled, not velcro. Quality shit. He slipped one over his wrist and cinched it, heart kicking like he was doing something illicit.
He added the second one.
Then he sat on the bed and breathed.
His phone buzzed.
JJ: i just served two guys who called me “babe” and left me quarters
JJ: if i call you sir tonight will you ruin me
Rafe let out a breath like a man punched in the gut.
Rafe: yes
Rafe: if you keep texting like this i’m gonna ruin myself
JJ: you better not
JJ: that ass is MINE
JJ: don’t make me punish you for wasting it
Rafe’s hand slipped to his waistband before he could stop himself.
He stared at the bed. At the toys. At the lube. At the cuffed wrists.
He got up.
Went to the mirror.
Looked at himself.
Then undressed.
By the time he was naked, hard, and strapped into both wrist cuffs, he was breathing like he’d run miles.
He lay back on the bed, grabbed the lube, and slicked himself with a hiss through his teeth. Closed his eyes. Imagined JJ leaning over him, tying those cuffs to the bed. Sliding a plug into him. Whispering "stay still."
He fisted his cock slow at first. Then faster. Wriggling the cuffs. Moaning out JJ’s name into the empty room.
He came harder than he had in weeks. Came shaking. Gasping. Fingers clenched so tight around his own wrist it left a mark.
When it was over, he lay there a long time.
Staring at the ceiling. Breathing. Sweating.
He didn’t uncuff himself right away.
Instead, he reached for his phone.
Rafe: jerked off with the cuffs on
Rafe: imagined you making me wait
Rafe: i’d do anything for you. anything.
Rafe: but next time… don’t make me do it alone
JJ didn’t reply for a minute.
Then:
JJ: fuck
JJ: can i say i love you
JJ: or will that make you explode
Rafe stared at the screen.
Smiled like a lunatic.
Rafe: say it when you’re fucking me
Rafe: and mean it
JJ: deal
JJ: wear the cuffs til i get home
………….
Rafe dropped the phone on the bed beside him, heart hammering.
He sat in silence for a moment, just… feeling. Cuffed. Vulnerable. Wanted.
Not wanted like someone you flirt with at a bar. Not even like someone you sneak around with behind closed doors.
Wanted like this. Like someone who had rules and power and plans for him. Like someone who said “wear the cuffs” and trusted he would.
And he would. He had.
Now he just had to get ready.
The shower was long and hot. He didn’t rush. He used JJ’s body wash—sandalwood and something faintly herbal—and made sure to clean every inch of himself like he was being inspected. Because he would be. Soon.
He dried off and clipped his nails. Shaved smooth and careful. He stared at his reflection and rubbed his jaw, then grabbed the clippers off the shelf.
He’d buzzed his hair shorter before, but this was something else. More severe. Controlled. Clean.
Guard 3.
He moved slowly, watching as the last messy, uneven strands of blond fell away, leaving sharp edges and tight lines. He liked the way it made him look—stripped back. Humbled. Like something you could sink your hands into and hold on.
He left the sink clean. Everything folded and tidy.
He paced the house barefoot with water still cooling on his skin, watching the clock tick toward 4:50.
Ten minutes.
He turned the heat on low. Just enough so JJ wouldn’t have to feel goosebumps the second he walked in.
Then he lit one candle.
Just one. Not for ambiance. For control. A flicker. Something to ground him.
The toys were already laid out—he couldn’t look at them for more than ten seconds without needing to sit down. Even now, from across the room, they felt like sacred objects.
The spreader bar gleamed under the low light.
The plug, quiet and terrifying.
The cock ring, still warm from where he'd palmed it earlier, turning it over and over like it held secrets.
The lube, cherry red bottle cap, slick and obvious.
He hadn’t added anything to the layout. No fluff. No distractions. JJ had a vision—Rafe was just making it real.
At 4:56, he closed the blinds halfway. Just enough to turn the room into a private little stage.
At 4:58, he walked back to the center of the lounge room, dropped his towel, and sank to his knees.
The rug was soft but thin, and he could feel the wood floor underneath. His thighs were already sore from the tension in them—spread wide, steady.
The cuffs were tight around his wrists, resting on his thighs. The inside leather was worn in just enough to feel like memory. He rolled his shoulders once, then straightened.
He faced the door.
Naked.
Exposed.
Every heartbeat louder than the last.
He could feel the weight of his cock resting heavy between his legs, already flushed with blood. Already leaking at the tip. He hadn’t touched himself since the text. Hadn’t dared.
This was what JJ wanted. “Wear the cuffs ‘til I get home.”
So he would.
And he’d stay like this.
Until the key hit the lock.
Until JJ walked in and saw what he’d made of him.
Until the man he loved took a look at him—stripped bare, still, obedient—and decided what happened next.
…
JJ took his time at the green grocer.
Not because he had to—he could’ve gone straight home. Straight to Rafe. But that was the point.
Let him wait.
Let him kneel.
Let him squirm in those cuffs like he said he would. Like he needed to.
JJ picked up a mango and turned it in his hand like it was something sacred. It was heavy, sun-warm through the skin, perfectly ripe. He imagined slicing it at the table while Rafe writhed in front of him, juice sticky down his fingers and chin, pretending not to notice his lover trembling under restraint.
JJ paid in cash and walked home slow.
But his heart wasn’t slow. It was hammering. Faster with every step toward the small house they shared, toward the window Rafe might already be watching from, toward the promise they’d made.
The moment he opened the door, his breath caught.
There he was.
Rafe. On his knees. Naked. Still cuffed. His body lean and shaking, buzzed hair sharp and fresh, skin flushed with tension and anticipation. Eyes locked on JJ like he might die if he blinked.
JJ didn’t speak.
He just blushed. Smirked. Nodded once. Dropped his keys by the table with the toys, exactly where Rafe could see them.
“Fuck,” JJ whispered. “Look at you.”
He moved slowly across the room and stroked a hand through Rafe’s shorter hair, fingers lingering. “I love it,” he murmured. “You look perfect. Coming home to this… to you like this…” He crouched, their faces inches apart. “It’s a dream.”
He kissed Rafe’s temple, soft and reverent, then stood and reached for the ankle cuffs and the steel spreader bar beside the toys.
Rafe was breathing so hard it made JJ’s chest ache.
JJ walked behind him, dropped to his knees, and gently brought Rafe’s arms behind his back, linking the wrists together in their soft restraint. He traced over the leather, fingertips brushing to the ends of Rafe’s fingers before continuing—down his ass, thighs, calves, slow and aching.
“What’s your safeword?” JJ whispered, voice thick.
Rafe swallowed. “Red.”
“Good,” JJ said, lips close to Rafe’s ear. “I’m going to use the bar now. I want you very still for me, okay?”
A shudder ran through Rafe as JJ wrapped the cuffs around each ankle, not tight, but secure. The metal bar clicked softly as JJ pushed Rafe’s knees apart and locked the bar in place, leaving his lover fully open, fully vulnerable, fully JJ’s.
JJ stood and walked a slow circle around him, admiring the tension in Rafe’s thighs, the arch of his spine, the flex of his restrained arms.
“Jesus Christ,” JJ breathed.
He crouched again and kissed Rafe deeply, groaning into it, both of them moaning, Rafe breaking into a desperate whimper when JJ pulled back.
JJ smiled. “Patience,” he said. “I want to look at you.”
He grabbed the lube, stroked Rafe’s cock once, slick and slow, just enough to make him twitch, and then fit the cock ring around the base.
“This okay?” JJ asked. “Not too tight?”
Rafe shook his head frantically, panting, trembling all at once.
JJ kissed him again. Deeper this time.
Then he got up, grabbed a chair from the kitchen, and sat a meter away. Just watching.
Rafe looked wrecked already. Kneeling, straining, eyes wide and dark and pleading.
He could feel everything: the pressure of his cuffs, the ache of the cock ring, the faint draft across his skin, JJ’s gaze dragging over every inch of him like flame.
And that was when it hit him—like lightning to the chest.
This is how JJ feels.
That consuming heat. The burn of being seen, watched, obsessed over. The thrill and fear of being helpless under someone’s attention, unable to hide a single thing. That raw, trembling exposure.
And JJ had lived with it for months.
Rafe’s throat clenched with sudden emotion, a stunned sense of awe and shame and love, all tangled together. He couldn't speak.
They stared at each other for minutes.
Then he broke.
“Please,” he whispered. “JJ—please, touch me. I need—anything. Please.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. “How do you want me to touch you, Rafe?”
“Anything,” he begged. “Anywhere. Just—please.”
JJ stood. “You asked for it.”
He picked up the vibrating plug, added lube, and gently pushed Rafe forward onto his chest. His ass lifted, open and waiting. JJ slid the plug in, slow and possessive, steady until it was seated deep, then helped Rafe back onto his knees. He firmly squeezed Rafes butt cheeks around the plug, and sucked softly on his neck for just a moment.
He turned the lowest vibration on.
Rafe whimpered, thighs shaking.
JJ grabbed the mango, sat again, and pulled out his pocket knife. Slowly, he sliced a piece. Then another. Ate them one by one while watching Rafe try and fail not to squirm.
“What are you doing?” Rafe gasped.
“Eating a mango,” JJ said. “What are you doing?”
Rafe growled, hips jerking under the plug and the cock ring, sweat on his skin.
“Want a taste?” JJ asked, slicing another piece.
Rafe nodded desperately.
JJ held it out on the knife tip and fed him.
Rafe took it with his teeth and almost sobbed.
JJ leaned in close, their breath mingling. “Lick the juice off my lips.”
Rafe obeyed. Mouth warm and soft and desperate. JJ let him work slow, then rough, holding still as Rafe licked his lips, his chin, tasting him like it might be the last time.
JJ reached down, finally, and let his hand travel up Rafe’s inner thigh. Soft at first. Tender. Reverent. He traced the line from thigh to sac, cupping Rafe’s balls in one hand, stroking the tight skin slowly with his thumb.
“Color?” JJ asked.
Rafe’s whole body shook. “Yellow.”
“Good,” JJ whispered, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Then, with the same slow patience, JJ carefully removed the cock ring, one hand holding Rafe’s cock at the base. And the second the pressure eased, the barest graze of JJ’s fingers sliding up the shaft—
Rafe came.
Loud. Unstoppable. Shaking and collapsing forward, gasping JJ’s name as his whole body convulsed, tears springing unbidden to his eyes.
JJ caught him.
Held him in both arms as best he could, still cuffed, still shaking, murmuring, “I love you. I love you. You’re everything. You’re beautiful. I’ve got you.”
He reached behind and turned the plug off.
Then, with slow, aching care, JJ unfastened every restraint. Removed the cuffs. Disconnected the bar. Gently took out the plug. Laid Rafe down on the rug, still breathless, and stroked his chest, his thighs, his hair, everywhere.
Loving every inch of him.
Letting him come down safe, wanted, cherished, his body not a weapon or a cage or a secret—but a gift JJ was grateful for.
Chapter Text
The rug was still warm beneath them, tangled limbs and leftover sweat, the dim light of the lounge casting them in soft amber glow.
JJ hadn’t let go of Rafe since he came apart in his arms—his body still pliant, heavy, breath slowing.
They lay in silence, Rafe naked against JJ’s clothed body, sharing the kind of quiet you only got after trust had been offered and taken and held with reverent care.
But Rafe was starting to shiver.
JJ stroked his hair back gently, kissed his temple. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”
Rafe made a low, satisfied sound and nodded without opening his eyes.
JJ helped him up, slow and careful, wrapping the throw blanket around his shoulders and guiding him to their bed. He laid him down like he was breakable, like something sacred. Rafe curled onto his side, watching JJ with dazed, devoted eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” JJ whispered.
Rafe didn’t ask where he was going. He just waited.
A few minutes later, JJ returned, bare-chested and grinning, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He climbed into bed and set them both down on the nightstand.
“For you,” he said, nudging the plate toward Rafe. “Least I could do after completely wrecking you.”
Rafe barked a laugh, rough and perfect. “You made me kneel and then edged me while eating fruit. A sandwich is barely compensation.”
“Damn. Tough crowd.”
They both laughed, tension breaking in the best way. Rafe sat up, still flushed and loose-limbed, and took the sandwich with a grin. “You made this?”
“Of course I did,” JJ said, mock-indignant. “That’s boyfriend shit. Now eat, king.”
Rafe groaned through the first bite, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re trying to make me fall more in love with you, huh?”
JJ leaned in, kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”
He slowly stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed with Rafe.
Rafe curled into JJ’s side, legs tangled under the blanket, belly full, skin warm and soft. The low light pooled in soft corners around them. JJ’s hand was in Rafe’s hair, stroking absentmindedly. Rafe’s palm lay flat over JJ’s heart.
JJ spoke first.
“I had no idea,” he murmured. “That it would feel like that.”
Rafe looked up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Me neither.”
JJ exhaled. “You were beautiful. You were so brave. I couldn’t stop looking at you. You made me feel like I could give you everything and still somehow be the one in control.”
Rafe blinked. His voice was quiet, awed. “You were in control. I’ve never seen you like that. It wasn’t—it wasn’t violent, or cold. You were calm. Gentle. But you had me totally. I’ve never—fuck, JJ, I didn’t know it could be like that.”
JJ ran a hand down Rafe’s arm. “I didn’t either.”
“I thought I’d have to make you fight me for it,” Rafe admitted. “Make you take it. But you just looked at me, and I—I wanted to give it.”
JJ turned onto his side, facing him fully, hand sliding up to cup Rafe’s jaw. “You did. You gave me everything, Rafe.”
Rafe closed his eyes at the touch. “It felt like I was offering myself up. Not like I was being used. Like I was being… held.”
JJ kissed him, soft and slow. “You were.”
They stayed like that for a long time, kissing between quiet words, murmured confessions trailing like silk in the dark.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” JJ whispered. “You on your knees with your wrists cuffed? You looked like something out of a dream.”
“I was dreaming,” Rafe said. “You walking around me. Watching. That chair—fuck. I finally get it.”
JJ tilted his head, questioning.
“The way you always freeze when I look at you,” Rafe murmured. “Like you can’t breathe. That’s how I felt. Like you were everywhere. In my lungs. In my chest. In my fucking skin.”
JJ swallowed hard. “You liked it?”
“I loved it.” Rafe touched his cheek, eyes intense. “I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
JJ kissed his palm. “You’re mine.”
Rafe nodded. “Yours.”
They kissed again. Soft. Heated. Building slowly.
JJ moaned quietly when Rafe’s hand slid down his stomach, fingers trailing over his waistband. “Rafe…”
“I want to make you feel like you made me feel,” Rafe whispered, kissing down his neck.
JJ let him. He lay back, trembling, breath catching in his throat as Rafe eased the blanket down and kissed across his ribs, his stomach, reverent and unhurried. His lips ghosted lower, his hands on JJ’s thighs, stroking the way JJ had done to him earlier—tender, controlled, almost worshipful.
JJ gasped when Rafe’s mouth found him. His hands fisted in the sheets.
He was so wound up—still riding the high of what they’d done, the image of Rafe kneeling, restrained, slick with lube and trembling—and now this, Rafe on his knees again but for him, only for him, eyes closed, face flushed, soft moans against his skin.
JJ shook. He held on as long as he could. But when Rafe reached up, cupped his balls, and stroked his thighs in that same devoted rhythm—he broke.
“Rafe—fuck—I’m—”
He came with a cry, hips stuttering, one hand in Rafe’s hair, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Rafe didn’t stop until he was done, then kissed the inside of his thigh with almost unbearable sweetness.
JJ pulled him up and crushed him into a kiss, gasping against his mouth.
“You’re… unreal,” he whispered. “You’re everything.”
Rafe smiled, lips swollen. “You too.”
JJ kissed him again and again. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “I am calling off work tomorrow. I am all yours. Whatever you want to do. Just—let me stay in bed with you. Kiss you until you start purring like a spoiled cat.”
Rafe snorted, then grinned. “You planning to worship me all over again?”
JJ smirked. “Whatever you want, Rafe.”
“Everything” Rafe said, without hesitation. “As long as you keep looking at me like that.”
They curled under the blankets. JJ kissed Rafe’s forehead. Rafe tangled their legs together and sighed, soft and sated.
It wasn’t about power. Or control. Or even the heat—though that still throbbed low between them.
It was about love. About awe. About seeing each other—truly—and still choosing more.
And tomorrow, they’d have all day.
………………………………………………………………
Rafe woke to the scent of frying butter and weed.
His limbs were still sore, used in the best way. Skin tender where JJ’s hands had gripped, where cuffs had held. Every ache made him smile.
He sat up slowly, already hard from nothing but memory, then padded barefoot toward the kitchen in nothing but a pair of JJ’s low-slung boxers. He found him shirtless, in sweatpants, spatula in one hand and joint in the other, humming off-key to whatever lo-fi track was coming through the Bluetooth speaker on the windowsill.
“You cleaned the toys,” Rafe said softly.
JJ glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Figured you’d be useless this morning.”
“Mm,” Rafe replied, wrapping himself around JJ from behind. He took the joint when it was offered, pulling a slow drag and holding it between his lips while kissing the back of JJ’s neck. “Domestic as fuck.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” Rafe murmured. “I love you.”
JJ froze for a second, then turned the heat off and twisted in his arms. “Hey. That’s cheating. You’re not allowed to say that when I’m cooking.”
Rafe’s grin was lazy and smug. “Guess you’ll just have to make me breakfast in bed next time. Since I’ll be incapacitated from love.”
They ate at the counter, passing the joint back and forth, legs brushing. JJ fed Rafe a bite of his own sandwich at one point and made a face. “Too much mustard?”
“Shut up. I like when you feed me like a spoiled cat.”
“You are a spoiled cat.”
“You’re the one who said you wanted to stay in bed all day and kiss me until I started purring.”
JJ flushed. “Still do.”
Rafe leaned closer. “But we stole a whole day. What do we want to do with it?”
JJ waggled his eyebrows. “Anal?”
Rafe snorted into his coffee. “What a romantic.”
JJ tapped the counter with a grin. “Okay. Serious suggestions only. I could tie you up again and tease you until you cry. Or we could try that new vibrating… whatever that spiky one was.”
Rafe’s eyes gleamed. “You mean the prostate claw?”
“Jesus, is that really what it’s called?”
Rafe just grinned wider.
“Okay. Your turn. What do you wanna do with our glorious stolen Thursday?”
“We haven’t seen much of the local woods yet,” Rafe said, casual.
JJ blinked. “That’s… not the direction I thought you were going.”
Rafe’s expression shifted, heat simmering underneath his half-smile. “I want to take you for a hike.”
“Uh huh,” JJ said slowly.
“I want to pack you a little bag. Water, a blanket, a joint, some protein bars.”
JJ waited.
“Some lube.”
There it was.
“Tell me more,” JJ said, heart starting to speed up.
“I want to give you a five-minute head start,” Rafe murmured. “And then I’m going to come find you. You remember what we talked about?”
JJ nodded. “We agreed that for any CNC, consent has to be verbal and confirmed. Pre-negotiated.”
“And that you can tap out at any time,” Rafe said. His voice dropped, husky and dark. “But I hope you don’t. Because dark Rafe wants to run today. He wants to hunt.”
JJ felt the chill up his spine, the pulse low in his gut. “Color?” Rafe asked.
JJ’s voice was hoarse. “Green.”
They packed quickly. Rafe handed JJ a light daypack and stuffed it with the essentials: water, protein bars, a blanket, the joint and lighter, and the little bottle of slick. JJ added a flask of whiskey.
They drove in silence except for the music, both charged with electric anticipation. Rafe parked near a secluded trailhead, gravel crunching under the tires. He cut the engine, turned, and locked the doors. His gaze pinned JJ in place.
“This is the last chance to say no,” Rafe said, deadly calm, pupils blown wide. “This only works if we both want it.”
JJ pulled the whiskey from the pack and took two big swallows. “You want me to run?”
“You’ve got five minutes, Maybank. Start running.”
JJ shoved the flask back into the bag and grinned, wide and wild and utterly alive. He opened the door, threw a look over his shoulder—Rafe, lounging in the seat, one knee cocked, a monster waiting to be unleashed—and then JJ bolted.
The woods swallowed him whole.
He ran hard. Fast. Heart pounding. The thrill hit him almost instantly, adrenaline tangling with anticipation and lust. He didn’t know when Rafe would come, didn’t know where, didn’t know how hard—but he knew it was happening.
Five minutes later, the car door slammed.
The chase had begun.
Chapter 18
Notes:
CNC scene is fully negotiated and safe within the story’s context.
This chapter is pure filth and full of feelings.
Chapter Text
JJ POV
The joint had mellowed his nerves, but not his pulse.
He could feel it in his neck, steady and deep and building with every inhale of mountain air. The forest around them was quiet, the narrow trail leading into the dark green unknown. Rafe sat in the car, arms crossed, jaw sharp, eyes unreadable—until he smiled. JJ had seen that look before. He'd seen it in the kitchen, right before Rafe dropped to his knees. He’d seen it in their bed, in those seconds between gentleness and something deeper. Hungrier.
This was that, unleashed.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Rafe said, voice low, dark. “Make it count.”
JJ had taken a final swig from the whiskey flask—burned his throat, steadied his breath. The canvas pack was light on his back: lube, water, a blanket, the joint they hadn’t finished. He didn’t need anything but the sound of Rafe’s voice, the thrill in his blood, the memory of last night. And the promise of what was coming.
He looked back once.
Rafe didn’t move.
JJ ran.
The trail narrowed fast, weaving between thick trunks and sloping terrain. His boots dug into the dirt, dry leaves kicking up behind him. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. The goal wasn’t escape. The goal was to make Rafe earn it. To give him a reason to hunt.
Branches whipped at his arms. His lungs burned. He reached a clearing, then ducked left, uphill, between moss-covered rocks. He counted time in heartbeats. Every crack of a twig or rustle of wind made him twitch. Was it Rafe? Not yet. Not yet.
He didn’t know what five minutes felt like anymore.
But eventually, he knew.
Because the forest changed.
The silence bent.
And somewhere behind him, Rafe began to move.
Rafe’s POV
The sound of the car door shutting was like a trigger pulled.
He sat there, still and smiling, counting to three hundred with the kind of obsessive precision JJ always teased him for. Five minutes. That was the deal. Rafe didn’t cheat. Not on this.
By the time he reached three hundred, the air tasted different. Sweeter. Charged.
He started walking.
Deliberate at first. Slow. Listening. Feeling.
JJ wasn’t loud—he was clever, fast, careful. But the forest wasn’t subtle, and Rafe knew him better than the trail. He could smell JJ’s sweat and pine on the breeze. Could imagine the flush on his skin, the way his pack bounced against his back, the way his cock probably pressed hard against the inside of his jeans.
Rafe’s boots barely made a sound.
He let the tension build. Savored it. Because this—this fantasy—had lived in his mind for years, long before he’d ever touched JJ. The chase. The power. The consent. The game. And now it was real, and JJ wanted it too.
He caught a flicker of movement through the trees—brown canvas and golden hair. Rafe’s grin widened.
He broke into a run.
JJ had no chance.
Not really.
He was quick, agile, desperate—but Rafe had a predator’s focus. Every noise narrowed his path, every snapped twig shortened the distance. Rafe ran harder, ducking under branches, leaping over roots, barely feeling the burn in his thighs.
Then—there.
A flash of JJ’s shoulder through a tight pass between rocks. Rafe veered off-trail, took the shortcut, burst through the tree line just as JJ glanced back and saw him.
JJ’s eyes went wide.
“Shit,” he gasped, and sprinted.
Rafe gave chase with a growl in his throat, half laugh, half snarl. JJ’s breath hitched ahead of him. The boy was panting, stumbling. He cut right through a dry creek bed. Rafe jumped down after him.
Twenty feet. Ten. Five.
JJ tripped. Just enough. Rafe was on him in a heartbeat.
He tackled JJ into the mossy earth with a thud, pinning him down, one hand gripping his wrists above his head, the other flattening him by the lower back.
JJ was gasping, grinning, flushed.
“Fuck,” he panted. “Took you long enough.”
Rafe snarled into his ear. “You want to be hunted, don’t fucking taunt the wolf.”
He grabbed JJ by the wrists and forced them behind his back, twisting just enough to make JJ suck in a breath—pleasure and pressure colliding. They wrestled for another moment, instinctively, testing strength and control. JJ bucked beneath him, biting his lip, but didn’t fight when Rafe shoved his face into the mossy forest floor.
Rafe was panting now too.
“You good?” he murmured, lips against the shell of JJ’s ear.
JJ nodded, breathless. “Green. So fucking green. Don’t stop.”
Rafe groaned. “Say it.”
JJ moaned. “I’m yours. Take me.”
And that was it. That was the switch.
Rafe shoved JJ down flat, yanked his pack off and rifled through it with shaking hands. He took out the lube and the blanket and dropped them beside them in the dirt, then flipped JJ over and pinned him by the throat, just hard enough to hold.
JJ blinked up at him, pupils blown, lips parted, hair damp from running.
“Look at you,” Rafe breathed. “You wanted this. All of this. Getting chased through the woods, tackled in the dirt like some—fucking prey animal. You love it, don’t you.”
JJ swallowed hard, nodding. His legs spread, just enough to offer.
Rafe growled low in his chest, kissing him hard—biting his bottom lip, then kissing again to soothe. “You asked for this,” he hissed. “You ran. You begged.”
“Still begging,” JJ whispered. “Do your worst.”
Rafe didn’t need more permission.
He tore at JJ’s belt, dragged his pants and boxers down to his knees, then opened the lube with shaking hands and slicked his fingers. He worked JJ open fast but careful, leaning over him the whole time, whispering filth in his ear: how tight he was, how hard he was going to take it, how he would never be able to escape him.
JJ whimpered and gasped, trembling from the inside out.
Rafe lined himself up, holding his cock in one hand, gripping JJ’s hip in the other.
“You ready for this?” Rafe asked.
JJ nodded frantically. “Yes. God, please—use me. Fuck me.”
“Tell me your color.”
“Green. Green, Rafe—please—!”
Rafe thrust inside.
JJ cried out—loud, shameless, back arching as his body took the stretch. Rafe swore and pressed in deeper, almost losing his mind at the heat, the slickness, the way JJ clung to him like he was made for it.
He fucked him hard. The way they’d planned. The way JJ wanted—brutal and focused, hips snapping, sweat slicking his chest. JJ clutched at the dirt, moaning, eyes glazed and jaw slack.
Rafe didn’t let up.
He fucked him like a storm, like a claim, low filthy words spilling out nonstop. He flipped JJ and held his head down with his hand fisted in his hair.
"“Feel that? That’s how deep I go when I don’t have to hold back. Take it, JJ. I’ll fuck you like this forever. You can run but I will always, always hunt you down. You’re mine—”
JJ was shaking beneath him, near tears from the intensity, and still begging.
When Rafe came, he didn’t even get a warning out—just shoved deep, growled like an animal, and filled him while his whole body trembled with it.
And JJ, sobbing through his own untouched orgasm, whispered, “I love you.”
………………………………………………………………….
The forest was still.
The birds had quieted, the wind gentled. JJ lay on his stomach, face pressed into the mossy earth, body aching and thrumming and utterly undone. Sweat cooled on his back in rivulets. His legs were trembling, spread open around Rafe, who hadn’t moved yet—still deep inside him, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. Which, to be fair, he kind of had.
JJ blinked against the dirt and moss, his lashes wet. His whole body hummed.
He felt raw. Exposed. Holy.
Rafe shifted behind him, slowly easing out, making a choked sound as he did. JJ shivered, the movement triggering a full-body twitch, overstimulated and dazed.
“Hey,” Rafe rasped, low and careful, hand already moving to JJ’s shoulder. “You good?”
JJ turned his face toward Rafe’s voice and nodded. “Yeah. Jesus, yeah.”
Rafe touched him then—not possessively, not like the predator he’d just played—but with reverence. His palm stroked over JJ’s bare back, then traced the line of his spine like he was memorizing it.
“That was…” Rafe began, then broke off, exhaling. “Are you okay?”
JJ smiled against the moss. “I think you broke me in half. But yeah. I’m okay.”
Rafe chuckled, low and rough. “God, you were perfect.”
JJ turned slowly onto his side, wincing, but grinning too. “You’re a fucking maniac. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I could tell,” Rafe murmured. “You shook so hard when you came I thought I’d short-circuited you.”
“Shut up,” JJ groaned, laughing. “You practically blacked out when I said I loved you.”
Rafe met his eyes then. Really looked. His pupils were still blown wide, but his expression was soft now—wrecked and open.
“I did,” he admitted. “You were saying it and I was—inside you and it just—fuck, JJ.”
JJ reached for him, tugged weakly until Rafe collapsed beside him, tucking their bodies together on the half-spread blanket. JJ pulled Rafe’s face into the crook of his neck and kissed the buzzed hair there. They lay tangled like that for a long time, breathing in sync.
The game was over.
They weren’t captor and prey anymore. Just two boys in the woods who’d trusted each other enough to give everything.
Rafe kissed JJ’s collarbone softly. “Do you want water?”
JJ nodded. “And a fuckin’ cigarette.”
Rafe grinned into his skin. “You say the sweetest things.”
He crawled over to JJ’s pack and rummaged, tossing him a bottle of water and fishing out the joint he’d tucked into the side pouch. He lit it, took a drag, and passed it over. JJ took a long hit, eyes closing, letting the mix of weed and endorphins smooth the frayed edges of his nerves.
After a few minutes of passing the joint and sharing the water bottle, JJ rolled onto his back, body sticky and marked up, but loose, humming with satisfaction.
“You really—” he started, then paused, blinking slowly. “Rafe, you really scared the shit out of me when you caught me. And it was the best fucking thing.”
Rafe’s expression flickered, cautious, searching. “Too far?”
JJ turned his head and met his eyes, serious. “No. It was perfect. You were perfect.”
Rafe looked like he might cry. Instead, he pressed a hand to JJ’s chest and said, softly, “You were mine.”
JJ nodded. “And you were mine. The whole way. Even when you were chasing me like some unhinged psycho—I knew it was you. I felt safe.”
That cracked something in Rafe. His face softened with awe, and he leaned in slowly, kissing JJ with a reverence that made JJ shiver. There was no frenzy now. Just warmth and worship.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever trusted me the way you do,” Rafe whispered.
JJ stroked his thumb over Rafe’s cheek. “No one’s ever earned it like you have.”
They kissed again—slow and deep and full of everything they didn’t have words for yet.
Eventually, Rafe helped JJ to his feet, careful, watching him for any winces. JJ groaned theatrically as he stretched. “Jesus. You’re lucky I don’t report you to park services for ruining me.”
Rafe slung an arm around his waist and kissed the side of his head. “You looked real un-ruined when you were sobbing on my cock.”
JJ elbowed him. “Romantic.”
“I try.”
They walked back to the car slow, hand in hand, JJ leaning into Rafe with every step.
By the time they buckled in and started the drive home, JJ was already planning what he was going to do to Rafe next. They had all day. They had each other.
And now they had something darker between them—mutual and thrilling, built on trust and fire. They were figuring out how far they could go, how much they could give.
And they’d barely started.
Chapter Text
They didn’t talk much on the drive home.
JJ had his bare feet on the dash, legs aching and slick with sweat and leaf litter. Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel, the other stretched across to hold JJ’s thigh like he couldn’t stop touching him. It wasn’t possessive this time—just gentle. Steadying. Reverent.
JJ’s muscles were sore in places he didn’t know had muscles. His chest still fluttered with the echoes of adrenaline, aftershocks of pleasure ghosting through his limbs. His ass hurt in a way that made him smirk, then wince.
“Next time,” JJ said hoarsely, “you’re the one who’s getting hunted.”
Rafe huffed a laugh. “I won’t run.”
JJ grinned at him, eyes half-lidded. “Then I’ll catch you real fast.”
By the time they got home, it was late afternoon. The air felt heavier here, like the world was softer inside their small shared house, made humid by their heat and history.
JJ didn’t even take off his shoes before shuffling to the kitchen, grabbing two tumblers and the bottle of cheap whiskey from the counter. He poured heavy, handing one glass to Rafe and clinking them together.
“To dark fantasies,” JJ said. “And shared delusions.”
Rafe looked at him, unsmiling, eyes too intense. “To you.”
JJ took a long swallow. “Jesus. You’re gonna make me cry.”
“I might,” Rafe said quietly. “You made me feel like I was… allowed.”
JJ blinked at him.
“Let’s get in the bath before I fucking collapse,” he said.
—
The tub wasn’t big, but they made it work.
JJ sat between Rafe’s legs, his back pressed to Rafe’s chest, the water hot enough to sting. Rafe’s arms wrapped around him like a second skin. The joint was perched in a soap dish, and the whiskey was on the floor beside them, the glasses now half-full. The heat was starting to help with the soreness, the dull ache in JJ’s thighs and shoulders easing in the steam.
He felt like a puddle.
Rafe was all over him—palms drifting slow, eyes closed, lips moving absently against the back of JJ’s neck like he couldn’t stop kissing him.
“Thank you,” Rafe whispered.
JJ hummed. “For what?”
“For letting me be that guy. The one I’ve always been afraid I was.”
JJ turned a little, enough to see him over his shoulder. Rafe’s face was flushed, wet, open.
“That was thrilling” JJ said. “You were fucking incredible. Hot as hell. The way you moved? The way you waited and let me choose? Rafe—”
He swallowed thickly.
“You made me feel wanted. Hunted. Not like prey. Like… something you couldn’t live without.”
Rafe looked like he might shatter.
“I used to jerk off thinking about that,” he admitted hoarsely. “You running. Me catching you. And every time I’d finish, I’d feel sick. Ashamed. I thought it made me dangerous. Like, sociopath dangerous.”
JJ leaned back and curled one hand around Rafe’s forearm, grounding him.
“You are dangerous,” he said softly. “But not because of that. Not with me. That was the safest I’ve ever felt doing something so… fucked.”
Rafe let out a long breath, his head falling back against the tile.
“I wanted to eat you alive,” he said.
“You did.”
JJ turned to face him fully, their knees brushing in the water. “And I loved it. I’m not pretending it wasn’t intense, or scary—but you never lost me. Not for a second.”
“I kept checking,” Rafe said. “Your eyes. Your voice. I was listening the whole time.”
“I know.” JJ reached for the joint, took a long drag, passed it back. “So stop spiralling and enjoy the bath.”
Rafe grinned weakly and kissed his wet shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
—
After the bath, they dried off slow, trading kisses between towel swipes. Rafe gently towelled JJ’s hair, whispered “beautiful” like it was a mantra. They took two ibuprofen each, shared a bite of peanut butter from the jar with the last banana, then Rafe made JJ sit on the bed while he inspected every inch of him.
There were faint bruises on his hips, some light scrapes from where he’d fallen in the woods, and pink-red chafing on his wrists from when Rafe had grabbed them to pin him down.
Rafe kissed each mark.
JJ rolled his eyes but smiled the whole time.
“I’m not made of glass,” he said.
“You’re mine,” Rafe answered simply. “So yeah. I’m checking.”
JJ reached for him when he was done, pulled him close, tangled their bodies together under the blanket. He was already half-asleep, body heavy and warm.
They didn’t talk much after that.
Just breathing. Just warmth.
JJ was almost gone when he felt Rafe shift down the bed and settle between his thighs. He blinked awake just as Rafe’s tongue licked a long, slow stripe up his cock.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “You don’t have to—”
Rafe looked up at him with fire and devotion in his eyes.
“I want to.”
JJ gave up fighting. He surrendered to the sensation, his fingers scraping across Rafe’s hair, his voice coming in soft moans and ragged whispers. He came embarrassingly fast, shuddering apart in Rafe’s mouth, whole body shaking.
Rafe kissed up his chest afterward and laid his head on JJ’s shoulder.
“Didn’t think you had that in you,” JJ muttered, dazed.
“I had to,” Rafe said with a smirk. “You made my sick little fantasy real. Least I could do.”
JJ kissed his temple. “You’re sick. And you’re mine.”
Rafe closed his eyes. “I love being yours.”
…………………………………………………
They were tangled under the sheets, JJ draped half over him like a living blanket. His hair was a wild blond mess, jaw slack in sleep, one hand curled possessively over Rafe’s heart like he was staking a claim in his dreams.
Rafe lay still and just… watched.
There’d been no arguments this week. No pretending. No pretending to not want, not feel, not need.
They'd crossed lines, broken open something dark and sacred between them. And now it was quiet. Friday morning. No adrenaline, no high. Just warm limbs, matching bruises, and the ache of tenderness humming under his skin.
He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to JJ’s hair.
JJ stirred but didn’t wake.
It wasn’t about sex. Not today.
Their bodies hurt—in the best way. And even more than the heat simmering quietly between them, there was awe.
They didn’t say that out loud, but it lingered in the air like smoke.
Between quiet grimaces and shared ibuprofen, between laughing about how sore JJ’s thighs were and how Rafe winced every time he stretched his shoulder, they moved slowly around each other. JJ shuffled around in one of Rafe’s oversized white tanks and nothing else. Rafe wore soft boxers and a hoodie with the sleeves cut off. They made scrambled eggs and dry toast, passed a joint back and forth in bed, the ceiling fan stirring the smoke into lazy spirals.
JJ half-watched an old episode of Survivor, too distracted by the way Rafe kept staring at him like he was some rare, half-feral animal that had wandered into his house and just—stayed.
“Stop it,” JJ muttered, cheeks faintly pink.
“Stop what?”
“That look.”
“I can’t.” Rafe leaned in and kissed his jaw. “You’re disgusting. I want to marry you.”
JJ choked on a laugh. “You’d be the worst husband.”
“You say that now. Wait until I file your taxes and keep the house stocked with mangoes.”
JJ grinned, shoving him lightly. “Psycho.”
“Yours.”
They didn't kiss again until they were both dressed and standing by the front door, finishing the last of the joint, keys in hand. The day had slipped by in golden waves, soft conversation and domestic nothingness.
Rafe turned to him, quiet. Something in his expression said I’ve never been this happy.
JJ leaned in without a word, brushing their lips together in a long, deliberate kiss. No tongue. No grabbing. Just that intimate press of mouths that said, Later. I want you again. And again.
They inhaled in sync. Then sighed.
The bar was already low-lit and humming when they walked in, warm with the smell of beer and damp concrete. Locals crowded into booths, pool balls clacked at the back, and someone fed cash into the jukebox, queuing up old country heartbreak songs like it was a personal crisis.
JJ went straight behind the bar. Rafe peeled off toward the entrance, taking up his usual post near the door like some kind of brutal cathedral statue—watchful, still, exuding something feral just under the surface.
It had become muscle memory now, how they moved around each other in this space. JJ pouring drinks, wiping the bar, laughing at tipsy jokes. Rafe keeping order, not speaking much, just nodding and narrowing his eyes when someone needed to back the fuck off.
But tonight—tonight was different.
Tonight, Rafe wasn’t watching the door.
He was watching him.
JJ could feel it like static under his skin. Every time he looked up from pouring a beer, every time he reached for a rag or bent to grab another bottle of vodka, Rafe was watching. Not in that angry, possessive way from when they first started figuring this shit out. No—this was quieter. Hungrier. Worshipful.
JJ flushed so hard he had to pretend it was from the broken A/C.
They hadn’t touched since leaving the house.
They hadn’t kissed since the door.
And that had been—what? Four hours ago? Rafe had said, No touching, no sex, and JJ had agreed, laughing, thinking it was a game. But now his chest ached with it. Now he couldn’t fucking breathe when Rafe stood across the bar, backlit by neon, arms crossed, jaw set, looking at JJ like he was something holy.
It was so much. Too much.
The first text came during JJ’s break, when he ducked out back into the alley for a smoke and some air.
Rafe: You’re glowing. Everyone can tell.
JJ huffed out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He leaned against the brick wall, dizzy from the week they'd had and the distance between them now.
JJ: That’s just my boyfriend leaking out of my pores.
Rafe: You’re mine.
JJ closed his eyes for a second. Just leaned his head back against the wall and breathed it in.
He wanted to run back inside and wrap himself around Rafe until they were one person.
JJ: Damn right I am.
JJ: What are you gonna do about it?
There was a long pause. A minute, maybe two. Then:
Rafe: …you’ll see.
JJ shivered.
God, he was so in love.
…….
Rafe
He didn’t need to fight anymore.
Not tonight. Not here. Not when JJ had let him do the things he’d only ever imagined in sick silence before this week—things too rough, too dark, too desperate. And instead of breaking under it, JJ had thrived.
Now Rafe stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, keeping an eye on the drunk regulars. But really, he only had eyes for one thing.
JJ.
He looked soft tonight. Soft and sharp, somehow—black jeans, a fitted tee, damp blond hair swept back at his temples. A bruise on his collarbone from Rafe’s teeth. A little bandage on his elbow from the forest floor.
Rafe's.
He didn’t need to shout it. Didn’t need to scare people off with snarls or cracked knuckles anymore. The room seemed to know. Even the ones who didn’t understand why—who didn’t know what JJ’s laugh sounded like with Rafe’s fingers inside him, or what his body looked like on the forest floor, shivering and smiling through it all—they still knew.
Because JJ glowed.
Because JJ moved like he was cherished. Touched. Owned.
Rafe stayed across the room and tried not to devour him with his eyes.
He failed.
He let himself fail.
It wasn’t until near midnight that he couldn’t help himself.
JJ bent to grab something from the lower shelf behind the bar, and Rafe moved. Silent. Unapologetic. Stepped in behind him—not touching, just there—his chest hovering inches from JJ’s back, his breath close to JJ’s neck.
JJ froze. Just slightly. Looked up through his lashes like he felt it before he saw it.
“Don’t,” JJ whispered. Not a protest. A warning. A please.
“I’m not touching you,” Rafe murmured, mouth so close his lips almost brushed JJ’s ear. “I’m just letting you feel me.”
JJ’s hand clenched around the bottle. His jaw flexed.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re behaving,” Rafe added, barely audible. And then he was gone.
JJ
The rest of the shift was a blur of wet glasses and pounding heartbeat.
He felt Rafe’s stare like a hand on his spine. Felt it crawl under his clothes and settle behind his ribs. His skin prickled with awareness every time someone leaned too far over the bar, got too friendly, made a joke they shouldn’t.
But Rafe didn’t move. Just watched. Just waited.
God, JJ was going to combust.
When the place finally cleared out and JJ was counting tips, he glanced at his phone.
Rafe: No sex.
JJ groaned.
JJ: You said that already.
Rafe: Just making sure you remember. You’re leaking want all over the floor.
JJ: You’re the worst.
Rafe: I’m yours.
JJ bit his lip, half-grinning like a lunatic, staring at the last message until it burned into the back of his eyes.
God, he loved him.
Not just the sex. Not just the violence or the games or the fantasies. He loved Rafe’s eyes. The broken way he smiled. The softness under the obsession. The ridiculous mangoes and stupid texts and the way he said mine like it meant something eternal.
He loved him.
And he was going to make him suffer for teasing like this.
All the way home, JJ plotted.
Chapter Text
JJ didn’t work Saturday night. But Rafe was on night shift.
He could’ve stayed home. Smoked a little, eaten leftovers, played Xbox, been normal for once.
He should’ve stayed home.
But that would've meant rest. Quiet. Boundaries.
And JJ was not in the mood for boundaries.
So instead, he dressed slow. Tight black jeans, soft t-shirt that clung to the parts of him he wanted noticed. A few bruises still high on his neck from the past two days—he didn’t try to hide them.
He knew what they meant.
He wanted Rafe to see them.
It wasn’t about sex tonight. Not exactly. But it was about control.
He walked to the bar with that steady heartbeat of anticipation low in his stomach. It was warm, just past dusk, the kind of night when people filled their lungs with weekend and didn’t know what to do with it.
JJ knew what he wanted to do with it.
Rafe was stationed inside the front door like always, tall and serious in that way that made guys stand up straighter and girls lower their eyes. But when he saw JJ, his posture didn’t change—his eyes did.
Heat. Focus. The kind of look that made JJ’s skin flush.
“Hey, baby,” JJ said, easy.
“You’re not working tonight,” Rafe said, flat.
“Nope.”
“Why are you here?”
JJ smiled. “I was bored.”
Rafe’s jaw worked.
“I walked here,” JJ added. “Which means I can drink.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re bratting.”
JJ tilted his head. “That a problem?”
Rafe stepped to the side. Let him in. Said nothing.
JJ sauntered past like he wasn’t dying inside from how good it felt to be seen like that. Wanted like that.
He made a beeline to the bar, ordered a vodka soda with lime, and perched on a stool like he had all the time in the world.
His phone buzzed once he was settled.
Rafe: Don’t start.
JJ: I already started.
JJ: I’ve been jerking off all evening. Without you.
JJ: Bet you could smell it on me if you got close enough.
He didn’t look up. Just smiled into his drink.
JJ: Remind me—what are the rules when punishment’s involved?
JJ: Just wondering how long I can keep edging before I break one.
There was a long pause.
Rafe: You’re digging your own grave.
JJ: But like. In a sexy way.
JJ: Also—does my butt look okay in these jeans? I couldn’t find clean underwear and I’m not sure if it shows.
He felt the stare from across the room before he saw it.
And when he did look up—yep.
Rafe’s expression was unreadable, but his fingers were tight around his water bottle.
JJ wiggled his eyebrows and texted one more time.
JJ: How many shots could I drink tonight before you get mad?
Rafe: One.
JJ: Kinda want to find out what happens at ten.
.........
He’d seen it coming the second JJ walked up.
There was a particular swing in his hips when he wanted to be punished. A fire under his skin that said make me. And tonight, it was all there. The eyes. The grin. The bait.
And Rafe couldn’t fucking touch him.
He was working. He was supposed to be neutral. Silent. Present.
But he kept watching. Couldn't stop.
The way JJ sipped his drink like it was laced with sin. The way he leaned on the bar and stretched, arms overhead, shirt riding up. That laugh he faked for the bartender’s joke just loud enough for Rafe to hear.
It was war.
And Rafe was losing.
JJ: It’s so hot in here. Think anyone would notice if I took my shirt off?
Rafe: You’re banned.
JJ: No you love it. You love me.
JJ: You’re obsessed with me.
JJ: You’re so fucked.
He was. Completely.
But he didn’t let it show.
Not when JJ sat with his legs wide. Not when he licked lime juice off his thumb and stared at Rafe like he was daring him to move. Not when he leaned in close to another guy just to ask where the bathroom was.
JJ ordered shot after shot and played pool with a local, laughing and cocky as he sank balls like it was his job.
Rafe didn’t storm over. Didn’t snap.
He waited.
Waited until the bar started to clear, until the volume dropped, until JJ took up space like the only real thing in the room.
That’s when the text came.
JJ: Ready to go home, baby. Gonna behave so good.
Liar.
But Rafe was already heading to the back exit, where JJ would meet him.
He didn’t say a word when he slid into the passenger seat.
Rafe didn’t either.
They just sat there for a minute, quiet, engine running, the heat between them almost funny in how intense it was.
JJ reached for the aux cord, casually.
Rafe grabbed his wrist.
Firm.
Still not looking at him.
JJ swallowed.
And smiled.
“I love you,” he said, soft.
Rafe’s thumb pressed once into his pulse point.
“I know,” he murmured. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said all that. But I know.”
………
JJ’s POV
He woke up with his face smashed into a pillow and the inside of his skull throbbing like it had been used as a drum.
“Ugh.”
His tongue felt dry. His spine ached. His limbs were lead.
He cracked one eye open. It was too bright.
“You’re alive,” came Rafe’s voice from somewhere near the door.
“Barely.”
“I figured. You didn’t hear me come in.”
JJ rolled over with a grunt and squinted at him. Rafe was shirtless in joggers, hair wet from a run or a shower, sipping black coffee like a smug bastard.
JJ groaned and dragged the covers over his head.
Then: a gentle clatter.
He peeked out again.
A plate. Eggs. Toast. A glass of water. Two ibuprofen set precisely on a folded napkin.
“I fucking love you,” JJ muttered, sitting up and grabbing the pills.
Rafe kissed the top of his head. “How many drinks did you have last night?”
JJ squinted. “Uhh…”
Rafe raised an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee.
JJ grinned through the pain. “Enough to piss you off.”
“Mm. True. But I’m not pissed.”
“No?”
“No,” Rafe said, brushing hair back from his forehead. “You’ll feel worse by this afternoon.”
JJ’s cock twitched. He pretended to cough to cover it.
Rafe noticed anyway.
“Eat your eggs,” he said softly. “You’ll need your strength.”
The shower was mercifully hot. Rafe joined him halfway through, quiet and unhurried. He washed JJ’s hair with slow fingers, worked conditioner in with such care that JJ’s eyes slipped shut on instinct.
There was no teasing yet. Just steadiness. Presence. Rafe doing what Rafe did best: taking him apart without even raising his voice.
After, he towelled JJ dry like he was delicate.
Inspected his body with a surgeon’s eye—pressing here, turning him there.
“Bruises from the forest look good,” Rafe murmured. “No damage from last time.”
JJ felt like jelly.
Rafe kissed the base of his spine and stepped back. “You’re in good shape to learn your lesson.”
They spent most of the late morning and early afternoon lounging.
JJ was still in a bratty mood, though the headache faded to a dull hum after another round of water and toast. He sprawled shirtless on the couch, legs over Rafe’s lap, flipping through a magazine he didn’t care about, occasionally tossing it aside just to watch Rafe retrieve it.
“Are you trying to annoy me?” Rafe asked mildly.
JJ grinned. “Am I succeeding?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
Rafe looked up slowly. “Go bend over the table.”
JJ’s breath hitched.
Rafe stood, calm as ever. Walked past him, to the bedroom. JJ obeyed.
The table was cold under his palms.
He waited.
Footsteps.
The low creak of a drawer.
Then: Rafe returning, placing two items gently on the surface in front of him.
The lube.
And the strap.
JJ’s breath caught.
“Do you know what happens next?” Rafe asked quietly, standing behind him.
JJ nodded.
“Say it.”
JJ swallowed. “You’re going to punish me.”
“For what?”
JJ inhaled. “For bratting all night. For drinking past your limit. For teasing you when you were trying to be good. For making it hard for you to behave at work.”
“Colour?”
“Green,” JJ said instantly. “So fucking green.”
“Good boy.” Rafe’s voice was velvet and fire. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re getting a warm-up with my hand. Then the strap. Ten. Slow. You don’t count. You just take it.”
JJ whimpered.
“But you get one choice,” Rafe continued. “What toy do I use on you after?”
JJ looked up at him, pupils wide, mouth dry. “The plug. The big one.”
Rafe nodded once, turned back to the bedroom, and returned with it. He handed it to JJ.
“Hold that.”
JJ gripped it in both hands, already shaking.
Rafe reached for the waistband of his sweats and pulled them down slowly. Then the boxers. JJ stepped out of them as the cold air kissed his skin.
“You know what this is?” Rafe murmured as he laid his palm on JJ’s bare ass.
JJ nodded, heart racing.
“Say it.”
“A gift,” JJ whispered.
“Good.”
And then Rafe began.
…………………………….
JJ was already trembling.
The table steadied him, hands flat, back arched just the way Rafe liked. His skin was flushed all down his spine, his ass bare and perfect—taut, round, marked faintly from their last scene, but healed.
Rafe ran one warm palm down the small of JJ’s back. Then over his ass, slow, fingers splayed. He gripped one cheek, kneaded lightly. The toy was still in JJ’s hands—his knuckles white around the base of it.
“You’re holding on,” Rafe murmured.
JJ nodded.
“Don’t let go until I say.”
“Yes, sir.”
The first slap was a test—Rafe’s palm landing flat, open-handed.
JJ gasped. His thighs clenched.
Good. Responsive. Waiting.
Rafe gave him five slow ones in a row, alternating cheeks, building heat. Just the sound of skin-on-skin filled the room—sharp cracks and JJ’s shallow breaths.
JJ shifted once, instinctively. Rafe stilled him with one hand.
“Stay where I put you.”
“Y-yes.”
He raised his hand again. The next round was harder—hard enough to draw noise.
JJ bit back a moan.
“Let me hear it,” Rafe said softly. “Don’t hide from me.”
Another smack.
JJ cried out this time, raw and open.
Rafe felt his own cock swell, thick and aching in his pants. He reached out, ran his fingers over the warm skin, now flushed a deep pink. JJ’s hips were twitching forward. His thighs had gone tight.
Ten with the hand. Enough for a warm-up.
Now—
Rafe reached for the strap.
It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t meant to be. This was discipline, not punishment. It was measured. Controlled. Felt deep.
“Ten,” he murmured, voice low.
JJ nodded.
“Colour?”
“Green, sir.”
The first stroke landed squarely across both cheeks. A flat thwack, sharp and immediate. JJ flinched. Let out a ragged moan.
Another one.
Then the third.
JJ’s legs were shaking. His breathing turned erratic, little gasps and grunts.
“Breathe for me,” Rafe said gently. “You’re doing so good.”
Number four and five landed lower. JJ’s hands scrabbled against the wood of the table, but he didn’t move out of position.
By six, he was whimpering into his forearm. The plug trembled in his grip but didn’t fall.
Seven. Eight.
“Almost there,” Rafe whispered, leaning in.
Nine landed hard.
Ten left JJ’s knees buckling.
“F-fuck,” JJ gasped.
Rafe caught his hips, steadied him. “Still with me?”
JJ nodded fast, panting. “Green. So fucking green.”
Rafe took the toy from his hand and kissed his shoulder.
“You did perfect.”
He unscrewed the cap of the lube with one hand, already slicking his fingers. He pushed JJ down flatter across the table, then kicked his feet wider apart with the toe of his sock.
JJ let him move him like a rag doll, submissive and melting.
The first press of Rafe’s lubed finger made him shiver. The second coaxed him open.
Rafe was hard enough to ache.
But this wasn’t about him. Not yet.
The plug was thick and heavy, cool to the touch. Rafe coated it generously.
“You ready?” he asked.
JJ nodded into the wood, hands gripping the far edge. “Yes, sir. Please.”
Rafe pushed.
Slowly. Firmly.
The plug stretched him inch by inch—Rafe holding him down with one hand between his shoulder blades, the other working the toy in.
JJ gasped. Moaned. Shook.
Rafe twisted it once before it sank fully inside.
JJ groaned deep.
Then Rafe clicked the base.
A faint hum.
JJ’s whole body twitched.
Rafe waited a moment—let the vibration buzz low, teasing. JJ’s muscles clenched involuntarily. His hips rolled against the table.
“You take it so well,” Rafe whispered, kissing the back of his neck. “So obedient. So fucking gorgeous like this.”
He turned the dial up one notch.
JJ sobbed.
Another.
His thighs trembled violently. “Sir—fuck—I can’t—”
“You can,” Rafe said. “You will. You’re mine.”
Another turn of the dial.
JJ cried out, nearly lifted onto his toes. His cock was trapped between his belly and the table, leaking, red and flushed.
His whole body was glistening with sweat. His fingers slapped at the table once. Twice.
Rafe watched him unravel, trembling, moaning, hips grinding uselessly. Every part of him on fire. Every nerve exposed.
And then JJ came.
No warning—just a desperate shout and full-body quake. His cock jerked against the wood, leaving a slick mess. His ass clenched around the plug like it was trying to drag it deeper.
Rafe was breathing so hard he almost blacked out.
He pressed a hand to JJ’s back. His pulled his aching cock out and ground against the curve of JJ’s punished ass once—twice—
The heat from his hot pink cheeks and the gasping noises JJ was still making nearly sent him over the edge, and with a few hard strokes, he came all over JJ's ass and thighs.
He sagged forward.
Both of them panting.
JJ still trembling, plugged, spent, stretched and quiet.
Rafe pressed his forehead to JJ’s spine. “Jesus.”
He stayed there, holding him, until the shaking slowed.
Then he carefully turned the plug off. Removed it with care. Kissed the small of JJ’s back as he eased it out.
JJ made a wrecked little noise.
“Shhh,” Rafe whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He cleaned them both with warm cloths from the bathroom, then lifted JJ in his arms, bridal-style, and carried him to bed.
Once there, he curled around him, pressing kisses to his shoulder, his neck, his temple.
He gently ghosted a soothing touch over JJ’s butt, his cool hands against warm pink skin.
“You okay?” he murmured.
JJ nodded. “Perfect.”
“You were perfect.”
JJ turned in his arms. Kissed him slow.
“I love you,” he whispered against his mouth.
Rafe closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. “I love you more. More than anything”
He tucked JJ in tight against his chest, both of them sore and floaty, and let the afterglow pull them into sleep.
Chapter Text
JJ woke up blinking slow, pupils still wide, face half-buried in the pillow.
“Fuck,” he croaked.
Rafe was already sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on JJ’s thigh, rubbing slow circles into sore muscle. “You alright?”
JJ groaned. Didn’t answer.
“You hurting or just dramatic?”
“Both,” JJ mumbled.
Rafe pulled the sheets down, inspected him carefully—no broken skin, no real bruising beyond what was supposed to be there. Some faint red marks across the curve of his ass, a little swelling at the top of his thighs, maybe a small welt near his hipbone that looked angrier than intended.
He’d held up well. No limping. No flinching. But Rafe knew that tension in his back wasn’t just sleepy soreness.
“Ibuprofen and water first,” Rafe said.
“And then?”
“If you’re still in pain after breakfast, I’ll give you something stronger.”
JJ tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“You want it?”
“Yeah.”
Rafe leaned over and kissed the back of his shoulder, then got up to make coffee.
When he came back, JJ was still in the same position, one arm flopped across the bed like he’d melted into it.
“Here.” Rafe held out the pills and the water. “Sit up.”
JJ obeyed, sluggish but trusting. He took the pills, drank deeply, and collapsed back against the headboard with a sigh. Rafe handed him a piece of toast and climbed into bed beside him with a mug of coffee in one hand and the little orange bottle in the other.
JJ watched him crack the bottle open. “You sure?”
“You’re not driving today.”
JJ raised a brow. “You gonna get high with me?”
Rafe gave him a long look. Then, wordlessly, popped a pill for himself and handed one over.
JJ took it reverently. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Maybe.” Rafe leaned back, swallowing his coffee, arm curled lazily behind JJ’s head. “Don’t get used to it.”
JJ bit into the toast. “Too late.”
They lay there for a while as the warm hum of the oxy settled in. JJ’s breathing evened out. His body relaxed like butter in the sun, stretching out beside Rafe, one leg draped across his lap, the plate of toast abandoned.
Rafe reached down and ran his hand up JJ’s shin, slow and absent, just to feel him.
“I like you better like this,” JJ murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Not all full of murder and violence.”
“I like you better when you’re not actively bratting your way toward a punishment.”
JJ grinned. “But I looked so good doing it.”
“You always look good.”
There was a beat. Then:
“You ever think about getting out of here?” JJ asked. “Like not the town, or maybe, but this house.”
Rafe hesitated. “Yeah.”
“I mean it’s fine. It’s kinda cozy. But also kinda small. No privacy. The neighbours are weird. It smells like weed and mildew half the time.”
Rafe smirked. “That’s you.”
“Fair,” JJ allowed. “But still.”
Rafe tilted his head. “What would you want instead?”
JJ blinked. Thought for a moment. “Big windows. Thick walls. Long-ass driveway so nobody can just show up. A big kitchen so I can pretend to learn how to cook for you. Maybe a shed I can fuck around in.”
“You want a shed?”
“Yeah,” JJ said seriously. “Like a work shed. Tools. Projects. Somewhere I can be loud.”
Rafe reached over, brushed his fingers through JJ’s hair. “I could get us that.”
JJ blinked. “What?”
Rafe shrugged. “Just saying. Wouldn’t be hard.”
JJ smiled a little too wide, like he didn’t know whether to believe him.
Rafe didn’t say anything else. Just kept looking at him like he was made of glass and sunshine and chaos all wrapped together.
Later, while JJ was in the shower—moving slowly but no longer wincing—Rafe sat on the bed and noticed a slim leather wallet dropped out of JJ’s jeans pocket on the floor.
He picked it up. Flipped it open absently.
There it was. The fake ID he knew JJ used to get into clubs last year.
The birthdate said October 2002.
Rafe scoffed. “Nice try.”
He pulled out the second card tucked behind it.
June 23rd, 2004.
Holy shit. That was coming up.
He tucked both IDs back in place and tossed the wallet aside, mind already moving.
A birthday.
JJ’s real birthday.
He didn’t want to make a fuss. Of course he didn’t. JJ was like that—shrugging off anything that made him the centre of attention. But Rafe knew better. He’d grown up with cake and money and new cars every year. JJ hadn’t. JJ probably thought he didn’t deserve anything.
Which meant Rafe had to get it exactly right.
He leaned back against the pillows, high and content, eyes half-closed. He could already see it.
A bike.
Something fast. Loud. Sleek. Dangerous.
Something JJ.
He didn’t know yet if he wanted one for himself too—so they could ride side by side, tear down the road together, wild and free—or if he’d rather sit behind JJ, arms wrapped tight around him, nose in his neck, breathing him in like the only thing keeping him tethered.
He’d decide soon.
Either way, he knew the only thing better than owning JJ’s body was giving him something that made him feel alive.
JJ emerged from the bathroom, towel around his hips, still damp, hair a mess.
“You look better,” Rafe said.
“I feel high.”
“You are.”
JJ flopped onto the bed, threw one leg over Rafe’s waist, and pressed their mouths together lazily. JJ grinned. “You do love me.”
Rafe kissed the corner of his mouth. “You don’t even know.”
JJ was melted into the couch, warm and weightless, a lazy stretch of bare skin and freckles and soft exhales. His thigh was pressed against the cushion like it had become part of it. All slow blinks and lazy fingers twitching in the loose hem of his shirt.
The second oxy had hit about forty minutes ago. Rafe could tell. The way JJ sighed when the last joint got passed back. The way he curled slightly in on himself—not from pain anymore, not really. Just from pleasure. From being still. From knowing Rafe was right there, just within reach.
They’d both taken one that morning. Not a habit, but a reward. A recovery. Rafe had inspected him earlier—eyes narrowed, hands sure. There was heat in the bruises, but nothing to worry about. His thighs were marked up, inside and out. His hole flushed and a little tender, but fine. Nothing needing repair. Just reverence.
“Good shape,” Rafe had murmured, running his fingers along the inside of JJ’s thigh, pressing in until JJ gasped.
Now JJ was sprawled across the living room like the world's most spoiled cat, bare feet twitching every now and then when a breeze rolled through the half-open window. Rafe, meanwhile, was glued to his laptop at the dining table, bent over the screen in boxers and a loose shirt, calculating.
His bank accounts. A few old holdings in his name. Some leftover trust bullshit Ward hadn’t touched. Two credit cards he barely used. An old offshore fund he could liquidate. Enough, if he got smart about it.
He wasn’t going to tell JJ anything yet.
Now he was sitting here, high and in love and half-hard for the future, bookmarking local real estate listings while JJ hummed softly under his breath to some forgotten rock song playing low from the speaker.
One tab over, Rafe had pulled up a bike rental shop tucked just past the edge of town—half trail-riding, half road-adventure, with decent enough machines to get a feel for fit and preference.
He already knew what he wanted to get JJ for his birthday. It wasn’t a surprise anymore—not to Rafe. Not since he’d watched JJ’s eyes light up that time they passed a matte black cafe racer parked outside the auto shop, and JJ had tilted his head and whispered, “I miss my dirt bike back on the Cut. It was the only thing that ever made me feel fast enough.”
He’d meant it. It had stuck.
So now the plan was quiet and simple. A date. A little recon. A few hours tearing up the mountainside roads, just the two of them, grinning into the wind. Rafe wanted to see him like that again. Light and laughing, throttle in hand.
He was going to watch how JJ rode, what he gravitated to. Aggressive lean or upright control. Heavy torque or something light he could throw around. He could find out his helmet, glove and jacket size. Then he’d figure out the rest.
Pick the bike. Pay for it in cash. Surprise him.
It would be the best kind of power: quiet, exact, and just for JJ.
“Babe,” came JJ’s voice, low and cotton-drowsy.
Rafe glanced up.
JJ hadn’t opened his eyes. He was just shifting, stretching, one arm tucked behind his head, his mouth sweet and half-ruined from smoking and kissing and talking all morning.
“Yeah?”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing.”
JJ smiled, lazy and knowing. “Liar.”
Rafe stood, walked over. Bent to press a kiss to JJ’s stomach, then slid down onto the couch beside him.
JJ didn’t move much, just lifted his arm enough to let Rafe settle, hip to belly, hands smoothing over bare skin.
“You feel good,” JJ mumbled.
“So do you.”
There was silence for a while.
Then: “You’re thinking hard.”
Rafe hummed. “About lunch.”
JJ swatted him weakly. “Liar.”
Rafe smiled against his skin. “About you, then.”
“Better.”
“Thinking about taking you up to the ridge this weekend.”
JJ blinked. “Yeah?”
“There’s a place. Rents out bikes for the day. Trails, switchbacks. Fast curves.”
JJ’s smile widened, teeth sharp now. “Bike date?!?”
“Yeah, if you aren’t too sore for it.”
JJ’s hand slid into Rafe’s hair, slow and affectionate, massaging gently behind his ear. “You’re the best.”
“You’re stoned.”
They lay there for a while, tangled up, dreaming.
Rafe’s eyes were half-closed, heart buzzing.
A shed. A yard. A machine JJ could ride.
Something he could build on. Something that kept him here.
A home.
Rafe didn’t say much on the drive out.
JJ had his bare feet up on the dash, sunglasses low on his nose, a faint smile tugging at his mouth like whatever dream he’d slipped into earlier hadn’t quite let go. He was loose in that beautiful, dangerous way—sore from the last few days, high enough to be quiet, soft enough to let Rafe guide the day without question.
They followed the winding road out of town, past broken fences and fields of wild fennel, up into the foothills where everything opened up—golden light on switchbacks, jagged cliffs with pine growing sideways out of stone.
Today wasn’t about sex. It was about remembering who JJ was before all the damage. About watching him light up, unchained. About the future—quietly building a picture JJ hadn’t seen yet.
The shop was small and the gear was standard—nothing special, nothing worth remembering except for sizing. Medium helmet. Slim-cut armoured jacket with extra stretch in the shoulders. Gloves one size down because JJ liked the tight fit, wanted to feel everything.
Rafe made mental notes. Brands. Cut. Preferences. He watched the way JJ tested the boots like he was born in them—light-footed, precise. He circled the bike they gave him, a little Honda trail bike, and ran his hand over the seat with reverence.
“Too tame?” Rafe asked, leaning on his own rental, taller and heavier.
JJ looked up at him, the sunlight catching in his hair. “Don’t need it to be wild. I’ll make it wild.”
And then they were gone.
The world blurred.
Dust and pine needles and the scent of eucalyptus, sweat under leather, the roar of the engines eating the curves. Rafe kept just behind him for a while, letting JJ take lead—watching the way he moved with the bike, leaning hard into every switchback like he trusted the ground to catch him.
God, he was beautiful.
And fast. He stood up on the pegs through the corners, flicked the throttle with the kind of confidence that could only come from having ridden since he was a kid. Rafe knew he was showing off, knew he was doing it for the look he’d catch in Rafe’s eyes every time he glanced back over his shoulder. JJ was laughing, full-body grinning when he hit the end of a straight and skidded just to feel it.
Rafe was hard and aching by the time they hit the peak.
They parked on a small overlook, both of them sweaty and flushed, adrenaline running hot. JJ ripped his helmet off and ran his fingers through his damp hair, then bolted for a boulder overlooking the drop, climbed it in three bounding steps, and shouted into the sky.
“I fucking missed this!” he yelled. “You see that valley?! I could live up here forever!”
Rafe just watched.
Breath caught in his throat. Something in his chest twisted, sharp and sweet. JJ didn’t even know how radiant he looked. Wind in his hair. Lips split with joy. Eyes alive in a way Rafe hadn’t seen in months.
And Rafe had done that.
He hadn’t just pulled him out of the Cut. He hadn’t just protected him. He’d given him this moment—wind and sky and speed. No fear. No rules. Just space.
JJ hopped down and jogged over, panting, grinning.
“You kept up,” he teased.
“Barely,” Rafe said, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re a menace.”
JJ shoved him lightly. “You love it.”
Rafe did. God, he did.
They took the long way down.
No rush. Just curve after curve, the engines thrumming like a pulse. JJ whooped every time he caught air. Rafe filed away every detail—bike size, seat height, grip preferences. He already knew which model he’d get. The CRF300L Rally. JJ needed something fast but light, made for rough terrain and long rides. Custom matte black finish. Dual headlights. Real power beneath that reckless smile.
On the way back into town, Rafe casually slowed the car as they passed two listings he’d saved.
JJ didn’t even notice.
He was slouched low in the passenger seat, shirt stuck to his chest with sweat, dirt smudged across his cheekbone, legs sprawled wide. Spent. Gorgeous. Mine.
Rafe glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and felt it again—that heavy pull in his chest.
He wanted to give JJ all of it. A real yard. A shed to tinker in. A home that didn’t feel like a borrowed hole in the wall. A life they’d built on purpose.
But for now, just the bike.
Just the freedom.
Just the boy grinning next to him, windblown and wild, unaware that Rafe had been building the rest of their life behind the scenes one obsessed breath at a time.
“Hey,” JJ said, soft, when the town came back into view. “Thanks for today. That was—fuck. I needed that.”
Rafe reached across the console and laced their fingers together.
“You have no idea,” he said, “how much I love watching you like that.”
JJ looked over, eyes soft, cheeks a little pink.
“Yeah?” he asked.
Rafe nodded. “Yeah.”
They didn’t need to say the rest. Not yet.
But it was already written all over them.
JJ left for work with his hoodie half-zipped, damp hair clinging to his temple, and the kind of kiss that tasted like promise. Quick, but not rushed. Like he wanted Rafe to remember it for hours—and Rafe would. Every single second.
He lingered at the door after it shut, staring at nothing, still catching the scent JJ left behind. Smoke and cedar shampoo. He reached for his coffee with a distracted hand, but didn’t drink it. Instead, he wandered back into the bedroom, still warm from JJ’s presence, still messy with the life they were building.
He’d never lived like this before. Not even close.
The cheap rental house wasn’t much. JJ had called it “small as hell but functional,” and they’d both agreed it was a stopgap—somewhere they could crash and hide and heal after leaving the Cut behind. But lately, JJ had started making little noises about wanting more.
A yard. A shed. Space for tools. Projects.
Freedom.
Rafe wanted to give him that. He wanted to give him everything.
He sat at the small desk they’d shoved in the corner of the bedroom and opened his laptop. The real estate page was still up from yesterday—bookmark tabs lining the top: listings with sheds, acreage, wraparound porches. He opened a few new ones, heart ticking faster with every decent find.
JJ had this way of turning everything into a dream worth chasing. He didn’t even mean to—but his throwaway comments stuck like splinters in Rafe’s chest. I’d fix that up. I’d build a deck here. You could get us a dog.
Rafe wanted to be the person who made that shit happen.
He opened a new tab and typed in the name of the motorcycle shop they’d gone to on their mountain ride.
It hadn’t even been a week, and he could still feel the vibration of the engine beneath them, JJ’s laughter ripping loose as they tore around curves and over summits. The way JJ looked in the rearview mirror—grinning, windblown, wild. Rafe had never seen him so free.
He’d paid close attention. To what JJ looked at. What he leaned toward. What he didn’t say.
Now, with JJ at work and the house quiet, he pulled up the model they’d circled back to twice—matte black, compact and mean, with torque that matched JJ’s style. Rafe saved the listing to his phone and scrolled to the gear section.
He didn’t want to buy the wrong thing.
Jacket? Not yet. He needed to get JJ’s sizing perfect—something that would hug his waist but leave room in the shoulders, built for speed but breathable for summer. Gloves. Helmet. Boots.
It was insane how aroused he got thinking about it. JJ in full gear, cocky and half-crazed with adrenaline, spinning around to straddle the bike like he was ready to drag Rafe into the woods again.
Rafe leaned back and let the image linger. Not just the sex. The trust. The power of it. JJ, laughing and alive and his.
He imagined handing him the keys on his birthday. Imagined JJ going speechless. Dropping the sarcasm for a minute. Maybe tearing up a little. Pretending he wasn’t.
Fuck. It made his chest ache.
The birthday was close now. Just under two weeks. Rafe hadn’t said a word about it again since finding his real ID, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about it either.
He wanted to get it right. The bike. The house. The words.
He opened another tab and started a blank document. No title. Just blank space. His fingers hovered over the keys.
It wasn’t the kind of thing he usually did. Writing down feelings. That had always been more Wheezie’s game, or Rose’s passive-aggressive Post-It notes.
But this wasn’t a performance.
This was for JJ.
He typed a sentence. Deleted it. Tried again.
Eventually he settled into a rhythm—not poetic, not polished, just raw honesty. The first time I saw you, I knew I was fucked. The way you looked at me like I wasn’t dangerous enough to be interesting. I wanted to scare you. Instead, you saved me.
It wasn’t finished. He didn’t know when it would be.
He worked for another hour, toggling between real estate listings and gear specs, a slow-burning sense of purpose building in his gut.
JJ didn’t know it yet—but Rafe was making plans.
Big ones.
And this time, he wasn’t letting himself fuck them up.
JJ didn’t suspect a thing.
They were in Rafe’s truck, sun hot on the dash, dust curling off the road as they coasted toward the edge of town. Rafe had said something casual earlier that morning—*“thought I’d show you something while we wait for lunch”—*and JJ, still barefoot and coffee-slow, had shrugged it off without asking questions.
Now they were parked in front of a house tucked off a dirt road, its weathered timber half-camouflaged behind tall gums. Big yard. Sloped hill out back. A tin shed leaned just off the house like it had always belonged there.
JJ leaned forward in his seat, squinting.
“What is this?”
Rafe kept his tone flat, like it didn’t matter. “Saw it online. Thought it looked cool.”
JJ turned his head, brow raised. “You been house hunting without me?”
“We’re just looking,” Rafe said, mouth twitching. “Come on.”
JJ still looked suspicious, but he opened the door.
The front gate had no lock. Just a real estate flyer laminated and nailed to the picket post: Take a Look Around. Call to Inquire. JJ flicked it once with the back of his hand, but he didn’t say anything as they walked up the path.
Inside, the house smelled like lemon polish and old timber. The walls had been painted recently, white but not sterile, and the hardwood floors were scuffed in a way that felt lived-in, not ruined.
JJ froze in the doorway. Not dramatically. Just… slowed.
Like he was seeing it.
Like he could feel it.
Rafe didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He watched JJ walk through the space with that wary kind of reverence he always had when he liked something more than he wanted to admit. He drifted toward the kitchen bench, ran his fingers along the countertop. Eyed the back window like he was already imagining it fogged up with steam, him inside, Rafe outside, or vice versa.
Rafe’s chest ached with how much he wanted him to have it.
In the master bedroom, JJ stood by the window and tipped his head. “We’d have to fix the light in here. It’s dim as fuck.”
Rafe hummed in agreement.
Outside, the shed made JJ whistle. “Damn. That’s solid. Real tin. Lockable. I could build out a bike in here.”
“You planning on finding one in your spare time?”
JJ grinned. “You never know.”
Rafe filed it away like everything else.
They ended up lingering longer than planned. JJ tested the swing in the backyard until it groaned under his weight, then wandered the yard barefoot, toes sinking into dry grass, shirt slung over his shoulder, sun painting him golden and half-wild.
When he turned around, Rafe was still watching him.
“What?” JJ called out.
Rafe shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Rafe smirked, but said nothing.
That night, after JJ fell asleep across the couch—legs sprawled, shirtless, half-buried in a knitted throw blanket he refused to admit he liked—Rafe opened his laptop in the dark.
He had two windows open already.
The first was a local real estate site. He bookmarked three new listings with decent sheds and better yard space, careful not to choose anything too suburban, too polished, too close to town. He didn’t want sidewalks and HOA notices.
He wanted JJ outside, shirtless, grease-streaked, building something real with his hands.
The second window was already a draft.
For JJ.
The letter he’d started the week before. No greeting. No sign-off. Just—
The first time I saw you, I knew I was fucked. The way you looked at me like I wasn’t dangerous enough to be interesting. I wanted to scare you. Instead, you saved me.
He’d stared at those lines for a week now. Sometimes deleting them. Sometimes rewriting them and putting them right back again.
Tonight, he added more. Then deleted three sentences that sounded too desperate.
He tried again.
You are the only thing that makes me want to stay alive and get better and build something that lasts. And I’ve never said it, but I think about it all the time. I think about a yard with bikes. I think about you lying in the sun like you did today, laughing, not worried about anything anymore.
He backspaced the last line.
Then started again.
Eventually, he stopped editing. Closed the laptop halfway and looked at JJ instead.
His boy was curled in sleep, mouth open a little, one hand curled under his jaw. He shifted once and made a noise in his throat that made Rafe’s pulse spike, stupid with love.
He was going to get him that bike.
The gear too, even if JJ pretended not to care. He wanted him protected, safe, confident. And when the right house showed up—the right yard, the right shed—he wouldn’t ask JJ twice. Just take him to see it and let him walk through it the way he did today.
He didn’t need a proposal or a contract or a speech.
He just needed JJ to feel it the same way he did.
Home.
Eventually.
Someday.
Soon.
Chapter Text
The tension started small. It always did.
JJ had been off for days—restless in a way that made Rafe’s skin itch. Not angry, exactly. Just quiet. Gone behind the eyes. Sitting on the back steps smoking in the dark without saying a word. Avoiding Rafe’s gaze in the mornings. Slipping into bed late, staying pressed to the edge like the sheets burned.
And Rafe, who’d once sworn he couldn’t be touched by anyone, now felt hollow from the lack of it.
He could feel something spiraling, but didn’t know what. Couldn’t fix it if he didn’t know what it was.
The birthday? Rafe didn’t know. JJ hadn’t talked to him about it. All he knew was the clock had changed somehow. That JJ was quieter, edgier. That they hadn’t laughed in days. That Rafe had woken up hard as stone three nights in a row, reaching instinctively for JJ, and found only the cool side of the bed.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t know how to ask without sounding weak.
And Rafe Cameron had never been good at weak.
—
Work didn’t help.
JJ worked the bar like he was born for it—quick with his hands, good with people, sometimes too good. Rafe hated the way the regulars leaned in too close, talked too long, brushed their hands over JJ’s as they took their beers. JJ didn’t flirt back, but he didn’t shut it down either. He’d always had that slippery charm that kept people orbiting.
Rafe had been watching too closely, and JJ had been… tense. Not his usual playful, teasing brat self—just brittle and tired.
So when JJ barked something sharp at him during a slow shift—something minor, something about the ice bucket and whose turn it was to restock it—Rafe didn’t take it well.
“You good?” Rafe said flatly, from his perch near the front door. He didn’t move, didn’t come closer.
JJ barely looked up from the tap. “Fine.”
“You’ve been biting everybody’s head off all week. Might wanna figure that out.”
“Oh, fuck off,” JJ muttered. “Maybe I’m tired of babysitting drunks and pretending I’m fine when I’m not. Ever think of that?”
“Then say it,” Rafe snapped. “Don’t take it out on me.”
JJ gave a bitter little laugh and turned back to his line of pint glasses. “Jesus. You think everything’s about you.”
Rafe stood up so fast his stool tipped. “Don’t talk to me like that in front of people.”
A couple at the bar looked over. JJ glared at them until they turned away.
Doreen, their manager, poked her head out of the office door. “Everything alright?”
“No,” Rafe said tightly. “It’s not.”
“You know what? Take five, both of you,” Doreen said, sighing like she’d seen this building all week.
But Rafe didn’t take five.
He rounded the bar instead, got too close, eyes locked on JJ like they were alone. “You wanna act like I’m the fucking problem, when you’re the one shutting me out?”
JJ looked up, jaw set. “Back off.”
“You been pulling away all week and now you’re trying to make me the asshole for noticing? Fuck that.”
Doreen stepped between them. “That’s enough.”
Rafe didn’t look at her. “You don’t want me to talk, fine. I’ll go.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Go home. And don’t come back.”
That got his attention. He finally looked at her.
“You’re firing me?”
“I told you three times to cool off, and you ignored me. You're supposed to be security. Not a fucking timebomb.”
Rafe laughed, bitter and ugly. “Good luck keeping this dump safe without me.”
JJ didn’t say a word.
—
He walked home alone, ten minutes after Rafe stormed out. Didn’t even glance at him in the parking lot.
That hurt worse than anything.
—
By the time JJ got home, the house was silent.
The bedroom door shut. JJ didn’t knock. He sat on the couch and stared at the wall for half an hour, heart jackhammering, guilt curdling in his gut.
Finally, he stood and went outside for a cigarette.
He didn’t expect to find Rafe in the car.
But there he was—in the dark, driver’s seat reclined slightly, one arm slung over his eyes. Breathing unsteady, shoulders heaving.
JJ climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door gently.
Rafe didn’t look at him.
JJ sat there in the silence until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been… not right lately. And I didn’t tell you why, and that’s on me.”
Rafe didn’t move, but his jaw clenched.
JJ exhaled. “My birthday’s in ten days.”
That made Rafe turn his head. Just a little.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I’ve never had a good one. Not once. Luke used to get meaner around it. And the Pogues… I don’t know. It just started to feel cursed. And now I’m here with you, and I should be happy, but—”
Rafe made a low sound. Not a word. Just pain.
“I don’t want to ruin this,” JJ whispered.
“You’re not,” Rafe said, voice cracked. “You didn’t.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just—when you stop talking to me, I go fucking insane. I think you’re gonna leave. I think I fucked it all up.”
JJ’s throat tightened. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You didn’t even look at me when you walked out.”
“I was embarrassed. Not by you—by me. I was being a dick. And now we’re both unemployed and in this house we hate and—fuck, Rafe. I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Silence.
Then: “Me neither.”
JJ reached for him. Rafe let him.
They stayed in the car a while, arms wrapped tight, both of them trembling like the fight had left them hollow.
—
Inside, they got drunk.
Whiskey. Fast and hard. No food. Just burn and heat and regret.
JJ took Rafe to bed like it meant something, because it did.
He stripped Rafe slowly, kissed the bruises of the day out of his mouth, pulled his hips down into the mattress and said, “Don’t move.”
Rafe didn’t.
The sex was rough and desperate—JJ fucking into him like he was trying to erase the world outside, hands bruising on Rafe’s thighs, lips harsh and hungry. Rafe took it with shaking breath and low moans, the sound of his surrender louder than words.
He clutched at JJ’s back when he came, choked and gasping, tears sliding hot down his temples. JJ came with a bitten-off groan, forehead pressed to Rafe’s shoulder.
After, they didn’t speak for a long time. Just lay tangled, ruined and real.
—
The next morning was pain and cottonmouth and weed on the porch.
Neither of them said the word “job.”
Neither said “birthday.”
JJ leaned into Rafe’s side and took the joint from his fingers.
Rafe stared out at the street and wondered if love was supposed to feel this sharp. This endless.
But when JJ exhaled and kissed his neck, Rafe thought maybe it didn’t matter.
Because they were still here.
Still together.
Still alive.
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
The week unraveled slowly—half in smoke, half in whiskey, all in heat.
They didn’t go anywhere. They didn’t need to.
No work. No shifts. No one else. Just the two of them, circling each other in the house like coiled fuse wire, trading fire and softness and everything in between.
Rafe couldn’t remember a time he’d felt less anchored—and yet, somehow, more full.
Most mornings blurred. Wake late. Smoke something. Scrounge food. Fuck around. Fuck, period. Some days it was quiet, soft. Some days, like Wednesday, JJ woke with a look in his eye that made Rafe’s blood fizz.
He didn’t speak much that morning. Just stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Rafe fold laundry shirtless in sweatpants, warm sun sliding through the blinds. JJ’s jaw was tense. His lip curled faintly, like the sight of Rafe calmly folding his underwear was either adorable or unforgivable.
“Problem?” Rafe asked, smirking without looking up.
JJ stepped closer. “Go put your hands on the bed.”
Rafe blinked. “Say that again?”
JJ didn’t repeat himself.
He didn’t have to.
Rafe obeyed.
The belt came off with a slow hiss—his own, pulled from JJ’s jeans—and the crack of leather made Rafe’s pulse leap before the first blow even landed.
“Colour.”
Rafe inhaled deeply. “Green.”
JJ didn’t go easy.
Five strokes. Measured. Deliberate. Each one harder than the last, snapping across Rafe’s ass and upper thighs. By the third, Rafe was hissing through his teeth. By the fifth, he was groaning against the sheets, cock hard, hips trembling with effort to stay still.
“You been looking at me all week like you’re waiting for punishment,” JJ muttered behind him, voice low, rough. “Now you got it.”
Rafe didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
JJ didn’t make him wait long. His hands were rough, familiar. The lube was cold. The plug slid in slowly, stretching Rafe open as he grit his teeth and buried his face in his arm.
“Good boy,” JJ whispered, twisting the base just slightly. “Breathe through it.”
Rafe moaned into the sheets.
JJ jerked him off rougher than he ever had before, unforgiving.
He barely remembered cumming—just the shaking, the twitch in his gut, the way JJ held him down with one hand flat on his lower back until it passed.
Rafe panted softly but didn't say anything to JJ after, stilling and folding in on himself.
Later, there’d be teeth on his neck. A slow fuck in the shower. JJ scraping his nails through Rafes hair while the water ran hot around their feet. But it was the belt that stayed with him longest—sharp heat blooming on his skin, bruises he could trace in the mirror like a secret.
By Thursday, they weren’t even pretending to keep a routine.
JJ had crashed out on the couch after breakfast—shirtless, curled on his side like a kicked dog with a joint between his fingers, still a little glassy from the oxy they’d split. Rafe sat nearby, laptop open on the kitchen table, bare feet on the chair opposite, letting tabs multiply like thoughts.
Real estate listings. Dozens.
He filtered by square footage, outdoor space, garages. He skipped anything that looked like it had been flipped for resale. He wanted history. Privacy. Somewhere JJ could tear through the grass shirtless on his birthday gift or wrench the guts out of an old dirt bike and not get a single complaint.
The bike was ordered. That part was done.
Now it was the gear.
He still hadn’t picked the jacket.
And the letter—
Rafe flipped tabs.
The document had no title. Just lines, paragraphs, broken things.
He read what he’d written the night before, frowning.
Sometimes I wonder if you knew the power you had over me when you first looked at me like I was something you could take. I think you did. I think you liked it.
Delete.
You make me want to stay alive. That’s not romantic, that’s just real.
He hesitated. Then bolded it. Maybe.
I’ve had dreams where we get old together and you still look at me like you’re hungry.
Delete.
Every time I hurt you and you stay, I fall harder. Every time you hurt me and then touch me like I’m still yours, I want to get on my knees and beg for forever.
His hand hovered. Then he highlighted it and left it there. Blue-lit and pulsing.
None of it was good enough. None of it said what he wanted to say.
He looked at JJ, still half-asleep on the couch, golden in the light, a bruise blooming at his collarbone from where Rafe had bitten him the night before after JJ used the vibrator on him—slow and relentless, teasing him with every setting until Rafe came shaking and clenching around nothing, just the ghost of pressure and JJ’s fingers pressing the vibe to the right spot.
JJ had whispered You like when I make you come without touching your cock?
Rafe still thought about that. All the time.
He closed the laptop.
Stood.
Walked to the couch and leaned over, brushing JJ’s hair back from his damp forehead.
“You awake?”
JJ hummed. “Mmm.”
“Wanna day drink and pretend we’re not both degenerates with no jobs?”
JJ cracked one eye open. “You buying?”
Rafe smiled. “Already did.”
……………………………………………………………………….
By late afternoon, the bottle was almost gone, and JJ was drunk in that mean, glassy way he got when too many feelings piled up and nowhere to put them.
He’d been sniping all day, not cruel, just slippery. Telling stories Rafe didn’t know. Dropping little landmines in their banter—references to the Cut, to John B, to things he didn’t say with warmth. Rafe didn’t take the bait. Not at first.
But when JJ made a crack about “You’re real cute when you’re not trying to boss me like I’m yours” after a third round, Rafe set his glass down hard enough to rattle the table.
“Alright,” he said evenly. “Time out.”
JJ looked over, lazy and half-smirking. “What?”
“You know what.” Rafe leaned back, arms folded. “We need to talk.”
JJ groaned. “Now?”
“Now.”
JJ dragged his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, okay. What about?”
Rafe met his eyes. “The belt.”
JJ stilled.
“The drinking,” Rafe added. “The way you’ve been… off.”
“I thought you liked it,” JJ said, eyes narrowed but not defensive yet. “You were hard as hell.”
“That’s not the point.” Rafe’s voice didn’t rise. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t prep me. You just—did it. That’s not how this works.”
JJ opened his mouth. Closed it. He looked away, jaw tight.
Rafe leaned forward. “I can take pain. For you? I’ll take a lot. But that—JJ, that wasn’t a scene. That was you lashing out. It felt like you wanted to hurt someone and I was just… close.”
JJ winced.
“And you didn’t safeword?” he muttered, quiet now.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Rafe said honestly. “Which is fucked. That’s why I’m bringing it up now.”
JJ exhaled through his nose. “You’re right.”
Rafe blinked.
JJ shook his head. “You’re fucking right, okay? That wasn’t planned. Wasn’t fair. I was pissed at the world and you were just—there. I crossed a line.”
Silence fell for a long moment. The whiskey caught in Rafe’s throat, all fire and ache.
JJ looked over, bleary but earnest. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” Rafe paused. “So what now?”
JJ chewed his lip. “You wanna take a break?”
“I think we both need one.”
JJ nodded slowly. “Okay. One more night. Then… cali sober.”
“Cali sober?” “Weed only”
Rafe lifted a brow. “You sure?”
JJ shrugged. “We’re not working. We’re not house hunting like we said we would. I’ve been a dick. We’re spiralling.”
Rafe let out a small, tired laugh. “You’ve been topping me for four days straight. I haven’t even seen your dick soft this week.”
JJ smiled faintly. “It’s a good dick.”
“It is. But my ass needs a break.”
JJ barked a laugh. “Fair.”
“No more toys,” Rafe said, lifting a finger. “Not for a while. I want our heads clear.”
“Except tonight?”
Rafe hesitated.
JJ sat forward. “One more night,” he said, quiet. “I want to be cuffed. I want you back in control.”
That hit something deep in Rafe’s chest.
JJ held his gaze. “Not rough. Just… real. Yours.”
“You never stopped being mine.”
JJ smiled. “Prove it.”
Later, Rafe lit a single candle in the bedroom.
The cuffs were already out—leather, soft-lined. He guided JJ to the bed with a touch to the small of his back. JJ went easily, stripped bare, half-hard already, breathing like he was trying not to fall apart before anything even started.
“You still sure?” Rafe murmured.
JJ nodded. “Tie me up.”
He did.
Wrists bound to the headboard. Ankles apart. JJ was flushed, golden with sun and whiskey and nerves.
Rafe didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to. Just let his hands run over JJ’s chest, his thighs, his hips, tracing every bruise, every shadow he’d left in the last week. He kissed his stomach. Bit his inner thigh. Took him into his mouth slowly, methodically, making JJ writhe and curse and beg.
JJ came once, panting. Rafe didn’t stop. Not right away.
He dragged it out—mouth and hands, heat and hunger, letting JJ feel everything without hiding.
When he finally let him go—untied his wrists, kissed his palms, curled up beside him—JJ just curled into his chest like he never wanted to move again.
“Still yours?” Rafe whispered.
JJ’s voice was hoarse. “Yeah. Always.”
The next morning, Rafe woke up early, groggy but clear-headed. The house smelled like sweat and sex and stale whiskey.
He padded out to the kitchen in boxers, made coffee, and opened his laptop.
The letter stared back at him.
You make me want to stay alive. That’s not romantic, that’s just real.
I’m scared of how much I love you. But I’m more scared of what I’d be without it.
He typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
The night you tied me up and told me to let go, I almost cried. I didn’t know anyone could make me feel safe while I was that wrecked. You did. You always do.
Then deleted that too.
Started again.
Eventually, he just stared at the blinking cursor, heart pounding.
Maybe he didn’t need it to be perfect.
Just true.
…………………………………………….
JJ POV
The cuffs were cold at first. Cold and final, the way JJ liked them.
He lay back as Rafe adjusted the straps, wrists drawn up to the headboard, legs spread open. His breath had already started to deepen—somewhere between nervous and starving. Every time they played like this, even gently, even after the mess of the week they’d just had, it hit him hard.
Because Rafe didn’t just tie him down. He unlocked something.
JJ bit the inside of his cheek as Rafe traced fingers up his thigh, deliberate and slow.
“Not rough,” JJ said, breath catching. “Just… real.”
“I know,” Rafe murmured, voice low and sharp. “You’re gonna take what I give you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
That should’ve made JJ laugh. It didn’t. It made his whole body go taut.
Rafe kissed down his chest, over his ribs, licking and biting at a bruise he'd left days ago. His hands roamed like he was cataloguing everything—every scratch, every ridge of bone, every inch of skin he'd memorized and still worshipped like it might disappear.
JJ’s cock throbbed against his stomach, but Rafe ignored it. For a while. Just ran his tongue down JJ’s hip, kissed the inside of his thigh, sucked a bruise there too—lazy and open-mouthed until JJ groaned and tugged uselessly at the cuffs.
He was already twitchy, sensitive from the week they’d had—Rafe letting him top, letting him push the boundaries. JJ had needed the control then. But now—
Now he wanted to be held down. Handled.
“You been thinking about this all week?” Rafe asked, nuzzling his hip.
JJ nodded, breath shallow. “Yeah.”
“I know. You’ve been wild. Reckless. Like you wanted someone to pull you back.”
JJ swallowed. “I did.”
Rafe reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock. “Then ask.”
“Please.”
“Louder.”
JJ gritted his teeth. “Please, Rafe—fuck—touch me.”
That earned him a sharp stroke, then a warm mouth. Rafe sucked him slow, with the kind of control that made JJ want to cry—just enough pressure, just enough speed. He edged him and backed off, worked him up with his hands, licked his slit until JJ was whining through his teeth.
He didn’t tease forever—just long enough to remind JJ who he belonged to.
And when JJ finally came, chest arched, thighs trembling, voice cracking on Rafe’s name—it felt like surrender.
Not defeat. Not shame.
Just trust.
The next morning was quiet.
JJ rolled over, rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and realized two things: one, the bed was empty and two, his head hurt.
Rafe was already up, making coffee, shirtless and slow-moving.
JJ padded in, stole a mug from the counter, and leaned against the fridge.
“Hey,” he said, voice gravelly.
Rafe looked over. “Hey.”
They stood in silence a beat. Rafe poured him a cup and handed him a joint without asking. JJ took it without speaking. It was… weirdly peaceful.
Like some kind of truce had settled between them overnight.
JJ rubbed his wrists absently. “I feel… weird.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Good weird?”
“I don’t know. Like I’m not drowning.”
Rafe smirked a little. “Cali sober’s a trip.”
JJ rolled his eyes but smiled, sipping the coffee.
They didn’t say anything more for a while. Just stood there in their boxers, quietly caffeinating, like they were pretending to be normal for once.
That afternoon, they got in the car and drove out past the edge of town.
Rafe didn’t say much, just fiddled with his phone, GPS humming softly as they turned off the main road and climbed a hill dotted with trees and dry brush.
JJ watched the landscape roll by—nothing like the Cut, no ocean, no salt in the air—but still beautiful in its own way. Scrappy. Alive.
“Where we going?” he finally asked.
Rafe just nodded ahead. “Thought you might wanna see something.”
JJ didn’t push. He liked surprises, when they came from Rafe.
The house looked like it had been built by someone with hands and hope instead of blueprints.
Not perfect, but proud.
It sat on a sloped stretch of land with tall trees around the back, enough shade to keep the air cool. Big porch out front—faded wood but solid bones. Wide steps. A swing (mercifully not a tire) creaked gently in the breeze, and JJ watched a lizard dart across one of the railing posts as he followed Rafe toward the door.
“This one’s different,” Rafe murmured as he unlocked it.
JJ raised a brow. “Different how?”
“You’ll see.”
Inside, the place had soul. Not fake soul—real shit.
Plaster walls, pale and textured. Old floorboards that moaned a little under their boots. The ceilings were high, not too high, and the windows weren’t cracked or barred or blocked by overgrowth. There were built-in shelves in the living room—deep ones, handmade, paint chipped in the corners. A wood-burning stove in the corner, maybe still functional.
JJ ran his hand along one of the doorframes. The wood was warm.
The kitchen had an old farmhouse sink and a big window over it. Outside that window was a short, terraced garden—bare soil now, but he could already see it. Tomatoes. Peppers. Herbs in old cracked mugs.
Rafe stood in the middle of the room watching JJ. Not the house—JJ.
JJ turned slowly and said, “This feels like somewhere you go after you’ve been through some shit. And you’re trying to build something better.”
Rafe blinked. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
They didn’t need to say more.
In the back room, the biggest bedroom had a narrow alcove JJ fell in love with instantly—a slanted window just wide enough for someone to sit under and write. Or smoke. Or zone out.
“I’d put a cushion here,” JJ said. “Some blankets. Stare out the window like I’m deep.”
Rafe laughed quietly behind him, low and fond.
JJ turned. “You like it?”
Rafe nodded, serious now. “I like seeing you in it.”
That would’ve made JJ flush, once. But he didn’t look away. Just walked over and pressed Rafe back against the wall.
Their mouths found each other easy. Not frantic this time—just warm. Confident. Familiar. Rafe’s hands on his hips, JJ’s tongue coaxing him slow. They kissed like they had time.
Like they had a hundred mornings ahead of them.
They didn’t fuck. They didn’t even take off shirts. JJ just held him there, heat pressed into heat, Rafe groaning softly into his mouth. And when they finally eased apart, JJ rested his forehead against Rafe’s and whispered, “This might be the one.”
Rafe nodded, swallowing hard. “I hope so.”
They drove home with the windows down. JJ rolled a joint and half-smoked it, boots on the dash, humming along to some old soul song Rafe had playing low. They were quiet, but it wasn’t tense.
It was the kind of silence that meant something had clicked.
At the house, Rafe pulled into the driveway and killed the engine but didn’t get out right away. JJ glanced at him.
“You good?”
Rafe kissed him once, quick and rough. Then: “I’ve gotta take care of something. Won’t be long.”
JJ eyed him suspiciously. “Shady.”
“Very shady.”
JJ watched him leave, half-smiling, then wandered back inside.
The afternoon air was soft, thick with the smell of grass and ocean and dust. JJ stood in the kitchen a while, staring out the window. Thinking about the house. About the way Rafe had looked at him in that bedroom.
His birthday was in two days.
He knew—knew—Rafe was planning something. The man couldn’t hide obsession if his life depended on it. But JJ wanted to do something, too. Something not expensive or flashy. Something that felt like him.
So he dragged an old wooden crate out of the closet, found some scraps of wood in the shed, and hauled everything onto the back porch.
He didn’t know what it would be yet—maybe a footstool, maybe a terrible excuse for a table—but it would be something Rafe could see every day. Something with crooked corners and thumbprints. Pogue hands on Kook ground.
He cut the boards with the cheap saw they’d stolen from the neighbor’s trash pile. Sanded it down just enough to keep Rafe from splinters. Found a chipped can of dark varnish under the stairs and started brushing.
There was music playing on his phone. Something mellow. He was high, but focused. The good kind.
When he was done, it wasn’t perfect.
But it was solid.
On the underside, he carved two initials—J + R—and a little crooked fish. Because Rafe still couldn’t catch shit, and JJ still thought that was hilarious.
Rafe didn’t come back until sundown.
JJ didn’t ask what he’d been doing. Just gave him a joint and leaned against him while they watched the last rays burn through the clouds.
Rafe kissed the top of his head.
“I missed you,” he said softly.
JJ hummed. “You were gone three hours.”
“Felt like longer.”
JJ closed his eyes. Let himself drift.
Neither of them said a word about birthdays. Or houses. Or how close they were getting to something that scared them both.
That could wait.
Tomorrow would be one day closer.
Chapter Text
June 23rd had arrived.
A joint sat rolled in the ashtray beside him. A cup of coffee was waiting.
“You’re already trying to get me high?” he called toward the kitchen.
Rafe reappeared, hair damp, dressed like he was ready for a date. “No ‘trying’ about it. Happy birthday, Maybanks. Get your fine ass up.”
They drove into town with the windows down, Rafe’s playlist low, the kind of morning that shimmered with quiet warmth. They ate breakfast in the corner booth of their favourite greasy spoon, and JJ ordered way too much food like he was stocking up for winter.
He was starting to feel... light.
Like maybe it was okay to like his birthday this year.
Like maybe this new life—stripped down, sunburnt, patched together with sex and stubborn love—was starting to feel real.
After they ate, Rafe drove them to a quiet lot just outside of town. There was a long shed tucked behind a row of pine trees, a gravel road winding up.
JJ frowned as they pulled in. “What is this?”
“Get out.”
“Are you gonna murder me and leave my body in the woods?”
“Later. Come on.”
He led JJ to the back of the shed and unlocked the door with a key he hadn’t mentioned before.
Inside, gleaming and perfect, sat the bike.
Midnight black, modified with JJ’s favourite specs. Sleek, powerful, just enough grit to still look like it belonged to a former Pogue with no formal education but way too much rage and charm.
The helmet—matte black with a red streak—sat on the seat.
JJ stared at it.
His whole body went still.
“You got me a fucking bike,” he whispered.
Rafe waited. “You like it?”
JJ didn’t answer.
He stepped forward slowly, touched the seat, the handlebar, the chrome.
Then he turned around, face wet, mouth twisted into a stunned half-laugh.
“I’ve wanted this since I was ten.”
“I know.”
“This is—this is like, more than—” He couldn’t even finish.
Rafe just pulled him close and held him. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”
JJ shoved him back, wiped his eyes furiously. “I gotta ride it.”
“Obviously.”
He climbed on, fired the engine—and Rafe swore the noise alone got him half-hard.
JJ grinned like a devil. “Race you home?”
“You can’t beat the Jeep.”
JJ gunned the throttle. “Wanna bet?”
JJ beat Rafe home by over a minute.
He was already parked in front of the house when the Jeep rolled up, engine cooling, helmet tucked under his arm like a trophy.
“Not even close,” JJ called, teeth bared in a feral grin. “What happened, Cameron? That rich-boy four-wheeler can’t keep up?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
He was too busy staring at him.
JJ was flushed from the wind, hair mussed from the helmet, his shirt sticking to his chest. Rafe’s stomach twisted with something between hunger and awe.
“You like it?” JJ asked, stepping forward.
“I want you to ride it naked,” Rafe muttered. “That’s how much I like it.”
JJ laughed, flushed even more. “C’mon. You said there was more?”
Rafe nodded toward the front door. “Inside. Go.”
JJ kicked the door open like he owned the place—he did, for all Rafe cared—and found it immediately.
Laid out on the couch, neatly folded, was the rest of the gear.
Padded riding pants, reinforced gloves, a Kevlar jacket with subtle red piping that matched the helmet stripe, and boots that looked like they belonged on a stunt rider in a film.
JJ froze.
“Rafe…”
“Try it on.”
JJ turned to look at him. “You serious?”
“Don’t make me beg.”
JJ shook his head, breathless. “You’re sick.”
“Show me.”
Rafe sat back in the armchair, legs spread, watching every move.
JJ stripped slowly—not to tease, but because he kept stopping to smile in disbelief. Shirt off first, then the jeans. His boxers hit the floor, and for a moment, Rafe forgot how to breathe.
“You gonna jerk off in the chair?” JJ muttered as he pulled the pants on.
“...I might.”
JJ laughed, then zipped up the jacket. By the time he’d finished lacing the boots, and slid into the gloves next, Rafe was rock hard and halfway out of the chair.
“You’re not even human,” Rafe said, voice wrecked. “You’re my fucking wet dream.”
JJ smirked and raised both arms. “Well? You gonna keep looking or—?”
Rafe was on him before he finished the sentence.
He backed JJ against the wall, dropped to his knees, unzipped just enough to get JJ’s cock out, and sucked him down with the kind of reverence that should’ve been illegal. The leather creaked as JJ braced himself, breath going ragged.
“Fuck, Rafe—”
Rafe’s hands gripped the gear around JJ’s hips like he’d die if he let go. He sucked him hard, fast, desperate, until JJ groaned and came down his throat, shuddering.
He hadn’t even taken the jacket off yet.
Rafe stood, eyes burning.
“Take it off.”
JJ peeled the gear off piece by piece again, this time with more purpose, until he was stripped bare and panting, flushed and loose-limbed and already hard again.
Rafe pulled him down onto the rug.
This time, there was no rush. Just skin against skin, kisses that left them shaking, Rafe taking his time, murmuring things too low and soft for JJ to understand—except he felt them anyway.
JJ let himself be held. Let himself be fucked slow and deep, no pain, no games, just closeness so thick it made his throat close up.
After, Rafe didn’t move. Just stayed inside him, one hand tangled in JJ’s hair.
“I love you,” he said, quiet and raw.
JJ kissed his shoulder. “Yeah. I know.”
They showered. Smoked. Ordered food and barely touched it.
When the sun dipped low, Rafe disappeared into the bedroom and came back with an envelope.
“I wasn’t gonna give you this yet,” he said, sitting on the edge of the couch. “But fuck it. You deserve all of it today.”
JJ raised a brow. “You wrote me something?”
Rafe nodded. “Letter. Not a card. You might hate it.”
JJ took it, surprisingly shy, and read in silence.
“The first time I saw you, I knew I was fucked.
The way you looked at me like I wasn’t dangerous enough to be interesting. I wanted to scare you. Instead, you saved me.
I used to think obsession was poison. That wanting someone too much would eat me alive. But you? You made it holy. You made it feel like survival.
You made it feel like home.
I think I knew, the first time you laughed and told me I wasn’t scary, that I was going to fall so hard I’d never get back up.
I hope I never do.”
JJ didn’t speak.
Just folded it carefully, like it was something sacred, and held it in both hands.
Rafe watched him nervously. “Too much?”
JJ shook his head. “Not even close.”
He kissed him again. This time, it didn’t go anywhere.
It didn’t have to.
Because for once in his life, JJ Maybank felt like someone had seen every part of him—loud, wild, soft, stupid, angry, loving—and decided to stay.
No matter what came next.
Chapter Text
The mornings were slower now.
Not soft, not lazy—just… clearer.
No whiskey haze. No staggering around the kitchen looking for painkillers. No clumsy, bruised sex that left them hollow even when it felt good.
JJ stood at the edge of the porch in just his sweatpants and a hoodie, barefoot on the worn boards, sipping black coffee from the chipped mug Rafe always used but had let him steal. The air was warm already, late morning creeping into something brighter.
Behind him, Rafe was on the phone—on hold again, probably. He’d been making calls all week, trying to sort out what kind of work either of them might get next. Nothing serious yet. No pressure. Just poking at the edges of the future, seeing what held.
JJ exhaled and rubbed at his jaw.
He wasn’t mad anymore. That was the weird part. The weight that had hung off his chest for weeks—about his birthday, about the Pogues, about being poor and angry and scared—had lifted.
Rafe had shown up for him.
In every way that mattered.
He still had the helmet on the table inside. Still had the love letter folded under the ashtray. He hadn’t touched either today. Didn’t need to.
Because Rafe was in the kitchen right now, still shirtless, still mumbling curse words at customer service.
Because they were figuring it out.
JJ stepped back inside, past the doorway where the sunlight hit the hardwood like gold.
“You’re still on hold?”
Rafe turned, phone between his ear and shoulder, hands busy making toast. “Yeah. Apparently if you want to become a motorcycle safety instructor, you need to talk to four different departments and none of them speak to each other.”
JJ raised a brow. “You’re actually doing it?”
Rafe shrugged like it was no big deal. “I got the license. Might as well use it.”
JJ blinked. “That’s kinda hot.”
Rafe grinned. “You better still think that when I’m lecturing you on defensive riding and proper braking technique.”
“You can give me a riding lesson any time, pretty boy.”
“Not yet,” Rafe reminded him, voice going low and suggestive, but not hungry. “We’re on kink hiatus, remember?”
JJ gave him a look. “That doesn’t mean I can’t flirt.”
The toast popped. Rafe pulled it out, still holding the phone to his ear, slathered it with peanut butter and set it in front of JJ without asking.
It was such a quiet, domestic thing. JJ stared at the plate a second too long.
“You okay?” Rafe asked.
JJ nodded. “Yeah. I just… feel like I haven’t been in my own head in weeks.”
Rafe slid the phone away and finally hung up. Walked over to him. Rested his hands on JJ’s hips. “You’re here now.”
JJ leaned into him, burying his face in Rafe’s neck. “I missed us.”
Rafe’s voice was quiet. “Me too.”
They stayed like that for a long moment. Just breathing.
They took the Jeep out that afternoon, just driving. No plans. No job interviews. No house showings.
“We still want to live here?” JJ asked as they crested a hill looking out over the town.
Rafe didn’t answer right away.
“I like the weather,” he said eventually.
“That’s not a reason to stay.”
Rafe drummed his fingers on the wheel. “It’s not not a reason.”
JJ looked out the window. “I think I just wanted somewhere to crash after everything. Not sure this was ever meant to be the end.”
“You saying you want to leave?”
“I’m saying maybe we should think bigger.”
Rafe didn’t reply. But JJ saw his jaw flex, eyes fixed on the road like it was holding answers.
They didn’t say anything else for a while.
Later, back home, they cleaned the kitchen together. Then the bathroom. Then the weird mouldy corner of the laundry where a mop had rotted through the wallboard.
Not exactly romantic. But it felt good. Real. Normal.
Like they were making space for something new.
When the sun started to set, Rafe lit a joint and handed it to JJ before flopping onto the couch beside him. JJ stretched his legs across Rafe’s lap and took a long hit.
“We should maybe start looking online,” JJ said. “If we wanna move somewhere else.”
“Yeah?”
JJ passed him the joint. “We could start fresh. Get something better than this dump.”
“We already got something better,” Rafe said, not looking at the house.
JJ smiled. “You’re a fucking sap.”
Rafe grinned through the smoke. “You love it.”
“I really fucking do.”
They didn’t have sex that night.
They didn’t even jerk off.
JJ fell asleep curled around Rafe like a vine. And Rafe just held him, fingers running up and down JJ’s spine in soft, endless loops.
For the first time in weeks, sleep came easy.
………………………………………………………………………..
The dealership was ugly. The kind of roadside cinderblock box that smelled like burnt rubber and bad coffee. But Rafe didn't give a shit. He wasn’t there for the ambiance.
He was there for freedom.
“Jesus,” JJ muttered, pulling off his sunglasses as they stepped inside. “Smells like midlife crisis in here.”
Rafe barely heard him. He was already walking toward the back row, drawn like a magnet. Black. Minimalist. Built for speed and control. A Yamaha XSR700. He didn't smile, but his jaw set hard. That meant he was in love.
JJ came up behind him, all lazy swagger and knowing smirk. “You gonna take her home or just stand there leaking pre over the upholstery?”
Rafe shot him a look. “I brought cash.”
JJ whistled low. “Somebody’s been planning.”
“Been planning since your birthday,” Rafe muttered, voice low. “Since I saw the way you looked on that thing. Knew I couldn’t just ride in the Jeep behind you forever.”
JJ blinked. Then grinned wide. “God, that’s so hot.”
Rafe didn’t reply. He was too busy signing paperwork and imagining JJ’s face when they hit open road together.
The ride didn’t need words.
They tore out of town, wind in their teeth, adrenaline under their skin. JJ took the lead for the first stretch, and Rafe let him—watched the curve of his back, the way he shifted his weight through corners, confident and careless. Wild.
They didn’t talk until they pulled off at some scrubby overlook hours later. The bikes hissed as they cooled. JJ stretched, hair stuck to his neck with sweat, eyes glazed with joy.
“You trying to give me road head vibes, Maybank?” Rafe drawled, climbing off his bike.
JJ laughed, breathless. “You know what I’m thinking?”
Rafe leaned against the seat, arms crossed. “Let me guess. You wanna fuck on the hood of a stranger’s car again.”
“That was once.” JJ paused. “Twice. And yes.”
Rafe laughed. Really laughed. JJ hadn’t heard that sound in weeks. It did something to him. Lit him up.
They didn’t fuck on a car this time. They made out against a tree, Rafe pressing him there with both hands on his hips, biting kisses between their laughter. JJ’s hands snuck under Rafe’s shirt. Rafe let him.
“You looked good on that thing,” JJ murmured in his ear, voice low and scratchy. “Knew you’d be a monster with the throttle.”
Rafe kissed him hard enough to bruise. “Not even trying yet.”
They got home late, vibrating with wind and road and sweat.
Rafe dumped his helmet and gloves. JJ collapsed on the couch with his legs spread wide and his shirt half undone. His face was flushed. His smirk was dangerous.
“You wanna talk about the way you were watching me ride?” JJ asked, voice lazy.
Rafe didn’t answer. He stalked over, grabbed JJ by the front of his shirt, and yanked him into a kiss that was all teeth and control.
JJ moaned. “Fuck, I missed this version of you.”
“I’ve been here,” Rafe growled. “You just forgot.”
JJ tilted his head back, daring him. “Remind me.”
Rafe dropped to his knees in front of the couch and unbuttoned JJ’s jeans with sharp, possessive hands. Pulled them down just enough to free him, then took him into his mouth so fast JJ gasped, hands flying to Rafe’s hair.
The blowjob was frantic and raw. JJ writhed under him, swearing, one leg flung over the armrest, hips twitching.
“God—Rafe—fuck, baby—”
He came too fast, eyes wide and wet and stunned. Rafe didn’t stop until JJ sagged back, boneless and twitching.
“Holy shit,” JJ whispered. “Welcome back, you sick fuck.”
Rafe stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Didn’t go anywhere.”
JJ sat up slowly, watching him. His expression softened. “You really bought that bike just to ride with me?”
Rafe shrugged. “I wanted to feel what you felt. That high. That freedom.”
JJ leaned forward, bare thighs parted, hair wild. “And?”
Rafe looked at him. Really looked. “You were right. It’s the only time I’ve felt alive in weeks.”
JJ nodded slowly. Then: “Let’s not stop.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
JJ stood and pulled up his pants, zipping slowly. “Let’s not stop with just a joyride. Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Like… actually go. Blow this whole town. Pack what we can carry. Ride west. Just… start over.”
Rafe didn’t speak for a moment. His eyes flicked across JJ’s face, searching. “You serious?”
JJ grinned. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Rafe’s jaw ticked. “You know what’s west?”
JJ shrugged. “Sun. Trees. Fog. Weed.”
Rafe gave him a long, pointed look. “Weed?”
JJ grinned, too bright. “I didn’t say anything.”
Rafe stepped closer. “You wanna get back into that?”
JJ didn’t look away. “I wanna do something. I’m not made for sitting around. You’re not either. You’re gonna rot if we stay here.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Rafe’s voice was sharp suddenly. “You think I haven’t been losing my mind? Watching you get hit on by every redneck asshole in a ten-mile radius? Getting fired by people who can’t say the word ‘fag’ to my face but sure know how to whisper it behind my back?”
JJ’s smile faded, but it wasn’t fear. It was recognition.
“I see you,” he said softly. “I see how much you hate it here.”
“I want you to myself,” Rafe said, voice low. “Somewhere private. Somewhere we can fuck loud and not get the cops called. Somewhere I don’t feel like I’m about to get stabbed for looking at you the way I do.”
JJ stepped in, hooked his fingers into Rafe’s belt. “Then let’s ride.”
Rafe searched his face again, something like awe blooming slow and dark in his chest. “You’d really cross the country with me?”
JJ laughed. “Baby, I’d cross the fucking ocean with you if we had a boat. But a bike? Side by side, throttle wide open, your voice in my ear? You think I’m gonna say no to that?”
Rafe’s mouth opened and then closed. He was blinking too fast.
JJ softened. “Hey. It’s not the end. It’s the beginning.”
Rafe’s throat bobbed. “We’d pack light.”
JJ nodded. “We don’t need much.”
“Just the bikes. The gear.”
“You,” JJ said. “I need you.”
That undid him.
Rafe pulled him in and kissed him like the world was already behind them. JJ melted into it, laughing against his mouth. They didn’t sleep much that night. Between the adrenaline and the sex, the decision was sealed before the sun rose.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
They didn’t have much to pack. Rafe sold his jeep for less than it was worth but all in cash.
The house had come furnished, and what little they’d collected—two duffels of clothes, a box of mismatched gear, JJ’s weed stash, Rafe’s knives, and their helmets—fit into two saddlebags and a lockbox Rafe bolted to the back of his new bike.
The rest they left behind without a second thought. No one came to say goodbye. They didn’t tell anyone they were leaving. Just pulled the sheets off the bed, cleaned the ashtrays, wiped down the sink like they’d never existed.
JJ sat cross-legged on the floor of the empty living room, rolling the last of his green into neat little joints and stuffing them in a dented Altoids tin. He looked up when Rafe came in from the shed.
“Left the crowbar,” Rafe said.
JJ snorted. “Sentimental bastard.”
Rafe dropped to sit across from him, back against the wall. “You nervous?”
JJ shrugged, licking the seal of one last joint. “Kinda. But it’s the good kind.”
Rafe watched him a moment longer. “No second thoughts?”
JJ glanced around the room. “About what? That fucking swamp-ass couch? The landlord who looks at me like I steal for fun?”
He tossed the tin into his pack and stood up, stretching. “We were dying here.”
Rafe nodded. “Yeah.”
They loaded the bikes in silence, working in tandem like they’d done it a thousand times. They left the keys on the counter. No note. No farewell.
Just the roar of engines and twin trails of dust peeling away from a life neither of them wanted anymore.
Rafe
The weight of the pack didn’t matter. Not when the air was this clean, this open. Not when the roar of JJ’s bike ahead of him made something feral growl in his chest.
Rafe leaned into the throttle, chasing the blonde blur just ahead. JJ rode like a goddamn demon—fearless, dirty, loose-limbed and cocky—but Rafe was better. He knew it. He felt it in the way his machine responded to him, down to the smallest twitch of muscle, every shift smooth and brutal.
JJ had the edge in recklessness. But Rafe? Rafe was precision. Control. Power.
The way JJ kept glancing over his shoulder, daring him to catch up, told him JJ knew it too.
They’d left the town like ghosts. No furniture, no goodbyes. Just two bikes, two packs, and the kind of energy that felt like something cracking open in both their chests. Rafe had watched JJ pack light—rolling shirts sloppily, stuffing lube and rolling papers next to his toothbrush like it was all the same thing—and felt a kind of aching gratitude bloom inside him.
Because JJ was his. And JJ had chosen this.
They’d stopped once to gas up. Some backwater station off a half-cracked road. The kind of place with vending machines older than Rafe and a clerk who couldn’t keep his eyes off JJ’s ass in those tight, dust-smudged riding jeans.
Rafe had stood at the pump, fists clenched, eyes dark behind his visor.
JJ had grinned over his shoulder and smacked his own hip as he walked inside.
Later, when they rolled out, Rafe had pulled up beside him at the next turn-off and leaned close, his helmet inches from JJ’s.
“You trying to get me arrested?” he said through the visor.
JJ cocked his head, played dumb. “For what?”
“For killing someone.”
JJ just laughed and revved his engine.
The next hour was just open road and the low drum of temptation. JJ peeled ahead, dared Rafe to catch him. Rafe obliged. Overtook him once, twice, three times. Let JJ get cocky again just to steal the lead back with a brutal curve taken tighter than it should’ve been.
By the time they hit a dusty rest area tucked into a pocket of pine, Rafe’s heart was jackhammering from more than just the ride.
JJ parked crooked, swung off his bike like he’d just conquered the world, and yanked off his helmet with a grin that made Rafe want to pin him to the asphalt.
“Fuck,” JJ breathed, cheeks pink. “I forgot how good this shit feels.”
Rafe didn’t move. Just watched him. Watched the way JJ shook his head to free his sweat-damp hair. Watched his throat work as he swallowed.
That black armored jacket he’d bought JJ for his birthday hugged his shoulders like sin. Rafe’s gloves creaked around the grips of his handlebars.
JJ noticed.
“What?” he said, mock-innocent. “Gonna scold me for bad posture?”
Rafe swung off his bike and stalked over, still helmeted. Slowly, he reached up, unlatched it, pulled it off—and let JJ see exactly what his face was doing.
JJ’s smirk faltered. “Oh.”
Rafe said nothing. Just crowded him against the side of the picnic shelter, crowding into his space without touching.
“You like the gear?” JJ asked, voice thinner now.
Rafe finally reached out. Palmed JJ’s helmet still clutched in his hand and set it on the table behind him. Then ran both gloved hands down JJ’s arms—armor, textile, zippers and heat. JJ shuddered.
“Do I like it?” Rafe murmured. “You’re lucky I haven’t ripped it off you already.”
JJ’s pupils blew wide.
JJ
The rest area was empty. Just them and their bikes and a cold vending machine humming fifty feet away. But it might as well have been the fucking moon.
JJ knew that look on Rafe’s face. He hadn’t seen it in a couple weeks—not since they’d agreed to take a break from the heavier scenes. No cuffs, no toys, no breathless moments of impact. Just hands and mouths and hearts.
But that look?
That was predator.
And JJ wasn’t afraid of it. Not anymore.
“You gonna do something?” JJ breathed, tipping his head back against the wall behind him. “Or just stare like a creep?”
Rafe didn’t answer. He took one step closer, grabbed JJ by the front of his jacket, and kissed him like the world was ending.
JJ moaned into it. Felt his knees go weak when Rafe bit his bottom lip. He grabbed at Rafe’s hips, still sheathed in tight riding pants, and tugged him closer.
“You get off on being the better rider?” JJ panted between kisses.
Rafe’s hands dropped to JJ’s waist. “I get off on watching you chase me.”
JJ laughed, breathless. “You cocky bastard.”
“I beat you on every straightaway.”
JJ leaned forward and bit Rafe’s jaw. “You also whimper when I fuck you.”
Rafe shoved him harder against the wall.
But Rafe had already popped the button on his jeans. His gloves were off in a flash, tossed behind him. He shoved JJ back against the wooden shelter, one knee slotting between JJ’s.
“Rafe—” JJ gasped.
“You don’t get to ride like that and get away with it,” Rafe snarled. “You’ve been teasing me since sunrise.”
He shoved a hand down JJ’s jeans, fast, brutal. JJ bit his lip hard, legs spreading instinctively.
“Someone could see—”
“Then be quiet.” Rafe wrapped his hand around him, tight. “Or don’t. Let ‘em hear.”
JJ’s head thunked back. “Fuck—fuck—”
“You think I didn’t see how you rode?” Rafe’s voice was low and rough. “Like you owned the fucking world. Like I wasn’t going to rip this gear off and wreck you.”
JJ was already shaking, clutching Rafe’s arms, grinding into the fist stroking him with merciless precision. “I was winning—”
“You were showing off,” Rafe growled. “You knew I was better.”
JJ came with a cry that he barely muffled against Rafe’s neck, clutching his jacket. He sagged, breathless.
Rafe licked the sweat from his temple and bit his earlobe. “Mine.”
………………………………………………………………………………….
JJ’s POV – Later That Night
The motel door slammed shut behind them, and JJ kicked off his boots with more force than grace.
He was wired. Drenched in adrenaline, road dust, and sweat. His thighs ached from the ride, his cock already stirring again in his pants.
Rafe locked the door slowly, turned, and watched him like prey. His helmet was gone, jacket unzipped, but the hunger in his face had only gotten worse.
JJ peeled off his gear piece by piece, skin damp and flushed. “You ride like you fuck,” he said, lips curved. “Dangerous and trying to show off.”
Rafe growled, crossed the room in two strides, and shoved him back onto the bed.
JJ landed with a huff. “You like that I beat you earlier?”
“You didn’t beat me.”
“I passed you.”
“You moaned my name while I made you come in public.”
JJ grinned. “Fair.”
Rafe climbed over him, kissed him hard, slow, full of tongue and teeth. JJ melted into it, legs spreading, hips rolling up.
“You gonna lie back and let me fuck you?” Rafe rasped. “Or you wanna keep mouthing off?”
JJ licked his lips. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Rafe stripped him with reverence. Laid him bare in the middle of the bed and kissed his thighs, his hips, his belly, until JJ was squirming.
“Fuck me already,” JJ begged, eyes blown wide.
Rafe lubed up, slick fingers stretching him slow and deep. “You’ve been thinking about this all day?”
JJ whined, nodding. “Yes—Rafe, please—”
When Rafe finally pushed in, they both groaned. JJ clutched at him, wrapped legs around his waist, heels digging in.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Rafe gasped, bottoming out.
“Harder,” JJ whispered. “I can take it.”
Rafe set a brutal pace. Deep. Driving. Like he was still racing, still chasing that wild edge of control. JJ took it, moaning, hands dragging down Rafe’s back, eyes glassy with lust.
Their bodies slapped together, wet and filthy, the headboard thudding into the wall.
“You’re mine,” Rafe snarled against his throat.
“Always,” JJ gasped.
Rafe angled just right and JJ came with a shout, back arching. Rafe followed moments later, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt with a hoarse groan.
Afterward, they collapsed in a tangle. Sweat-soaked, breathless, hearts thundering.
Rafe stroked JJ’s hip, kissed his temple.
JJ smiled into the pillow. “We’re gonna fuck across the whole country, huh?”
Rafe chuckled. “Only if you can keep up.”
JJ looked up, eyes soft. “Try and lose me, Cameron. I dare you.”
They didn’t need to say “I love you.”
Not when every mile said it louder.
Chapter 25
Notes:
Hey if you you are digging this fic please leave a comment or kudos. My ego needs it and your comments help give me direction when writer blocked.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
RAFE
They’d been riding for four days.
No firm itinerary. Just west.
Rafe kept the map in his head—burned it into memory alongside every motel that hadn’t checked IDs, every diner with decent bacon, every stretch of empty road where JJ had dared him to catch up. He could still see the blonde blur of JJ’s hair whipping just beneath his helmet the first day, could feel the bite of wind and want as he chased him down through nowhere.
The Yamaha purred under him like it was made for his body. It wasn’t the one he used to ride on Figure Eight, all flash and arrogance. This one was tuned, quiet, efficient. All muscle and intent.
JJ’s was flashier. Faster, probably. But Rafe didn’t care.
Because JJ only ever looked at him.
He looked at him like he was everything.
Even now.
Even after all the darkness.
Rafe’s jaw tensed behind the visor. His back ached faintly from the ride, his thighs tighter than they should’ve been. But he didn’t slow down. Didn’t need to. The rhythm of the road had become something holy.
He couldn’t believe it sometimes—what they’d done. What he’d done.
The old Rafe—the one who’d hidden in the Cameron house with blood on his hands and a pocket full of oxy—would’ve never survived this.
He’d wanted JJ like a sickness back then. Watched him like prey. Thought he’d ruin him if he ever got close enough to touch.
But now? Now JJ was on a bike he bought him, headed toward a life Rafe had made possible. Now JJ loved him.
He’d wanted to own JJ once. Possess him completely. Use him to fill the screaming void he couldn’t name.
But JJ had let him in. Bit by bit. Feral and smart-mouthed and tender in ways that cut deeper than a blade. JJ chose him. Every morning. Every night.
Even when Rafe didn’t feel like he deserved it.
Even when he still dreamed about the darker shit.
Even when his hands shook sometimes with the weight of being good.
Now they shared a bed, a bank account, a future. Maybe.
A house. Soon.
The coast.
He hadn’t told JJ yet, but he was already planning on making it permanent. Not marriage—not yet. But something. Property. Roots. A place he could build with his hands that was only theirs.
And JJ didn’t know it yet, but Rafe had checked his back pocket three times that morning to make sure the spare helmet visor clips didn’t fall out. Because he’d noticed one of JJ’s was loose. Because he noticed everything.
Because he loved him.
Fucking hell.
JJ
JJ was going faster than he should’ve been.
Rafe would yell at him if he noticed—would snarl something into his helmet like “You trying to eat pavement, Maybank?”—but JJ didn’t care. Not right now. Not when the road curved like sex and the sky was burning gold at the edges.
He didn’t know where they were. Didn’t care.
Just that the mountains had given way to rolling pine forests and the air smelled wetter, more alive. Like the promise of the ocean on the horizon.
JJ leaned into the next curve, his pulse thrumming like guitar strings. His jeans were sticking to his thighs, his gloves hot, his helmet damp with sweat.
And he felt fucking alive.
He hadn’t thought it’d feel like this.
Freedom.
After everything—Luke, the Pogues, the heartbreak of a thousand disappointments and a lifetime of neglect—he thought he was ruined. Thought he’d carry the Cut on his back forever, even if it bled him dry.
But now he had Rafe. This Rafe. The one who looked at him like he was a goddamn miracle and also a misbehaving schoolboy that needed to be bent over the nearest hard surface.
Rafe, in that tight black jacket and those gloves that made JJ's mouth water.
Rafe, who rode like the road belonged to him and didn’t blink at a single state line.
JJ had never belonged to anyone the way he belonged to him.
And yeah, sometimes that scared him. Sometimes he looked at Rafe sleeping and remembered the first time he ever saw him fight, remembered the rumours, the years of violence.
But he also remembered the letter.
And how he’d read it twice on his birthday, once hidden in the bathroom like a little bitch, because it made him feel too much.
Rafe had saved him. In ways no one else ever had.
And now they were tearing across the country, running toward something instead of away from it. For once.
JJ grinned behind his visor and opened the throttle.
He wanted it all. The grow. The new life. The place in the woods where he could fix shit in a shed and fuck his boyfriend on the workbench. He wanted to be the local dealer with a secret psycho for a partner. He wanted more.
He just didn’t want to say it yet.
Didn’t want to jinx it.
……………………………………………………………………………………
They stopped that night at a roadside motel with faded paint and a vending machine full of expired chips. Rafe went inside to get the keys while JJ leaned against the bikes, stretching his arms over his head, helmet still on.
When Rafe came out, he paused.
Just… looked at him.
That long, slow, Rafe look. The one that made JJ feel skinned alive and devoured at the same time.
JJ peeled his helmet off and smirked. “What?”
Rafe stepped into his space, tugged the zipper down on his jacket, and kissed him hard.
The sex that night was quiet. No bratting, no orders. Just tongues and teeth and murmured names. Rafe on top, slow and deep, fucking him like he needed to remember every second of it.
JJ came with his hand in Rafe’s hair and his mouth open in a sound he didn’t bother silencing.
Rafe kissed him after. Again and again.
Then whispered: “I’m glad we left.”
JJ nuzzled closer. “Me too.”
There were still a few hundred miles left to go.
But they were almost there.
Almost home.
…………………………………………………………………..
The Pacific opened up in front of them like a secret. Fog kissed the cliffs and the road narrowed to a winding ribbon, hugging the drop like it was daring someone to fall. JJ downshifted, felt the familiar shiver of the engine between his thighs, and grinned beneath the helmet.
They’d made it.
He’d lost track of how many days they’d been riding. Not two—more like five. He’d slept in four motels, three roadside pull-offs, and once curled half on top of Rafe on a blanket behind a gas station where the stars felt closer than the ground.
His ass was sore. His neck was a knot. He’d never felt better.
Rafe was ahead of him now, just visible through the fog. All black bike and blacker jacket. JJ could watch him move forever—tight and controlled, the way he handled the machine like it was an extension of his will. No fear. Just brutal grace
JJ bit his lip and chased him harder.
The road curved into redwoods. JJ followed, tires whispering on the asphalt, lungs full of salt and pine and the afterburn of too many days without anything but hands and mouths between them. They hadn’t had real sex since the motel. Too tired. Too wired. Too focused on getting west.
But fuck, JJ was ready now.
They pulled off at a scenic overlook. JJ kicked down the stand, killed the engine, and ripped his helmet off.
Rafe turned to look at him, visor up. His face was flushed from the ride, hair damp at the edges, eyes wild.
“Holy shit,” JJ breathed. “You see that?”
“Yeah.” Rafe’s voice was rough. “You look better, though.”
JJ rolled his eyes and stepped close. “You planning to flirt or fuck?”
Rafe tilted his head. “Yes.”
JJ shoved him lightly, both of them laughing before Rafe grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him into a kiss. They were still in full gear, still sweating, and JJ couldn’t care less. He melted into it—desperate, giddy, greedy.
Rafe pulled back first, breathless. “Still think I’m not the best rider?”
JJ grinned. “I think you’re the best something.”
They stood like that for a long moment. Wind over the cliff, ocean endless below. And JJ felt it in his chest—how far they’d come. From the Cut to here. From that broken little house to the open road. From danger to something like a future.
Rafe’s POV
He couldn’t stop watching him.
JJ stood with his back to the cliff, the ocean at his feet, sun behind his head like a goddamn halo. His gear clung to him like a second skin, jacket half unzipped, mouth kiss-bitten, eyes full of light.
And Rafe was in love with him.
He’d been in love for a long time. But this was different.
This was the kind of love that made him want to build something. Stake a claim. Make JJ safe and dangerous at the same time. Make himself worthy of the chaos they shared.
Rafe didn’t know when it happened—maybe somewhere outside Amarillo, when JJ fell asleep against his back on the side of a hill. Maybe in that gas station bathroom, when JJ grinned at him in the mirror with bruised lips and said, “You’re stuck with me, psycho.”
Maybe it was every day.
He reached for JJ’s gloved hand, tugged him close.
“Ready to finish this ride?”
JJ’s eyes flashed. “Lead the way, captain.”
They remounted. The engines roared back to life. And together, they rode the last stretch into Eureka.
The town was tucked into the mist. Streets crooked and lined with old buildings, murals half-faded, signs for organic markets and tattoo parlours and dispensaries. JJ sat up straighter as they rolled through.
“This place looks like it sells its own weed and ghosts,” he shouted over the engine.
Rafe laughed. “Perfect for you.”
They found a cheap motel near the edge of town. Rafe handled the check-in while JJ sprawled on the sidewalk and smoked.
When they got to the room, it was small, smelled like salt and cleaner. But the bed was king-sized, the walls thick, and the air between them snapped like live wire.
JJ turned, dropped his jacket, and faced Rafe bare-chested.
“You gonna make good on that flirting?”
Rafe didn’t answer. He locked the door and crossed the room in two steps.
JJ was laughing when he kissed him.
He wasn’t laughing ten minutes later—just moaning into the pillows, begging for more.
They didn’t fuck like it was new. They fucked like it was survival. Like the whole country had been the warm-up, and now they were finally here.
Home? Maybe.
They’d find out soon enough.
………………………………………………………………
They woke in a tangle of limbs and cotton sheets, sore in every muscle group, wrecked in the best way.
JJ groaned as he stretched, slapping Rafe’s bare chest without looking. “Ow. My everything hurts. I think my thighs filed a complaint with my spine.”
Rafe smirked without opening his eyes. “That’s what happens when you try to outride me across the country.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you in fucking Texas.” JJ rolled over and sprawled across his chest like a sun-drunk cat. “God, you smell like bike grease and sin. It’s hot.”
“You smell like hotel detergent and weed crumbs.”
“So we match.”
Rafe cracked one eye open. “You hungry?”
“I could eat a horse. Or your dick. Maybe both.”
Rafe groaned. “Let’s start with a croissant.”
A hot shower and three ibuprofen each later, they ventured out on foot.
Eureka’s fog clung to the sidewalks, thick and damp. JJ stuck his hand in Rafe’s hoodie pocket like they were just any couple wandering a new town. Rafe didn’t say anything—just squeezed his fingers in return.
The air smelled like ocean salt, redwood sap, and weed in varying stages of legality. JJ liked it. It smelled like mischief. Like potential.
First stop: a dispensary two blocks from the pier. Wood-panelled walls. A chalkboard menu. Slow jazz playing over speakers shaped like succulents.
JJ leaned on the counter like he owned it. “So. We looking to get high or get research?”
“Both,” Rafe said, deadpan, already drifting toward the concentrates like he was evaluating high-end weaponry.
The budtender, a girl with a nose ring and bright green nails, laughed at JJ’s dumb questions and flirty smile. She walked them through the local strains with names like Dream Engine, Treeblood, and Moon Water.
JJ made a show of considering each. Rafe asked about terpene profiles with a quiet intensity that made the girl blink.
They walked out with an eighth of Moon Water, a vape pen, and a discreet smirk tugging at Rafe’s mouth.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” JJ asked.
“That the pre-rolls were overpriced?”
“No. That we could do this. Better.”
Rafe arched a brow. “You wanna sell?”
“I wanna grow.”
He meant it. The thought had been simmering since North Carolina. Since long before that, really. But now, standing in fog and freedom, it felt real.
Rafe didn’t laugh or brush it off. He just looked at him—really looked—and nodded. “Could work. This town’s got a vibe.”
They found a taco truck with a handwritten menu and a crooked plastic table on the sidewalk.
JJ moaned around a bite of carne asada. Rafe nearly dropped his can of lime soda.
“Rafe.” JJ licked chipotle sauce off his straw. “I could marry this horchata.”
Rafe leaned in, voice low and dark. “You try, and I’ll kill it in front of you.”
JJ grinned. “Jesus. That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Your standards are fucked.”
“My standards are sitting across from me in a five-dollar hoodie with murder eyes and a mouth that made me scream last night, so. Yeah. Fucked is accurate.”
Back at the hotel—cheap sheets, blown bulb in the bathroom, someone’s forgotten sock in the corner—they collapsed across the bed with a blunt and Rafe’s laptop.
JJ sprawled on his stomach, scrolling listings. “This one’s got a shed.”
“No garage,” Rafe murmured, brushing his hand through JJ’s hair.
“I don’t need a garage.”
“You will. Once you start growing.”
JJ paused, blinked. “You really believe I’m doing this?”
“You said you wanted to. That’s all I need.”
That earned him a pause, then a slow, full-body smile. JJ reached up and pulled him into a kiss—hot, lazy, weed-sweet.
“You’re gonna make me cry like a stoned housewife,” JJ muttered, grinning against his mouth.
Rafe grinned back. “You’d look good in pearls.”
They lay back, shoulders pressed, watching the fan spin above their heads like the inside of a kaleidoscope.
“You ever think about what comes next?” JJ asked eventually.
“All the time.”
“What do you see?”
Rafe turned his head. Looked at him like he was memorizing something. “You. Me. Something quiet but ours. Something better.”
JJ’s throat went tight.
“I’m not trying to be someone I’m not,” Rafe added. “But I want more. I want permanence. Something that holds.”
JJ reached over and laced their fingers. “This is the first time I’ve ever gone somewhere just to live. Not run. Not hide. Just… start something.”
Rafe kissed his knuckles. “Good. Because we’re not going back.”
“Nope.” JJ smiled. “Only forward. And maybe up. Depending on how potent this Moon Water is.”
They fell asleep planning what strain they’d name after JJ’s thighs.
They woke up sore, tangled, and laughing.
And tomorrow?
They’d start again.
Notes:
Please tap kudos before next chapter if you are into it
Chapter Text
They woke up late. For the first time in nearly a week, neither of them had a plan. No pit stops to make. No miles to cover. Just fog clinging to the hotel windows, sheets tangled around their legs, and JJ pressed face-first into Rafe’s chest like a sleepy cat.
“Time is it?” JJ mumbled.
Rafe tilted his head. “Almost ten.”
JJ groaned. “We’re so domestic now. Gross.”
“You say that like you didn’t hog the blunt and the blankets last night.”
“I’m a delicate flower, Rafe. I need humidity and THC.”
“You need a coffee and a smack on the ass.”
JJ yawned. “You offering?”
Rafe just laughed and rolled him onto his back. They didn’t fuck, didn’t even grind—just laid there for a while, quiet, wrapped around each other like the world was finally giving them space to breathe.
The real estate agent’s name was Ruthie, and she looked like she’d stepped out of a bohemian pottery catalog. Silver braid down her back. Pierced septum. Shoes made of ethically sourced cork.
But she had a calm energy JJ liked, and she didn’t blink when they rolled up on matching bikes.
“I’ve got something off Old Arcata Road,” she said, clicking her key ring. “Bit private. Bit odd. Might suit you.”
JJ and Rafe followed her single-file, tires hissing on the damp asphalt. The house was set back behind a sloping drive and two leaning pine trees. It looked like it had once been someone’s stoner paradise: cedar shingles, wraparound porch, and a sunroom filled with overgrown aloe and rusted wind chimes.
Inside, the place smelled like old patchouli and burned toast. But it had bones. Charm. Skylights. A huge detached garage. A fenced yard with uneven pavers and three tomato plants fighting for survival.
JJ looked around and whispered, “This place is fucking haunted. I love it.”
Rafe tilted his head, absorbing the space. “It’s got potential. And privacy.”
Ruthie smiled like she already knew.
After the tour, they stopped by a second dispensary—not a boutique this time, but a place that clearly catered to growers and locals. The kind of place with battered couches, two pit bulls asleep under the counter, and a guy in a hoodie talking crop yields like most people talked about football.
JJ wandered. Listened. Absorbed.
One of the guys—skinny, beard, smell of hash in his flannel—caught him near the counter. “You’re not local.”
“Not yet,” JJ said.
“You look like somebody’s cousin who used to grow out on Kneeland Ridge.”
JJ shrugged. “I look like trouble.”
The guy grinned. “Trouble usually makes money around here.”
They talked. Casual. Friendly. Names not exchanged. But by the time JJ rejoined Rafe near the vape rigs, he had a number in his phone and a glint in his eye.
Rafe noticed.
“Make a friend?”
“Maybe.” JJ bumped his shoulder. “You wanna stay in a haunted tomato house, we might need a second income.”
Rafe didn’t bite. Not yet. But he filed the conversation away.
Lunch was a burger stand with five items on the menu and graffiti on the picnic tables. JJ spilled fry salt all over the tabletop and dared Rafe to lick it off his arm.
“You’re disgusting,” Rafe muttered.
JJ batted his lashes. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You whimper when I call you my good boy.”
Rafe bit his burger hard enough to silence him. JJ grinned for ten solid minutes.
Later that afternoon, Rafe made a few quiet calls from the hotel’s patchy wi-fi. He pulled up licensing information. Motorcycle instructor certification. Looked into the local mechanic shops.
By the time JJ came back from a weed run—shirt rumpled, blunt behind his ear, grinning like sin—Rafe had a short list of opportunities and an inbox full of contacts.
JJ flopped onto the bed, legs spread like he owned the room. “You good?”
Rafe nodded. “Thinking about taking the instructor course.”
JJ whistled. “Hot.”
“You think everything I do is hot.”
“Because it is. Imagine: you in leathers, barking orders at baby gays on beginner bikes. I’m already hard.”
Rafe arched a brow. “You’re always hard.”
“Only for you, sweet thing.”
That night, they smoked the rest of the Moon Water, lay twisted in the hotel sheets, and talked about what it meant to build something. Not just stay somewhere—but actually dig in. Plant a flag. Make a life.
JJ exhaled and stared at the ceiling. “Think we’re actually gonna do it?”
“We already are,” Rafe said quietly.
Outside, the fog curled around the bikes like it was trying to keep them there.
Inside, they stayed tangled. Warm. Home—for now.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………
Later that day, they stopped by a third dispensary—a newer one with polished cement floors, industrial lighting, and a smug thirtysomething manager with gauged ears and too many bracelets. Rafe stayed quiet while JJ charmed the guy, asking real questions this time: grow seasons, licenses, security risks, startup costs.
The guy liked talking.
JJ liked listening.
Rafe liked watching JJ walk that line between charming and dangerous, cocky and calculated. The moment the manager leaned in too close, voice dropping into something conspiratorial, Rafe bristled. JJ only smiled. Stayed cool.
Outside, Rafe lit a cigarette he didn’t need.
“You flirting with every future employer or just that guy?”
JJ gave him a look. “He wasn’t my type.”
Rafe exhaled slow. “What is your type again?”
JJ grinned. “Insanely hot, rides a Yamaha, violent tendencies, emotionally stunted. That sound familiar?”
Rafe reached out and grabbed a fistful of JJ’s jacket, pulled him in close and kissed him hard, teeth and tongue and a low, warning growl.
JJ pulled back breathless. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
That night, they ended up at a house party just north of town.
A grower JJ met through the manager had invited them—"just to feel out the scene," he said, which sounded like code for: come see if you belong.
The house was perched in the woods, lit up with string lights and pulsing music. Inside smelled like weed, sweat, patchouli, and something unnameable. The crowd was older, mostly local—tattooed, weathered, alert. Rafe stuck close to JJ as they made the rounds, letting him do the talking while Rafe did what he always did: assessed every threat.
There weren’t many. But there was a man near the back wall—older, gray beard, wild eyes—who kept watching JJ.
Rafe clocked him. Memorized his face. Said nothing.
JJ didn’t flirt that night. He asked questions. Took mental notes. Smiled and charmed and only occasionally let his fingers brush Rafe’s when they passed in tight corners.
They left around midnight, buzzed but clear-headed, Rafe’s arm around JJ’s waist the whole walk to the bikes.
“You sure this is the scene you wanna dive into?” Rafe asked quietly.
JJ glanced at him. “You scared I’ll start doing shady shit?”
“I’m scared someone’s gonna try to touch what’s mine.”
JJ’s grin was slow. “So possessive.”
“You fucking love it.”
“Yeah,” JJ said, kissing him soft. “I really do.”
The next morning, Rafe did something rare: he asked for help.
He’d been looking into motorcycle safety instructor courses since they left the last town. Now, sitting on the motel bed with his laptop open and JJ’s blunt burning between his fingers, he nudged JJ’s ankle.
“Wanna help me pick a headshot?”
JJ blinked. “For what, your porn debut?”
“Training program. I gotta submit my résumé, references, proof of hours. All that.”
JJ blinked again. Then grinned. “You’re really doing it?”
Rafe nodded. “Seems smart. They’re legit gigs. Steady. And it’s something I actually give a fuck about.”
JJ rolled onto his stomach, beaming. “God. I am imagining you fucking me every night in your bike gear after work.”
Rafe tossed a pillow at him. But his chest felt warm. Because JJ hadn’t hesitated. Not once.
That afternoon, they took the long way back to the haunted tomato house.
Just a ride-by. Just to see it again. JJ parked on the opposite side of the street, sat on his bike like a king and stared at the crooked little home like it had whispered a secret only he could hear.
“You like it that much?” Rafe asked.
JJ shrugged. “It’s got bones. And a shed. And I can hear the ocean from here.”
Rafe said nothing.
Later, when JJ was in the shower, Rafe filled out the inquiry form online.
He didn’t hit send yet. But he would. After dinner. After weed. After curling around JJ in bed, listening to him breathe like everything in the world made sense.
Yeah. He’d hit send.
Because maybe it was a haunted tomato house.
But it could be theirs.
……………………………………………………….
The day started slow, thick with the kind of fog Eureka wore like a second skin. The motel blinds diffused the light into a dull gray glow that brushed across JJ’s bare back as he rolled out of bed, tangled in the thin sheets and a haze of weed.
Rafe had already gone—early, quiet, focused, just like he’d been all week.
JJ blinked the sleep out of his eyes and groaned. His thighs still ached from the last long ride up the coast, his shoulder stiff from sleeping in the crook of Rafe’s arm. He loved it, though. The ache meant they were moving forward. That they weren’t stuck anymore.
He stood, scratched his chest, and made his way to the bathroom with the joint he’d half-finished the night before still tucked behind his ear.
It was the first morning he felt almost normal in weeks.
By noon, JJ was on his bike again, racing down back roads near the edge of town. The fog burned off just enough for sunlight to touch the trees in pale, flickering patterns. He passed weather-beaten barns, rows of redwoods, and tucked-away houses that looked like they’d been built from driftwood and stubbornness.
He stopped at the edge of a gravel driveway, one he remembered from the party a week ago. The house barely looked like it was standing—but the smell was unmistakable: fresh, resinous, sticky-sweet weed on the air.
The older guy from the party—Walt, maybe sixty, big beard, hemp everything—was on the porch with a joint of his own, pruning scissors tucked into his cargo shorts.
“Well look who’s back,” Walt said, grinning like JJ was his favourite stray cat.
JJ pulled off his helmet and shook out his hair. “You still trimming?”
Walt waved the joint like a wand. “Always. You looking for work?”
JJ grinned. “Maybe.”
Walt took a long drag, then offered it to him. JJ stepped up onto the porch and took it between his fingers.
“Just a couple days here and there,” Walt said. “Harvest’s about done, but I need hands I trust.”
JJ exhaled smoke and leaned against the post. “You trust me?”
“You didn’t pocket anything at the party, didn’t drink too much, didn’t start shit. You got a good energy.”
JJ grinned. “People say that about me right before I ruin their lives.”
Walt chuckled, unfazed. “You want the job or not, Golden Boy?”
JJ raised a brow. “What’s it pay?”
Walt told him. It was better than minimum wage, cash, and under the table. More than JJ had made at the bar, that was for sure.
JJ nodded. “I’ll think about it. Can I call you?”
“You got the number,” Walt said, passing over a new joint like it was a business card.
JJ left with the joint in his back pocket and a smirk on his face, weaving back toward town with the sun on his back and that loose, adrenaline-rich sense of freedom still humming under his skin.
Rafe, meanwhile, wasn’t fucking around.
He was standing in line at the local DMV-subcontracted motorcycle safety school, the kind of place tucked behind an auto parts store, run by grizzled bikers with clean records and bad tempers. The woman behind the desk had a neck tattoo and a voice like gravel.
“You’re here for the instructor certification?” she asked, glancing at his paperwork.
Rafe nodded.
She sized him up. “You got the hours?”
He handed over the documentation. “I’ve been riding for eight years. Got my class M, my MSF cert. Passed the advanced handling courses last year.”
She whistled low. “You serious about this.”
“I don’t do shit halfway.”
She smiled. “Good. We’ve got a spot open in two weeks.”
Rafe walked out with a start date, a training manual, and the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that came with setting something real in motion.
But he wasn’t done.
Back on his own bike, Rafe circled through the town, checking out properties, side streets, how many people loitered where they shouldn’t. He made a detour to the edge of the redwoods, found Walt’s property, and scoped the perimeter from the road.
The place was secure. Fenced, discreet, remote. He didn’t like how close it was to JJ’s attention span, though.
That afternoon, JJ walked into the motel room smelling like sun and smoke and a little like trouble.
“You working for the weed wizard?” Rafe asked from the table, where his laptop was open and a rental application sat half-filled beside it.
JJ paused. “How do you—wait. You went to Walt’s?”
“I go where you go. Even when you don’t see me.”
JJ blinked. “That’s creepy.”
“Accurate, though.”
JJ flopped onto the bed, kicked off his boots, and reached for Rafe’s drink. “You mad?”
“No. I’m assessing.” Rafe leaned forward, eyes sharp. “It’s probably fine. But I don’t want you working full time on some backwoods grow with no security or legal protections. You want to trim? Fine. But I’m gonna be around. Call it recon.”
JJ groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “You’re gonna scare Walt.”
“I don’t care if I scare him,” Rafe said, voice quiet. “As long as no one lays a finger on you.”
JJ flipped over and stared at him. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
JJ softened. “I like that about you.”
Rafe looked away, then back again. “I enrolled in the training course. Starts in two weeks.”
JJ beamed. “That is fucking excellent, Rafe.”
Rafe ignored the heat in his face. “Also put in an application for that haunted tomato house you liked.”
JJ’s heart thudded stupidly in his chest.
Later, after burritos and weed and a slow crawl into bed, JJ curled up against Rafe’s side and said, “I met you when you were a fucking storm, y’know? Like, I couldn’t get close without getting burned.”
“And now?”
JJ smiled into his chest. “Now you’re the shelter.”
Rafe didn’t speak. Just kissed the top of his head and held him closer.
He hadn’t earned everything. Not yet. But he’d build it. With blood and time and sweat. He’d make it right.
For JJ. For himself.
Chapter 27
Notes:
Are folks liking this fic at this point,? I am unsure due to kudos and comments. Please let me know either way.
Chapter Text
They were late getting out of bed. Not because they’d slept in, but because JJ couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and Rafe had given up pretending he minded.
“You’re gonna be late for your first day of hippie crime,” Rafe murmured, his voice thick with sleep and recent sin, hand splayed over JJ’s bare thigh.
JJ grinned against his neck. “I’m bringing you back a nug the size of your ego.”
Rafe snorted. “That won’t fit through the door.”
JJ kissed the hollow of his throat and finally rolled out of bed, still laughing.
Walt’s grow op looked like something out of a stoner’s fever dream. A few greenhouses, a lot of dirt, some solar panels, chickens wandering where they absolutely shouldn’t, and an overwhelming smell of lemon rind, resin, and earth.
JJ loved it immediately.
It was old-school but well-kept. Walt gave him a rundown and set him up with trimming shears, gloves, and a table full of dense, fragrant bud.
JJ trimmed and talked and flirted and learned more about terpenes in one hour than he’d ever cared to know. He was in his element—bright, charming, quick with his hands. The workers liked him. Walt liked him. JJ liked being liked.
Rafe showed up just after lunch.
He didn’t text ahead. Didn’t ask.
He just walked in through the back entrance—black tee stretched tight, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes flat and unreadable—and Walt visibly stiffened.
JJ, mid-trim, blinked up. “Jesus, what are you doing here?”
“Checking the perimeter,” Rafe said coolly. “Heard some twink wandered onto private property.”
Walt looked from JJ to Rafe and back again. “This your guy?”
JJ grinned. “This is my guy.”
Rafe turned his stare on Walt, slow and deliberate. “You run a clean op?”
“As clean as it gets in Humboldt.”
“You treat your workers well?”
“He’s got good hands,” Walt said casually. “Fast learner. Could stay busy here.”
“Could,” Rafe agreed, tone flat.
Walt exhaled. “He gets high and trims weed. I’m not making him dig graves.”
“See that it stays that way,” Rafe said calmly.
Walt’s gaze sharpened. “You threatening me?”
“I’m promising you.” Rafe set his helmet on the counter. “JJ doesn’t need your protection. He has mine.”
JJ’s heart should’ve been pounding. Instead, it thrummed like a lazy baseline. He should’ve been annoyed. Instead, he was hard.
“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” he whispered later, dragging Rafe toward his bike by the jacket collar. “You can’t go full psycho on the first day.”
“Wasn’t full psycho,” Rafe said, sliding his helmet on. “That was polite.”
JJ sighed. “You gonna do a background check on the tomatoes too?”
“They’re suspicious,” Rafe said, deadpan.
By the time JJ got home that evening, sticky with sugar leaf and smelling like weed and lemons, Rafe had news.
“Got us the keys,” Rafe said, standing in the middle of their motel kitchenette with a handful of takeout menus and a manila envelope.
JJ blinked. “To what?”
Rafe lifted an eyebrow. “The house.”
JJ froze. “You serious?”
“I put the deposit down. Signed the lease. It's ours.”
JJ walked slowly across the room and took the envelope from his hands. “You didn’t wait for me?”
“You already picked it. I just made it official.”
JJ stared at him, eyes glassy.
Rafe shrugged. “We needed a place. A real one. You wanted a yard and a shed, I want you safe. This is both.”
JJ threw his arms around him and kissed him like it was his birthday again.
The house looked even better with keys in hand.
It was crooked in some places, sure. The wood siding was faded and the yard overgrown. But the bones were good, the view was better, and the back shed had possibilities.
“I still think it’s haunted,” JJ said, stepping inside and echoing in the empty living room.
“If it is,” Rafe muttered, “I’ll kill it.”
JJ turned in a slow circle. “I love it.”
Rafe set down the envelope and started listing things. “We need a mattress. Tools. Curtains. Smoke detectors. Pantry shelves. Lube.”
JJ grinned. “You’re putting lube on the essentials list?”
“Absolutely.”
JJ dropped to his knees.
Rafe blinked. “What are you—”
“I’m sucking your dick in the living room. Obviously.”
Rafe’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“Unless you don’t want to—”
“Shut up,” Rafe growled, stepping forward. “Fuck, J—”
JJ had his fly down in seconds. Took him into his mouth like he was starving. Rafe braced himself on the wall, eyes slamming shut as heat and suction wrapped around him, perfect and filthy and reverent.
When he came, it was with JJ’s name on his tongue and a hand tangled in golden hair.
JJ stood up, wiped his mouth, and smiled sweetly.
Rafe hauled him up by the waist and slammed him into a kiss so filthy the ghosts in the walls blushed.
Back at the motel, they collapsed into the saggy mattress and didn’t move for twenty minutes.
“I can’t believe you just leased a house without telling me,” JJ muttered, voice muffled by Rafe’s shoulder.
“I knew you’d say yes.”
JJ was quiet a moment. Then: “You were right.”
Rafe tucked an arm around him. “I usually am.”
“You’re also a control freak with murder in your eyes.”
“Your point?”
JJ tilted his face up. “My point is… I’m glad it’s you.”
Rafe looked down, expression unreadable. “You trust me.”
“More than I probably should.”
“Enough to grow roots here?”
JJ grinned. “Enough to grow roots, weed, and probably some better tomatoes. In the haunted tomato house.”
Outside, the fog crept over the motel roof. Tomorrow they’d start moving. Buy furniture. Find dishes. Pick a bedroom.
Tonight, they were just two fucked-up boys in love, high on possibility and the sharp sweetness of making something that might finally last.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The next morning, JJ woke first and padded barefoot to the mini-fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water, cracked one, and leaned against the counter.
This wasn’t a motel anymore.
Not really.
This was the last stop before something real.
A house. A life. A job he didn’t hate. A man who’d kill for him, plan for him, build a fucking kingdom for him if JJ just pointed to a spot on the map.
He looked at Rafe, still sprawled shirtless in the sheets, lashes dark against his cheek.
JJ took a deep breath.
“Let’s make it home.”
…………………………………………………
Rafe didn’t do things halfway. Not when it came to JJ.
So once the lease was signed and the haunted tomato house was officially theirs—for the next twelve months, anyway—Rafe went full fucking throttle.
He spent the morning in their hotel room sitting cross-legged on the bed with his laptop screen lighting the sharp angles of his face as he started adding things to carts. First the essentials: bed frame, mattress (extra firm, king), couch (leather, dark green, JJ-approved), a fridge, a decent TV, washer/dryer combo. Then the less essential: Xbox, surround sound system.
The list kept growing.
Rafe knew they could survive on milk crates and floor cushions. JJ had done it before, but he deserved better. And maybe Rafe couldn’t fix the messes they’d both come from. Couldn’t erase the things he’d done, or the way he’d once loved JJ from a distance like a wolf circling a fire.
But he could give him this.
He tapped in the address. Paid the surcharges. Selected express delivery on almost everything.
The next day, while JJ was up in the hills trimming buds and charming locals, Rafe spent hours hauling their duffles, the new boxes into the new place as they arrived one by one. He assembled furniture in his sweatpants, hands raw and knuckles bruised from wrangling Allen keys and stripped screws. There was a calmness to it. Purpose.
He started in the master bedroom furthest from the front door, the one that looked out into the pines and had the strongest lock.
A protector’s room.
By the time JJ rolled in, buzzed and sticky from resin and pine dust, the place already had the bones of a home. Rafe was in the kitchen shirtless, unpacking the brand-new toaster and restocking a fridge he’d already filled with essentials—milk, eggs, leftover carne asada.
JJ arrived at dusk after work. “You did all this today?”
Rafe shrugged. “Wasn’t gonna let you sleep on the floor.”
JJ crossed the room and kissed him like it was a fucking reward. And Rafe, for all his control, nearly dropped the loaf of bread in his hand.
They fucked on the new couch. The plastic wrap wasn’t even off yet. JJ peeled his shirt off and laughed when the static clung to his hair, then dropped to his knees and blew Rafe with that same filthy mouth that had been charming weed growers all week.
Rafe’s head thunked back against the bare wall. “You always this enthusiastic when there’s furniture involved?”
JJ looked up, eyes wicked. “Told you I’d make it worth it.”
And he did.
When Rafe finally pulled him up and kissed him breathless, he whispered, “Bed’s next.”
JJ didn’t argue.
That night, JJ passed out half on top of him, legs tangled, ass still sore and marked. Rafe held him tight and stared at the ceiling, chest tight with the kind of aching satisfaction that only came with hard labour and soft touches.
He was trying.
Not just to fuck JJ into the mattress or control his world. But to be solid. Something JJ could rely on.
........................................................................................
The trim shed smelled like resin, citrus, and too many dudes who thought deodorant was optional.
JJ’s wrists ached. His thumbs were sticky from hours of pulling sugar leaf from dense colas. He had a bit of something—maybe gummy, maybe actual hash—drying into the crease of his palm. Walt was blasting what had to be the most disjointed Phish cover band in recorded history. And still, JJ was grinning.
Because it was his first week on the job and he hadn’t been fired, called a slur, or told to sit in the corner and be pretty.
He was working. He was wanted here. And he was good at it.
Walt had started tossing him the better branches with a grunt and a nod. Said he had “fast hands, good eyes.” JJ had grinned and replied, “I hear that a lot.” Walt had tossed a gummy at his head. JJ caught it in his mouth.
Even high and happy, though, JJ kept checking the time.
He imagined Rafe back at the house—hovering over the coffee table, highlighter in one hand and printed-out motorcycle instructor training manual in the other, like a serial killer planning a hit. Rafe had been very serious about preparing for the course that didn’t even start for another week. He was already researching the best brands of safety vests and muttering about cornering techniques in his sleep.
Which was hot.
JJ bit the inside of his cheek and shifted in his plastic chair, thinking about the way Rafe looked in that fitted riding jacket—the one JJ had not picked out just to ogle his waist and shoulders in it, thank you very much.
The couch had already suffered two blown loads and one wet spot JJ had to pretend he didn’t see the next day. He missed Rafe’s weight on top of him. Missed the low growl of “you’ve been mouthy all day” just before getting flipped and pinned. Missed the way it felt to be overwhelmed, undone, owned.
He exhaled, trimming faster, catching a perfect symmetry in a thick cola and admiring it like a sculptor.
They’d slowed things down since things started to rot before they moved across the country. When JJ was spiralling and hurt Rafe in anger.
Cali-sober. No booze. No toys. Just love. Just weed. Just figuring out how to build a life without breaking each other in the process.
It was good. It really was.
But JJ’s body wanted more again. His mind, too.
His hips twitched when he thought about Rafe’s hand on the back of his neck. His thighs flexed remembering the way Rafe used to talk through his teeth, voice low and rough, when he was about to lose control.
Rafe
“Situational awareness and group ride coordination are key safety components…”
Rafe snapped the binder closed before he could finish the paragraph for the fifth time.
Clean house. Training manual. Calm life.
It was everything he’d told himself he wanted.
And still, his hands were twitching with unused energy.
He missed the press of JJ’s wrists against the mattress. Missed the sound JJ made when he was half-drunk, half-naked, fully begging. Missed the way they used to fuck like they were fighting for something.
Instead, lately it was all hands in hair, sighs against shoulders, weed and laughter and the slow kind of sex that left Rafe grateful and aching for more.
He’d pulled back. They had needed a break. Things were getting out of hand.
They’d come so far from where they were. From the way Rafe used to look at him in secret—obsessively, hungrily, shamefully. He’d almost destroyed both of them in those early days, convinced that wanting JJ was some fatal flaw. That touching him would ruin them both.
But now? JJ touched him back. With love. With fire.
And Rafe was starting to think he could handle giving a little of that fire back.
JJ came home just before sunset, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled and clinging to his shoulders with the heat of the shed still baked into it. His face was pink. His eyes were low. He was beautiful.
Rafe looked up from the couch, raising an eyebrow.
“You smell like a greenhouse and dirty intentions.”
JJ snorted and dropped his bag by the door. “You smell like unemployment and cabin fever.”
“Waiting for you, trim slut.”
JJ walked straight across the room, dropped into Rafe’s lap like he’d done it a hundred times—because he had—and kissed him right below the jaw.
They sat like that for a second. Breathing.
JJ pressed closer, mumbled against Rafe’s neck, “I want you to fuck me like I need to be reminded who I belong to.”
Rafe stilled.
Then he dragged a hand up JJ’s back, slow and firm. “You really ready?”
JJ pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Rafe’s hands flexed against JJ’s hips.
“I want you rough,” JJ whispered. "All of it. With you.”
Rafe crushed their mouths together. No teasing, no hesitation. Just full throttle.
JJ moaned. Ground down. Clawed at his shirt.
They didn’t get past the couch. JJ was too eager. Rafe too hungry.
Rafe got his pants open and JJ’s mouth on him in seconds, sunk back with his head against the armrest, staring at the ceiling with a low, his fist in JJ's hair, a guttural sound he hadn’t made in weeks.
It didn’t take long. JJ swallowed him whole like it was an apology and a promise at the same time. When Rafe came, he didn’t curse. He didn’t growl.
He just said JJ’s name.
Once. Quiet. Like a prayer.
“I missed us like this,” JJ said. “But I’m glad we slowed down.”
Rafe nodded. “Me too. But I’m ready now. To bring it back. The way it should be.”
JJ kissed him. Gentle. Lingering.
“Then it’s a date.”
And with his head on Rafe’s chest and their legs tangled like they belonged there, JJ drifted off knowing the kink wasn’t the end of their healing—
It was the beginning of what came next.
Chapter 28
Notes:
CNC scene is fully negotiated and safe within the story’s context.
This chapter is pure filth and full of feelings.
Chapter Text
Rafe showed up fifteen minutes early. Not because he was eager—he wasn’t that kind of guy—but because he wanted to get a read on the place before anyone else showed up.
The training site was a converted lot just outside town. Old school trailers for classrooms, a patch of asphalt and gravel roped off for maneuver drills, a few battered bikes lined up under a corrugated shelter. Humble. Functional.
Six other people filed in by the hour’s mark. Four men, two women. None older than mid-thirties. They all glanced at Rafe the way most people did—like they weren’t sure if he was a threat or just ran cold.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t greet anyone. Just leaned back in the metal chair he’d picked in the corner, long legs stretched out, helmet resting at his feet, black riding jacket half-unzipped over a fitted tee.
The instructor—a sinewy guy named Mark with a sunburn and a serious mustache—told them all to introduce themselves. Rafe gave his name flatly, no last name, no background. He nodded once and said, “Been riding for years.”
“Okay,” Mark said slowly, “and why do you want to be an instructor?”
Rafe’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t like idiots on the road.”
That got a couple chuckles. Mark smiled. “Fair enough.”
But it wasn’t a joke.
Rafe’s mind was only half in the classroom that first day. The other half kept slipping—to JJ.
JJ straddling a sawhorse in the grow shed, gloved fingers sticky with trichomes, stoned grin on his face. JJ in the hallway last night, whispering, “I want you to fuck me like I need to be reminded who I belong to.”
Rafe shifted in his chair, adjusting the crotch of his jeans subtly. No one noticed. They were all focused on the module packet.
Situational awareness. Group ride dynamics. Hazard recognition.
He underlined half a paragraph before zoning out again.
To the woods. The last time he chased JJ through them. That breathless game they’d planned out in brutal detail. Rafe had waited five minutes before hunting him. Tracked him, captured him.
How fast he’d run, how he’d screamed when Rafe took him down from behind, the way he’d begged, panting, even when they both knew the scene was negotiated, controlled.
That scene had carved itself into Rafe’s memory with surgical precision. The weight of JJ’s body twisting beneath him, the scratch of leaves under their skin, the sharp gasp when Rafe pinned him.
It had been nearly a month since then. The move. The change. The gentler season.
But Rafe could feel it coming back. Inside him. The dark, feral thing that wasn’t gone—just sleeping.
And it was waking up.
The instructors took them out for cone drills. Rafe aced them all. Slow speed turns. Emergency stops. Controlled slides.
Mark nodded at him. “You’re a natural.”
Rafe didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
That night, he got home late. JJ was in the kitchen, barefoot in mesh shorts, rolling a joint while dancing to some old-school rap blasting from his phone.
Rafe leaned in the doorway and watched him.
“Hey, killer,” JJ said without turning. “How was day one of not murdering anyone?”
“Barely survived it.” Rafe dropped his gear on the chair. “Instructor thinks I’m a natural.”
JJ snorted. “You think that because you are or because everyone else is trash?”
“Both.”
JJ lit the joint and turned, eyes gleaming. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a big strong stoner boyfriend to keep your ego in check.”
Rafe walked over slowly. Took the joint from him. Blew smoke past JJ’s ear. “I’ve been thinking about when I caught you in the woods.”
JJ went still. Then nodded.
“Got an idea for the next one.”
JJ tilted his head. “Yeah?”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “You’re home alone. Lights out. I break in. Masked. Armed. You fight. I win.”
JJ’s breath caught.
“And then?”
“I take what’s mine.”
JJ’s lips parted. “That all planned out in that psycho head of yours?”
“Some of it.” Rafe kissed him, slow and sharp. “The rest I’ll improvise.”
Rafe crossed the room. “Clothes. Off. Now.”
JJ blinked. “You’re not even gonna kiss me first?”
“I’m gonna fuck the sass out of your mouth.”
JJ moaned and got up so fast he almost tripped on his pants. “God, finally.”
Rafe had him bent over the couch arm thirty seconds later. No prep. Just spit and command and the sound of JJ panting, “Yes, please, yes, harder—”
He pounded JJ deep and hard and threw his weight behind every thrust.
He was completely centred on JJ and giving him the sex they both needed.
The moans and grunts and filth traded between them until Rafe had fucked JJ through his orgasm, overstimulating him until Rafe blew inside him and collapsed with a growl that came from his soul.
Afterward, when they lay tangled and half-clothed on the floor, JJ kissed Rafe’s temple and whispered, “I missed this version of you.”
Rafe didn’t smile.
But he gripped JJ tighter and thought about how far they’d come. How far they still had to go.
And how fucking lucky he was that the one boy he couldn’t stop stalking had turned around and asked to be chased.
……………………………………………….
Later, Rafe lay awake with JJ curled against his side, asleep but twitching now and then, hips moving like he was still remembering Rafe’s hand on the back of his neck.
Rafe stared at the ceiling.
He’d spent most of his life feeling like a monster. And maybe he still was. But he was JJ’s monster now. Obsessed, possessive, patient.
The training would get him a job. Stability. Respect. But what really mattered?
That JJ trusted him. Wanted him dark. Loved him because he knew the shadow inside Rafe wasn’t gone.
And wasn’t supposed to be.
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he’d show the instructors how precision looked when it was carved into bone. But tonight?
He’d dream of masks and breathless pleas.
Because JJ had given him permission.
And Rafe was going to make good on every filthy promise.
JJ woke up wrecked. Thighs sore, hole sore, jaw sore. A tangle of sheets between his legs and the ghost of Rafe’s hands still burned into his hips. His neck ached in that perfect, bruised way that made him grin against the pillow.
But it wasn’t soft.
That was the thing.
It had been weeks of cautious heat, of kissing and touching and love that was patient, tender. Needed. But not the full blaze of what they were. Not until last night.
Now, everything simmered.
He showered slow, hissing when the water hit the places Rafe had marked him. Dressed with care, choosing the slouchy jeans that hung low on his hips, and a tank that showed the faint bite above his collarbone. Rafe had grunted something filthy into his neck about wearing it like a tag. JJ hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.
He walked to work whistling, sun on his back, grin on his mouth.
Walt took one look at him limping across the trim shed and snorted. “Jesus. You look like you got thrown off a four-wheeler and liked it.
“Close,” JJ said, dropping into his seat with a pleased wince.
“Didn’t peg your man for the feral type,” Walt said, passing him a branch heavy with crystals.
JJ just grinned. “He’s reformed. Mostly.”
Walt rolled his eyes and pressed play on some terrible jam band mix.
JJ trimmed fast, distracted. He kept checking his phone, checking the clock. When the gummy kicked in, he pulled out his phone and sent a few texts.
if you don’t fuck me stupid again tonight I’m starting a turf war with station six
your jaw looked good angry. just saying
I want to be tied up so bad I’m gonna snap a stem if you don’t text back.
No answer.
Which meant Rafe was spiralling. JJ could picture it—his man in that cheap folding chair at the course centre, binder open, jaw locked, highlighter flying. Or worse: fantasizing. Planning.
JJ bit his lip, shifting in his seat. Rafe wasn’t the type to do anything halfway. And now that they were back in the deep end? JJ knew exactly what kind of storm was coming.
He spent the afternoon daydreaming about cuffs, lube, spit, commands barked through clenched teeth. By the time quitting time rolled around, he was sticky and buzzed and humming with anticipation.
Walt waved him over. “Party tonight. Some of the growers off Highway 36. Chill scene. Bring your guy.”
JJ texted Rafe.
party invite. redwood freaks and a keg. you in?
The reply was quick.
Come with you. Might dip early. Class in the morning.
JJ smiled. Already imagining Rafe being intense and murdery in a crowd of crunchy stoners. Perfect.
Rafes day had started like a goddamn triumph.
Six people in the course. Two of them barely competent. One who kept trying to flirt with him every time he adjusted his jacket
Rafe had just stared. Said nothing.
But by the end of the day, he was already the one people were asking questions. His posture was perfect. His counterbalancing was better than the demo videos. He’d read the entire module pack already. Twice.
And yet? He spent the day half-hard, brain jacked full of JJ.
JJ’s moans. JJ’s grin. The weight of his body underneath him.
And more than that—the woods. The thrill of the chase. The moment JJ had bolted and Rafe had waited, booted and hungry, before growling after him.
He remembered every gasp, every curse, the way JJ had struggled just enough to make it good.
He needed it again. Bigger. Rougher. Realer.
He had consent. He had planning. And now he had the house.
……………………………………………………………
That night, at the party, Rafe didn’t speak much. Just kept a hand on JJ’s lower back. Glared at anyone who stared too long. JJ, full of beer and sunshine, laughed and lit up the yard.
Rafe left first.
JJ barely noticed
Back at the house, he took out the lightbulb in the lounge, left the rest of the house untouched.
He unloaded the gun, left the ammo in the drawer. Just the weight of it would be enough.
Then he waited. On the couch. In the dark. Mask on. Gun in hand.
The house was dark when JJ came home.
He’d said goodbye to Walt. Walked home high and loose, expecting maybe a sleepy kiss, maybe another lazy blowjob on the couch.
Instead, the moment the door closed behind him, a hand clamped over his mouth and an arm slammed across his throat.
JJ stiffened. His heart jumped sideways.
“Don’t scream,” a voice growled.
The voice was Rafe’s. But lower. Masked. Savage.
Something cold and metallic brushed his cheek.
JJ whimpered behind the hand.
His cock was already hard.
Rafe moved behind him. Grip like iron.
He shifted the hand from JJ’s mouth to the back of his neck, tangled his fingers in his hair and yanked his head back. JJ stumbled, breath coming in ragged little bursts.
"Move."
He walked JJ to the bedroom like that—gun at his spine, grip firm.
The place was almost pitch black. Claustrophobic. Perfect.
When they reached the bed, he shoved over the bed.
“Hands behind your back,” Rafe barked.
JJ obeyed instantly, wrists behind his back, pulse hammering. Rafe zip-tied him fast. Tight.
JJ stumbled forward. Rafe picked him up and shoved him to his knees.
“Open your fucking mouth.”
JJ lifted his face, eyes wide, mouth parted. Rafe fucked into it without ceremony—rough, shallow thrusts, one hand on JJ’s jaw, the other still holding the gun pressed to his temple.
JJ gagged once. Moaned around him.
“Fucking perfect,” Rafe growled. “Slutty little mouth. Been thinking about this all day.”
Rafe fucked his mouth like it was vengeance. No rhythm. Just need.
He pulled out with a snarl. “You like that, slut?”
JJ nodded, lips wet, eyes wide.
He pulled out suddenly, slick with spit and heat.
Picked JJ up like he weighed nothing and threw him onto the mattress.
Ripped his pants down. Bit his neck hard enough to bruise. Fisted his hair. Grabbed the lube from the drawer and slicked his fingers.
Two fingers shoved in without warning.
JJ screamed into the mattress.
“Did you miss this?” Rafe hissed into his ear. “Miss getting used like a toy?”
JJ squirmed. Groaned.
“Fucking filthy,” Rafe spat, working him open with no tenderness. “You should be ashamed.”
JJ gasped. “I’m not."
Rafe laughed—low and awful. “No. You’re proud. You want me to take you. Own you. Use you until you break.”
JJ didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He was already whimpering.
Rafe shoved into him hard. Deep. All at once.
JJ arched. Cried out.
Rafe didn’t let up. Pounded into him like it was the only thing holding him together.
He fucked him like violence. Like promise. Like possession.
Dirty talk spilled in broken growls—“Mine.” “Slut.” “You take it so fucking well.” “Gonna keep you tied up all weekend.” “You’re nothing but a hole until I say otherwise.”
JJ’s whole body trembled. His cock leaked against the sheets. The zip ties bit into his wrists. He was gone. Boneless. Owned.
Yeah,” Rafe grunted. “That’s it. That’s mine. You feel that? That’s how you know you’re owned.”
He fucked him like a weapon—each thrust brutal, relentless, fingers bruising JJ’s hips, breath hot and ragged against his neck.
“You know what I thought about all day? You. Mouthy. Strutting. Making everyone want what’s already mine.”
“You been walking around all week like you want this,” Rafe growled. “Wagging your ass, texting me filthy shit, looking like you forgot what being owned feels like.”
JJ whined. “Didn’t forget—just missed it—”
Rafe grabbed his hair. Yanked his head back. “Good. ‘Cause you’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours—fuck, Rafe, I’m—”
Rafe bit his neck again, hard enough to bruise.
Rafe reached between them. One stroke. Two.
JJ came first, shaking, still tied.
Rafe came seconds later, sinking his teeth into JJ’s shoulder to stop the noise he made, with a grunt and a final brutal thrust that left both of them gasping.
When it was over, he collapsed over him. Silent. Shaking.
Minutes passed.
JJ whispered, voice hoarse, “That was the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” Rafe laughed into his skin.
“You terrify me,” JJ smiled.
“Good.”
Because the dark wasn’t something they feared anymore. It was where they met. Where they burned.
They lay there for a moment.
No words. Just breath.
Then Rafe reached for scissors. Cut the zip ties. Pulled JJ into his arms.
“You okay?”
JJ nodded. “More than okay.”
“You were incredible,” Rafe whispered.
JJ smiled, cheek pressed to his chest. “Told you. I missed the wolf.”
Rafe kissed his forehead.
The lightbulb stayed out. They didn’t need it.
They had everything they needed right here in the dark.
Together.
……
The room still smelled like sweat, sex, and lube. JJ lay flat on his stomach, sprawled across the rumpled bed with one cheek pressed to the damp sheets. Every inch of him felt used. Marked. Owned.
And he was smiling.
A lazy, fucked-out grin, half-hidden in the pillow.
Rafe hadn’t moved much. Just pulled JJ close once the zip ties were cut, fingers slipping through his hair, grounding them both in the aftermath. But now he sat on the edge of the bed, still shirtless, still in his jeans, head bowed, hands braced on his knees.
JJ watched him through a haze of bliss and soreness.
“You good?” he asked, voice rough with use.
Rafe didn’t answer right away. Just dragged one hand down his face and then looked over his shoulder.
JJ was still stretched out, flushed and beautiful and wrecked in the way Rafe loved him most.
“I ever go too far—” Rafe started.
“You didn’t.” JJ’s voice was firm. Clear.
“I had the gun,” Rafe said. “I had my hand over your throat.”
“And I had the safeword,” JJ reminded him. “And I didn’t use it. I didn’t want to. I was so fucking gone for you I didn’t even think about anything else. You were perfect.”
Rafe turned. His expression was tight, something vulnerable behind his eyes.
JJ reached out, caught his wrist. “Don’t second-guess the best thing we’ve ever done.”
Rafe exhaled like something broke loose in his chest. He crawled back into the bed beside JJ and pulled him close, burying his face in JJ’s hair.
They lay like that for a long time. Skin to skin. Bones humming.
“I used to be afraid of this,” Rafe murmured. “Afraid that if I let this part of me out—if I gave you everything—I’d hurt you. Scare you. Lose you.”
JJ tilted his head up, eyes soft. “You waited for consent. You planned. You controlled it. You loved me with it.”
Rafe brushed his knuckles down JJ’s cheek. “You were shaking.”
JJ’s smirk returned, slow and wicked. “I like shaking.”
Rafe kissed him. Deep and slow, no teeth this time. Just heat.
“I want more,” JJ whispered against his lips. “Not all the time. Not every night. But that? What you did tonight? That was the most alive I’ve felt since we got here.”
“You’re an addict for adrenaline,” Rafe muttered.
“I’m addicted to you,” JJ corrected. “The version of you that’s calm and clean and planning our life—and the version that fucks me like a stolen thing.”
Rafe laughed under his breath. “I bought you. You’re not stolen.”
JJ raised a brow. “Yeah? What’d I cost?”
Rafe leaned in. “Everything I had. Everything I am.”
JJ's heart thumped.
Outside, the night was still. The window was open, and distant waves crashed somewhere past the trees.
Inside, JJ curled into Rafe’s side, breath slowing. The soreness in his limbs grounded him. The burn was still there, low in his back, a reminder. Not of pain. But of love, power, choice.
“I’m gonna dream about that mask,” JJ mumbled, already half-asleep.
“You’re gonna dream about the rest of the plan,” Rafe said.
JJ’s eyes fluttered open. “There’s a rest?”
Rafe smiled into his hair. “Oh, baby. We’re just getting started.
Chapter Text
JJ woke up sticky, sore, and smug as hell.
The sheets were twisted around his calves. The pillow beneath his cheek still smelled like sweat, gun oil, and Rafe’s skin. His thighs ached when he stretched, deep and hot and just shy of bruised, and he hissed through his teeth with satisfaction.
There was a bite mark high on his inner thigh. Another on his shoulder.
He grinned into the pillow.
They’d crossed a line last night—on purpose, with consent, with safewords they never had to use. It had been brutal and obscene and fucking beautiful.
And JJ was ready for more.
He blinked blearily, stretching again, and glanced toward the window. Mid-morning light spilled through the half-closed blinds, and the house smelled like coffee and weed.
JJ padded out barefoot, sore and shirtless, finding Rafe in the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, pouring coffee like he hadn’t turned into a masked home invader the night before.
JJ leaned against the doorframe. “So are you gonna kiss me or put me in a chokehold again?”
Rafe looked up. Something shifted behind his eyes—something sharp and dark and utterly devoted. “Yes.”
JJ snorted and crossed the room. He climbed onto the counter beside the coffee pot and dragged Rafe between his legs. Their kiss was slow this time. Lingering. Rafe cupped the back of his neck, fingers sliding into damp hair.
JJ broke the kiss to press their foreheads together. “I meant what I said. That was… good. Better than good.”
“You okay?” Rafe’s voice was rough with sleep and restraint.
JJ nodded. “More than okay.”
They stayed like that until the coffee beeped.
By noon, they were both showered and geared up. JJ wore the same black riding jacket Rafe had given him for his birthday, half unzipped to show a sliver of stomach. Rafe looked like a fucking mercenary—tight black tee, leather gloves, helmet hooked at his side.
JJ licked his lips. “You’re gonna make me crash just trying to stare at your ass.”
Rafe smirked. “Try and keep up.”
They tore through Eureka’s winding backroads, riding fast and loose, high on coffee and leftover adrenaline. JJ leaned into the turns, let his body remember the rhythm of Rafe’s—how he always stayed just a little ahead, taunting, daring.
By the third stretch of open road, JJ couldn’t take it anymore.
He kicked up the speed, raced Rafe flat-out to the next overlook, and when they both skidded to a stop, JJ launched off his bike and tackled Rafe onto the grass.
They rolled, laughing, wrestling like boys, like wolves. Rafe pinned him in the end, straddled his hips and leaned down, all teeth and heat.
“You win one race,” Rafe growled, “and you get cocky.”
JJ panted beneath him, flushed and breathless. “What can I say? I like chasing. But I like being caught even more.”
Rafe kissed him hard.
They ended the ride at their favorite overlook above the bay. JJ passed the blunt back and forth between them, his head on Rafe’s shoulder.
“I’ve been thinking,” JJ said, lazy and loose.
“Dangerous.”
JJ elbowed him. “Seriously. About… fantasies. We brought one to life. But I know you’ve got more.”
Rafe was silent for a moment. Then: “Yeah. I do.”
JJ waited.
Rafe’s voice dropped. “I want to tie you to the handlebars of your bike. In the woods. No one around. Just us. Use you there, bent over your tank, where you can smell the gas and feel the leather and know you’re mine.”
JJ made a broken sound. “Jesus.”
Rafe glanced over. “Too much?”
JJ licked his lips. “You planning on making that happen?”
Rafe tilted his head. “You planning on stopping me?”
JJ laughed. “Not even a little.”
They smoked a blunt before the ride back, took the long way through town, made it home by dusk.
There was whiskey waiting, just a little—two fingers each, poured slow while the air turned gold.
JJ sprawled on the couch, already warm from the high and the buzz. “You gonna keep fantasizing about me or actually do something about it?”
Rafe crouched in front of him, eyes locked on JJ’s. “I’m going to do everything you’ve ever begged for. Just need you to say when.”
JJ set the glass down and pulled Rafe in by the collar. “I’m saying it now.”
JJ dragged a hand through his hair, face flushed. “I’ve been thinking too. About letting you pick me up from work one day, take me somewhere remote. Like a blackout scene. Just a look, a gesture, and I know what you want.”
“You like not knowing when or how,” Rafe said.
JJ nodded. “I trust you. I want you to have that control again. All the way.”
…………………………………………………………………….
They didn’t go back out that night.
After the whiskey, the weed, the kiss that curled around JJ’s ribs like a secret promise, they curled together on the couch, warm and fucked-out and happy. Rafe’s hand stayed on JJ’s thigh like he couldn’t stop touching. JJ didn’t want him to.
And in the morning, Rafe left for the final day of his course.
JJ stayed in bed, stretched like a cat, thighs still aching in a good way. He only got up when the sun had fully spilled across the windows and the ache in his belly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since tacos at lunch the day before.
He rolled a blunt and wandered barefoot around the house in Rafe’s discarded hoodie. Everything smelled like them. Sweat, resin, heat. His lips quirked every time he passed a surface they’d fucked on—or wanted to.
He was still grinning when Rafe walked back in the house late afternoon.
The front door creaked. JJ turned from the kitchen counter, blunt pinched between his fingers.
Rafe looked… different.
He’d changed into all black—boots, jeans, and that same tight shirt that clung to his biceps like threat. His helmet hung from two fingers. His certification packet was tucked under his arm.
But his expression?
Something sharp and private sat behind his eyes.
JJ stepped closer. “So? You done?”
Rafe dropped the packet on the counter, leaned his helmet against the wall, and pulled JJ in by the collar.
“I’m done.”
JJ whooped, tossed the blunt on a plate, and wrapped around him like a limpet. “Holy shit. My man’s official. Watch out, California roads.”
Rafe huffed a breathless laugh against his temple. “Passed with distinction. They said I was intense.”
“You? No.”
“They also said I might need to learn how to ‘play nice.’”
JJ snorted. “You gonna try?”
Rafe leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No.”
JJ shivered.
But when Rafe pulled back, his hands lingered at JJ’s waist instead of dragging him to the floor. His mouth tilted, not quite a smirk.
JJ noticed the faint tension in his shoulders. The burn in his eyes that wasn’t quite lust.
“You good?” he asked softly.
Rafe nodded once. “Yeah. Just… not tonight.”
JJ got it.
Last night had been a storm. A scene they both consented to, planned, wanted—but it had taken something out of them. Or maybe it gave them so much they hadn’t quite settled yet.
JJ stepped forward again, wrapping his arms around Rafe’s middle.
“You don’t need to do anything,” he murmured. “Just wanted to celebrate you.”
Rafe’s jaw flexed, but he dropped his face into JJ’s hair. “You always do.”
—
They didn’t fuck that night.
They made pasta. Shared the blunt from earlier and poured a couple inches of decent whiskey into mismatched tumblers. JJ wore Rafe’s hoodie and nothing else. Rafe didn’t even take his boots off for a while—he just sat on the floor with his back against the couch while JJ laid across the cushions, tracing circles into his scalp.
It was peaceful. But not soft.
There was still tension in the air. That quiet crackle of hunger unsated. JJ felt it every time Rafe’s eyes flicked over his bare thighs.
He didn’t press. Just waited. Let Rafe settle.
When the second blunt was almost out and the bottle nearly empty, JJ slid off the couch and straddled Rafe where he sat.
Rafe looked up at him with a low, reverent sound that made JJ’s skin prickle.
“You’re dangerous,” Rafe said hoarsely.
JJ smiled. “You love it.”
“I do.”
They kissed. Slow, smoke-tinged, lazy with heat but not urgency. JJ rolled his hips, teasing, but didn’t try to take it further. Just leaned back a little, fingers dragging down Rafe’s chest.
“I’ve been thinking,” JJ murmured.
Rafe arched an eyebrow. “About?”
“About topping again.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened.
JJ traced the edge of his collarbone. “Not like before. Not just ‘cause we needed to balance shit out.”
Rafe’s breath hitched.
JJ licked his lips. “I want to take you down slow. No violence. No fight. Maybe some pain. Just me. Calm. Knowing what you need before you even ask.”
Rafe’s head thudded back against the couch. His hands gripped JJ’s thighs like a lifeline.
“I want you pliant,” JJ whispered. “I want to press you down and hold you there. Want you gasping until you melt. Fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Rafe moaned, low and desperate. “Jesus.”
JJ leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “You’ve wrecked me in every way, Rafe. Let me return the favour.”
Rafe reached up, dragged him into another kiss, and this time it was messy—filthy with promise, wet and open and a little ragged.
When they broke apart, both panting, Rafe’s eyes were glassy.
“You can have me,” he said roughly. “Any way you want. Whenever you want.”
JJ kissed the corner of his mouth. “Not tonight. But soon.”
“Fuck, J.”
JJ smiled and nuzzled under his jaw. “I want you to feel what I felt that night. That surrender. That trust.”
“I already do.”
They didn’t move for a long time.
JJ’s cheek pressed to Rafe’s chest. The whiskey was warm in his belly. His hands curled around the hem of Rafe’s shirt. He felt protected, treasured, powerful in the most gentle way.
Rafe just held him. One hand stroking his spine. The other gripping his thigh like he didn’t want to let go.
They didn’t fuck. But they didn’t need to.
Because tonight was about the promise.
And the next time?
JJ would make Rafe feel everything he’d ever given.
And then some.
………………………………………….
It started with glances.
Not the hungry, feral kind they used to trade back in the Outer Banks. Not even the kind Rafe threw when JJ rode ahead of him on the bike, jacket half-zipped, hips moving with confidence that made Rafe want to speed up and take control.
This was different.
These glances lingered. Thoughtful. Measuring. Wanting, yes—but restrained. JJ was watching Rafe now, not just desiring him, but assessing. Imagining.
And Rafe felt it like a live wire under his skin.
Rafe’s mornings began early now. Coffee black. No weed until after midday. His course had ended, but the next phase was proving harder.
He wanted to teach.
He wanted to walk into a training room, voice calm and firm, and watch half-cocky guys with too much throttle and not enough caution fall into line. He wanted to talk shop with real mechanics, mentor kids who reminded him of himself before everything went sideways.
But this wasn’t Kildare. Nobody here gave a shit about the Camerons.
He’d submitted five applications. Made two follow-up calls. One of the training centres had gone cold. The other told him they’d keep him on file.
JJ found him at the kitchen table one morning, binder open, page crumpled under his clenched hand.
“You’re scowling like the world owes you a blowjob,” JJ said, sliding a mug across the table.
Rafe grunted. “Thought the cert would be enough. It’s not.”
JJ didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the counter, sipped his coffee, and let Rafe stew.
Finally, JJ said, “You want this?”
Rafe looked up sharply. “Of course I fucking want this.”
JJ nodded. “Then you’ll get it. You’re just not used to asking.”
It was a punch wrapped in velvet. Rafe’s mouth twitched.
“I didn’t ask for you,” he muttered.
JJ’s grin curled like smoke. “No. You took me. But maybe that’s the trick. Maybe you gotta take this too.”
And just like that, Rafe was back at the computer. Back to rewriting his resume with JJ perched behind him, knees brushing his ribs, making obnoxious suggestions and correcting his typos.
JJ was thriving.
The grow op wasn’t massive, but it was organized. Walt had pulled him aside by week three and said, “You wanna see how the big boys do it?”
JJ said yes before the sentence ended.
Now he was trimming less and observing more. He learned how irrigation was set up. How grow lights were optimized for each strain. How to sex plants, identify mould, weigh output versus cost.
He came home with dirt under his nails and strains on his mind.
And pride in his chest.
It wasn’t like school. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed someone to show him without talking down. He asked smart questions. Took initiative. When someone fucked up, Walt asked JJ to double-check the work.
He’d never had responsibility that wasn’t tied to survival.
This? This was building something.
And the more he built, the more he looked at Rafe like a man who wanted to share the load.
Not just kneel for it.
They flirted through texts now, halfway between domestic and depraved.
JJ: "Missed you at lunch. Don’t worry, still got something to suck later."
Rafe: "Only thing you’re sucking is air when I fuck it out of you."
JJ: "That a promise?"
Rafe: "That a challenge?"
But JJ didn’t initiate anything more.
And Rafe didn’t push. Because they were circling something big.
Wednesday night, JJ came home quiet. He dropped onto the couch, rolling his shoulders
“You alright?” Rafe asked, setting down his glass. JJ nodded slowly. “Just thinking.”
He tilted his head back to look at Rafe. “You remember when you said I could have you any way I wanted?”
Rafe’s pulse jumped. “Yeah.”
JJ licked his lips. “I’m working on the plan.”
Then he smiled—slow and dark and wicked.
And Rafe had to excuse himself to the shower.
By Thursday, they were vibrating under their skin.
Rafe took a ride down the coast alone after another rejection email. It cleared his head and reminded him what he was good at—control, speed, planning for the curve ahead.
JJ came home late with a bottle of whiskey tucked in one hand and a new glint in his eye.
He poured one glass. Set it in front of Rafe . And whispered, “Don’t drink too much. I want you lucid.”
Rafe’s hand tightened on the glass. JJ just winked and headed for the shower.
They hadn’t set a date. Hadn’t named a scene.
But they both felt it building. That tension. That power shift.
JJ was teasing it out like a slow drawl. Rafe was bracing for it with every breath.
It would be about what JJ could take. And what Rafe could give up.
And neither of them was scared. Not anymore.
They were hungry.
And almost ready.
…………………………………………………………………………
Rafe woke up hard, aching, and hollow. The sun was barely up. JJ had already slipped out of bed, and the house felt too quiet without him.
The sheets smelled like sweat and smoke, and the ache in Rafe’s gut was worse than just morning wood. He rolled onto his back and pressed a hand to his chest, like that might settle it. But nothing settled—not lately.
Not with every job application unanswered. Not with the silence after every polite phone call. Not with JJ glowing every time he came home from Walt’s trim shed, talking about lighting systems and irrigation and proprietary genetics.
Rafe was proud of him. He was. But pride didn’t touch the hollow, didn’t ease the twist of need under his ribs.
He’d built them a life. Bought furniture. Paid deposits. Held the line when they both needed to slow down, reset.
But now, JJ was thriving.
And Rafe was stuck.
JJ noticed.
He didn’t say anything. Not directly. But Rafe caught the way his eyes lingered, the way he’d mouth off one second and press a kiss to Rafe’s jaw the next. Like he was checking. Testing.
“You’re fidgety,” he said Tuesday night, watching Rafe read the same paragraph three times. “Need me to tire you out?”
Rafe arched a brow. “Is that a threat?”
JJ just smiled. “More like a promise.”
JJ got bolder. He came home smelling like redwood and resin, threw a leg over Rafe’s lap on the couch, and licked into his mouth like he owned him.
“You okay?” he asked, hand curled against the back of Rafe’s neck.
Rafe nodded. “Just tired.”
JJ didn’t push. But later, when Rafe came out of the shower, there was a new toy on the bed. A graduated plug set, five sizes. No note. Just implication.
Friday morning, JJ kissed him long and slow, biting his lip just a little. “Tonight. Don’t jack off. Don’t drink. Don’t ask.”
Rafe froze. “Why?”
JJ licked his teeth. “Because I said so.”
Rafe spent the day pacing the house, his body buzzing with anticipation. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even nerves. It was need. Raw and hot and rising.
He texted JJ once: You’re playing with fire.
JJ replied: No, baby. I’m building it.
When JJ came home, it was full dark. He was calm. Focused. Didn’t smile like usual. Just kissed Rafe on the forehead, made them both a small dinner, and watched a little TV like it was any other night.
Rafe waited. Jittered.
At 10pm, JJ got up. Held out his hand. “Come on.”
Rafe followed him into the bedroom, half-hard already. The lights were low. There were toys lined up on a towel. Lube. Nipple clamps. The new plug set.
Rafe swallowed.
JJ stepped behind him, sliding strong hands down his chest. “Gonna take care of you,” he murmured. “You ready for that?”
Rafe nodded, voice gone.
JJ kissed his neck. “Words, baby.”
“Yes. I’m ready.”
JJ pulled his shirt over his head, then nudged him to the bed. “Hands and knees.”
Rafe obeyed.
JJ cuffed him—soft leather, attached to a spreader bar. Ankles and wrists. Just enough tension to keep him open, exposed. Rafe’s cock was leaking by the time JJ crawled in behind him.
“Colour?”
“Green,” Rafe rasped.
JJ slid up and bit the back of his neck, not soft. He pinched Rafes nipple until they hardened.
Then he reached forward, clamped one nipple, then the other. Rafe grunted, muscles jumping.
“You’re gonna take every inch,” JJ whispered. “Every toy. Every thrust. You’re gonna hold still and let me break you down, piece by piece. You want that?”
“Yes. Fuck. Please.”
JJ rubbed lube into his hands and stroked Rafes cock slick before taking his hand away.
JJ lubed the smallest plug and pressed it in slow. Rafe moaned, grinding back on instinct. JJ slapped his ass once, sharp.
“Don’t rush me.”
The next plug came five minutes later. Then the next. With each one, JJ stroked his spine, stroked his cock teasingly, flicked the clamps just enough to make him hiss. By the fourth, Rafe was trembling.
“Almost there,” JJ said. “You’re doing so fucking good.”
Rafe whimpered. “Want you.”
“You’ll get me. But not until I’ve wrecked you.”
He pulled the last plug out slow. Rafe gasped at the empty ache.
JJ took off the clamps and Rafe shuddered.
Then JJ slicked up his cock, shoved in with one slow, brutal thrust.
Rafe yelled. JJ grabbed his hips and held him there.
“Don’t you dare come,” JJ growled.
He fucked him hard. Deep. Slow. Then fast. Then slow again. Every time Rafe got close, JJ pulled back, bit his shoulder, pinched a nipple until he cried out.
“You think I didn’t notice?” JJ panted. “You think I didn’t see how quiet you got? How heavy everything’s been?”
Rafe moaned into the mattress. “I’m sorry.”
JJ slapped his ass. “Don’t be sorry. Let me fix it.”
And he did.
He fucked Rafe until he begged. Until his voice broke. Tears fell. Until he came untouched, wrung dry.
Only then did JJ come too, hips snapping forward, body collapsing over his.
They stayed like that. Breathing. Sweating. Spent.
JJ whispered, “Still with me?”
“Yeah,” Rafe breathed. “I’m with you.”
They curled together on clean sheets, the toys cleaned and put away. JJ pulled a blanket over them and held Rafe against his chest like something precious.
Rafe let himself be held.
Safe. Owned. Loved.
JJ kissed his hair. “Tomorrow I’ll cook you breakfast and ride you again.”
Rafe laughed, broken and warm.
And let it happen.
………………………………
Rafe didn’t sleep much that night
He should’ve. JJ had worked him over—wrecked him beautifully, teased him to the edge a dozen times and pulled him back like a goddamn pro—but even with his muscles trembling and skin flushed, Rafe had stared at the ceiling long after JJ drifted off against his chest. Not with nerves. Not with fear.
With peace.
With craving.
With love.
It had been a long time since someone had taken him that far down just to hold him afterward. JJ hadn’t just topped him—he’d handled him. Earned him.
And now, Rafe couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just the scene, but the bigger thing underneath it. What it meant. How far they’d come. How goddamn steady he felt in the aftermath.
JJ had wrecked him. But also rebuilt him. And that was the part Rafe couldn’t get over.
The next morning, JJ was still asleep when Rafe got up and made coffee, shirtless, bruised, and smiling faintly every time he shifted and felt the ache between his thighs. He drank half a mug at the kitchen window before JJ stumbled out in flannel pants, hair wild, smirking.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Rafe raised a brow. “Sweetheart?”
JJ grabbed the mug out of his hand, took a sip, and leaned against the counter with a satisfied sigh. “You were very well-behaved last night. Thought I’d reward you with pet names.”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “I came so hard I saw stars. Don’t push it.”
JJ leaned in, all grin. “I’m planning on pushing it. Again. Soon.”
Rafe growled under his breath but didn’t pull away when JJ bit his shoulder lightly, teeth scraping the bruise he’d left the night before.
They ate breakfast in comfortable silence—Rafe at the table with his phone, refreshing a job alert site for the fifth time that morning. Still nothing. JJ on the couch, tapping something out in his notes app with a pensive expression.
When Rafe stood to rinse his plate, JJ padded over, leaned his chin on his shoulder from behind, and said, “So I’ve been thinking…”
“That’s dangerous.”
JJ pinched his side. “Shut up. I’ve got some lighting ideas I want to try in the grow. Walt said I could start testing on a side crop next week.”
Rafe turned to face him. “You serious?”
JJ nodded. “I’ve got the hang of the hands-on stuff. They’re trusting me. I want to build something, Rafe. Really build it.”
Rafe kissed him hard, proud and a little breathless.
After breakfast, JJ pulled on his boots and disappeared for work, full of caffeine and purpose. Rafe lingered at the table for a while, rubbing his neck absently where JJ had bitten him and scrolling mindlessly through job listings he’d already seen three times.
Then, instead of diving back into despair, he opened his camera roll.
First were the recent shots—JJ curled up in bed, mouth open, sun bright on his fair hair. JJ covered in resin dust with a victorious grin, holding up a cola the size of Rafe’s forearm. JJ flipping him off in the parking lot of the hardware store because Rafe wouldn’t let him buy hot pink grow lights.
Then the older ones. The secret ones.
A snapshot of JJ stealing beers at a bonfire. A blurry video of him dancing, reckless and beautiful. JJ passed out on the beach, sand stuck to his cheekbone, jacket wrapped around his shoulders.
And then the most recent one: JJ on his knees, eyes bright and steady, lit only by moonlight and want. When Rafe was too stunned by love and awe not to capture it.
He stared at it now.
Felt something tighten in his chest.
He wanted to be worthy of that man.
He wanted to be good for him.
The rest of the day was ordinary, but charged. Rafe cleaned the shed. Emailed the last three contacts from the instructor course, asking if they’d heard of local work. Rewrote his resume. Again.
He caught himself pacing the hallway mid-afternoon, muscles twitchy with leftover submission energy, and forced himself to sit on the couch and breathe.
JJ came home late, reeking of pine and sweat and sunshine, eyes bright.
“Walt let me run the trich check today,” he said, peeling his shirt off. “I told him the top colas needed a couple more days and he agreed. Agreed, Rafe. That means I’m basically the head grower now.”
“You’re so cocky,” Rafe murmured, walking over and pulling him in by the waistband. “It’s disgusting.”
JJ licked his cheek. “You love it.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “I do.”
Later that night, they curled up in bed together with half a blunt and matching smirks. JJ ran a lazy hand over Rafe’s hip, fingers lingering on a fading bruise shaped like his fingers.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” JJ said, voice soft.
“You think too much.”
JJ pinched him. “I’ve been thinking about how long I wanted you. And how long you wanted me. How many years we wasted.”
Rafe exhaled. “I didn’t waste it. I watched you. Looked out for you. Wanted you.”
JJ’s hand slid lower. “And now you have me.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “Now I do.”
They kissed slow. Rafe let himself melt into it.
He still didn’t have a job. Still didn’t have answers.
But he had JJ.
And tomorrow, he’d try again.
Because someone had to be the man worthy of JJ Maybank.
And it was gonna be him.
Chapter Text
The job offer came on a Thursday.
Rafe was in the garage tuning JJ’s chain tension when the call came through. A clipped voice. Confirmation. Start date Monday.
Just like that, he was officially a motorcycle safety instructor—real hours, real pay, real schedule. A certificate wasn’t just a certificate anymore. It was motion. Purpose. Control.
He stood in the driveway afterward for a long time, helmet still in hand, staring down the road like it had something to say.
He didn’t smile. Not yet.
Not until JJ got home and leapt on him like a horny, overexcited golden retriever and said, “Fuck yeah, baby! That’s my man.”
Then he smiled.
It was out of town. That was the catch.
An hour north, tucked in the hills near one of the bigger towns. Five days a week. Morning start times. Afternoon debriefs. Commuting time. Gas. Traffic.
Time away.
They hadn’t spent more than a few hours apart since fleeing the Outer Banks. Since running. Since building this life from the dirt up.
Rafe hadn’t noticed just how much of JJ’s presence had become a balm to him until the idea of distance settled into his bones like a cold draft.
Monday came fast.
He left before JJ woke, teeth gritted against the ache in his chest. JJ had murmured something half-conscious and kissed his collarbone at 6 am, naked and warm and beautiful, but Rafe didn’t let himself linger.
He rode fast.
Faster than he should’ve, really. There was something about the bite of wind in his face and the throttle in his grip that made the space between them feel smaller.
The course was better than expected—ten students, two instructors, a big flat practice lot with cones and rubber tire scuffs and open sky. Rafe had been nervous at first, tight-lipped and unreadable.
But the moment he stepped in front of his baby bikers—teenagers, retirees, weekend warriors with midlife crises and too-loose helmets—something clicked.
Control.
He had it.
He had command of the room. Of the practice course. Of the safety briefings, the gear checks, the confident arc of a controlled turn. His voice held weight. His stance was mirrored. They listened. Trusted.
And Rafe liked it. More than he expected.
But between every drill, every check-in, every demonstration?
He was thinking of JJ.
Where he was. What he was doing. Who he was with.
JJ didn’t text back right away.
That was the first itch under his skin.
Rafe sent a photo of a student dumping his bike in a soft, ridiculous roll. No reply.
Then a selfie—him in his gloves, sunglasses, smirking like a cocky asshole.
Still nothing.
By lunch, he was pacing behind the instructor trailer, jaw tight, rereading their message history.
Then finally:
JJ: sorry babe, Walt had me stripping fan leaves all morning, no phone. you okay?
Rafe: fine.
JJ: i miss you too, psycho. 😘
It helped. A little.
But Rafe still rode home like the road owed him blood. Broke the speed limit. White-knuckled it the last five miles.
JJ greeted him at the door in sweatpants and no shirt, already grinning. “Look at you. My professional man.”
Rafe kissed him before the door even shut. Pressed him against it. Took his mouth like it was owed.
JJ laughed into it. “Someone’s needy.”
“You didn’t text me all morning.”
JJ pulled back just enough to look at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. No. I—” Rafe swallowed. “It’s weird not having you.”
JJ’s hand cupped his jaw. “You’ll get used to it.”
That was the thing, though.
Rafe didn’t want to get used to it.
The rest of the week went the same.
Rafe aced his classes. The students loved him. The other instructor, a guy named Nate with a buzzcut and too many opinions, started calling him “Captain Cameron.”
But the drive home felt longer every day.
JJ was always there—warm, grinning, rolling blunts and asking about his day—but the space between them during daylight hours started to itch. Started to burn.
Rafe began checking JJ’s location midday. Not because he didn’t trust him. Because he did. Because if something happened, if someone got too close, Rafe needed to know.
He didn’t say that out loud.
Didn’t say it when he hovered over JJ longer at night. When he gripped his hip harder. Bit down on the inside of his thigh like he needed to leave proof behind.
JJ didn’t call him out. Not yet.
But Rafe could feel it. The shift. The way his own mind crept into old patterns.
By Friday night, Rafe was pacing the kitchen with a beer in hand, staring at the wall and thinking about the guy from the harvest team who called JJ dude too many times. The one with the stupid tattoos and too many rings.
JJ was on the phone, talking to Walt about nutrient ratios.
Rafe watched him from the window. Stalked the door.
It took effort—real effort—not to interrupt. Not to step outside and wrap an arm around JJ’s waist and say mine in a voice that left no room for questions.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and watched the sky go dark.
Later, JJ climbed into bed, eyes already heavy, and whispered, “You coming?”
Rafe nodded, slid in behind him, and wrapped an arm tight around his waist.
“I’m proud of you,” JJ mumbled.
“For what?”
“Teaching. Not snapping. Trying.”
Rafe didn’t say anything. Just pressed his face to the back of JJ’s neck and inhaled.
He was trying.
Really trying.
To be enough.
To keep the job.
To stay sane with space between them.
But even now—safe, warm, in love—
The wolf inside him still stirred.
Still watched the door.
Still thought: no one touches him but me.
………………………………………………….
JJ noticed it first in the mornings.
The second Rafe pulled his hoodie over his head, kissed him goodbye, and swung a leg over the bike, there was a flicker behind his eyes—like a wolf being made to heel. That tension hadn’t been there before the job. Before the distance. Before JJ started thriving.
And that was the thing.
JJ was thriving.
He was getting real hours, real pay, real trust from Walt and the crew. Learning fast. Building something. The lighting test crop was already responding to the new schedule he’d set up. He was stoned on chlorophyll and purpose most days.
But Rafe…
Rafe was holding on too tight again. Subtle, but JJ knew the signs.
The texts had gotten more frequent. Not clingy, just… insistent. Constant. Like Rafe needed proof JJ was still his every half hour.
[RAFE]: Send a pic.
[JJ]: Of what?
[RAFE]: Your face. Your hands. That mouth. Pick one.
Sometimes JJ laughed. Sometimes he sent one. Sometimes he rolled his eyes and ignored it.
But he felt it.
Rafe was spiraling. And JJ was starting to understand why.
When he thought about who Rafe used to be—back when they were on opposite sides of the island, and Rafe was a closeted, lonely, violent, haunted mess—JJ's chest ached. All those years, Rafe had watched him from the shadows. Not just wanting him. Needing him. Wanting to be good for him and knowing he wasn’t. Yet.
That kind of desire left scars.
And now, even with JJ in his bed, under his hands, still moaning his name like he was a religion—Rafe didn’t feel safe. He didn’t feel secure. He still expected the world to steal JJ away.
JJ sighed, flopping back on their couch, rolling a trimmed bud between his fingers.
Rafe was on his way home. Would probably tear into the driveway like a storm, kiss JJ like he’d been gone for weeks, and then obsessively check the locks before dinner.
JJ lit the joint. Thought for a long moment.
This couldn’t go on.
They ate in silence that night—takeout and fizzy water and the soft sounds of the TV in the background.
JJ waited until Rafe was halfway through his second dumpling before he spoke.
“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”
Rafe looked up, chewing slowly, eyes narrowing. “Where’s this coming from?”
JJ shrugged. “You’ve been wound tight all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve just been—”
“Busy. I know.” JJ reached across the table, tugged Rafe’s wrist until his fingers curled around his own. “But you’re checking in every hour. Your jaw’s been locked since Monday. And you haven’t smiled without checking me first to see if I’m smiling too.”
Rafe went still. Then let out a slow breath. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
JJ softened. “You’re not.”
“But I could,” Rafe said quietly. “I’ve done worse. I was worse. Before.”
“I know.” JJ looked him straight in the eye. “And I love you anyway. That part of you? It doesn’t scare me. Not anymore. But it hurts me to watch you suffer.”
Rafe’s throat bobbed. “I don’t mean to—”
“I know you don’t.” JJ squeezed his hand. “You’ve been with me every second since we left the island. I’ve had you wrapped around me, in me, under me. But now we’re building lives outside the bed. And that means space.”
Rafe flinched. JJ caught it.
“Not distance. Just… room to breathe. You gotta let me keep becoming this guy I’m starting to like.”
Silence stretched.
Finally, Rafe nodded. “What do you need from me?”
JJ smiled. “That’s the thing. I’m not asking for anything but your trust. Your faith. That I’m still yours, even when you’re not looking.”
Rafe’s expression crumpled for a second. Like JJ had said the magic word.
“I can give you that,” Rafe said hoarsely. “If I can just… see you. When I need to. Like—like a call on lunch. Or when I’m spiralling. If I know I can ask, I won’t obsess.”
JJ’s eyes lit up. “See? That’s healthy as fuck. Look at you. Growth.”
Rafe snorted. “Don’t push it.”
JJ grinned, leaned over the table, and kissed him sweet and stupid.
Later, they sprawled on the couch, joint between them, whiskey on the side table.
JJ rested his head on Rafe’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“I think we should make a couple of friends,” JJ said.
Rafe groaned.
“Don’t groan. I mean, like, one each. A weed friend for me. A bike friend for you.”
“What if your weed friend wants to fuck you?”
JJ laughed. “Then I’ll tell him my six-foot-something psycho biker boyfriend will skin him alive.”
“Fair.”
“Seriously, though. We can’t be each other’s everything forever. It’s hot. But it’s… it’s not the goal. The goal is to survive this life with someone you love. Not be swallowed whole by them.”
Rafe was quiet for a long time.
Then: “Okay. We’ll try. But if anyone touches you—”
“No one touches me but you,” JJ whispered.
That got a low, possessive growl. JJ smiled into Rafe’s shirt.
They’d make it. They’d work through it. Again and again.
Because love this intense came with rules and rituals. And they were ready to rewrite them.
Together.
…………………………………………….
Rafe knew something had to give the second he caught himself checking JJ’s location five times in one hour.
It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. JJ had given him everything—his body, his trust, his promise to stay tethered even when they roamed in different directions during the day. But Rafe still found himself pacing at work. Checking his phone. Wondering if someone at the grow shed looked at JJ the way Rafe used to. Wondering if JJ ever looked back.
He needed time. Not just time with JJ, but time without anyone else around. No paranoia, no coworkers, no clocks. Just them, like it had been on the road.
So when he found the listing for a secluded cabin three hours north, tucked into the edge of a forgotten forest reserve, he didn’t ask. He booked it. Two nights. Remote enough to go off-grid. Close enough to get back if needed. Private enough for what he had in mind.
He was going to remind JJ who he belonged to.
And let JJ remind him why surrender didn’t have to mean fear.
………………………
J had barely let him finish the pitch.
“You wanna kidnap me for the weekend?” he’d said, biting back a grin. “Hot.”
“Pack light,” Rafe had replied. “And bring the gear I like.”
That morning, JJ walked out in full riding leathers, smirking under his helmet. The black jacket hugged his chest like a glove. The pants framed his ass like a crime. Rafe nearly growled just looking at him.
The route took them north through winding redwood canyons and mist-laced hills, morning sunlight slicing through the trees in golden ribbons. Rafe rode slightly ahead, not for control this time—but because he couldn’t stand watching JJ take the corners like that without doing something about it.
He had a plan. A promise to keep.
They’d been riding for over an hour when Rafe pulled off onto a service road—a narrow stretch flanked by towering redwoods, no traffic, no signs. JJ followed without question, pulling up behind him and killing the engine. The quiet that settled over the clearing was thick and green, pine needles and damp moss soaking up the sound like a secret.
Rafe dismounted first. Pulled his helmet off slow. Eyes already dark behind his lashes as he looked JJ over.
JJ hadn’t even gotten his gloves off before Rafe was on him—grabbing the collar of his jacket, pulling him in hard for a kiss that bit.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” Rafe growled against his mouth. “Ever since you teased me about bending you over your bike.”
JJ grinned, cocky and wild-eyed. “Wasn’t teasing.”
Rafe spun him before he could finish the smirk, crowded him up against the frame of his Yamaha. “Helmet off,” he barked.
JJ obeyed instantly, breath catching as he felt Rafe unzip his jacket—not to take it off, but to expose his neck, the slope of his chest. He shuddered as gloved fingers skimmed over his collarbones.
Then the click of metal.
Rafe had pulled out the cuffs—heavy-duty, padded, the kind he trusted. He snapped one around JJ’s left wrist and looped it through the handlebars before securing the other, jerking his arms forward and locking him in place.
JJ exhaled hard, voice shaky with want. “Fuck.”
Rafe stepped back. Just enough to unbuckle JJ’s pants, drag them down over his hips, rough and efficient. He kept the riding boots on. Kept the jacket on. JJ’s cock hung heavy, flushed, leaking. His breath steamed in the cool mountain air.
“You look like a fucking offering,” Rafe muttered.
Then he dropped to his knees on the pine needles and sucked him down in one filthy move, one hand braced on JJ’s thigh, the other gripping the base like he owned it.
JJ’s knees buckled. “Jesus—Rafe—!”
Rafe didn’t answer. Just dragged his mouth up and down, teeth scraping lightly, humming like he was tasting something he’d earned. JJ squirmed, bound, gasping, pressing his forehead to his forearm as he struggled not to come.
When Rafe pulled off, spit shining JJ’s cock in the light, his voice was low and wrecked.
“Bend.”
He didn’t wait. Just stood, shoved JJ over the seat of the bike, and stepped up behind him. He slicked his fingers quick, shoved two inside without warning, curling them just enough to make JJ choke on a groan.
“Not gentle today,” Rafe muttered. “Not after you spent three days talking about how good I looked when I came undone.”
“Did I lie?” JJ rasped, turning to look over his shoulder, breathless and grinning.
Rafe snarled. Pulled his own pants down just far enough, lined up, and thrust deep in one brutal stroke.
JJ’s shout echoed through the trees.
Rafe didn’t stop. Hands gripping JJ’s hips, fucking into him over the bike like he was claiming territory. The metal creaked. JJ’s breath hitched. There was no rhythm—just force. Just ownership. Just two men too far gone to do anything but ruin each other.
When JJ came, it hit him like a convulsion—his shout muffled against the handlebars. Rafe followed a moment later, teeth buried in JJ’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for a beat, panting, tangled.
Then Rafe uncuffed him, held him against the warm engine casing, kissed the side of his neck like he was sorry and proud all at once.
The Airbnb was everything Rafe had promised. Remote. Beautiful. Surrounded by redwoods and cloaked in fog, the air so clean it made JJ dizzy.
The inside was minimalist—pale wood, matte black fixtures, concrete floors with radiant heating. A king bed with heavy flannel sheets. A fireplace. A clawfoot tub that sat in front of a giant window that framed nothing but sky and trees.
No phone signal unless you stood on the roof.
JJ stepped inside and made a noise somewhere between awe and arousal. “Did you rob a lumberjack sex cult for this?”
Rafe locked the door behind them. “Take off your clothes.”
JJ blinked.
“Now.”
He obeyed.
Rafe stayed fully dressed—black jeans, dark tee, boots. He walked slow, deliberate, trailing a hand across JJ’s shoulder as he passed.
“For the next two days,” Rafe said, voice dark silk, “you belong to me. No clothes. Cuffs when I say. You eat when I say. Come when I say.”
JJ’s cock twitched. “Yes, sir.”
Rafe led him to the bed first. Cuffed his hands to the bed frame, not rough—reverent. Kissed his mouth slow, dragged his fingers through his hair.
Then he took his time.
The next hour was an exercise in control—Rafe fingering him slow, spanking him between strokes, whispering things that made JJ writhe. When he finally pushed inside again, JJ was hoarse from moaning.
That night, after they both came again and again, Rafe carried him to the tub.
Let JJ soak while he washed every mark he’d made.
They didn’t speak much. Just quiet smiles. Sighs. The crackle of the fire and the sound of wind through the trees.
JJ looked up, glassy-eyed, totally undone. “You gonna keep me like this forever?”
Rafe brushed damp hair off his forehead. “That’s the plan.”
Chapter Text
Rafe rose before the sun. The air in the cabin was still and cool, just pale mist outside the window and the occasional creak of old wood.
JJ was draped across the bed in the same position Rafe had left him hours ago: boneless, marked up, mouth slack with sleep. His skin was still flushed from the stretch of the day before, ass faintly pink, lips parted around soft breaths.
Rafe stood for a moment and just looked at him.
Then he got to work.
He made coffee. Started the fire. Opened the curtains a few inches to let in the rising light. He moved through the space quietly, reverently. Ran a hot washcloth over JJ’s back and shoulders, tender as anything, letting him stir slowly.
“Mmmf,” JJ murmured, blinking one eye open. “You look way too smug for someone who destroyed me last night.”
“I’m not smug,” Rafe said, running the cloth down his spine. “I’m proud.”
JJ stretched with a wince and a grin. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love it.”
JJ rolled over, naked and still pliant with sleep, cock half-hard against his thigh. “Are you gonna fuck me again or feed me first?”
“Neither,” Rafe said smoothly. “I’m going to spank you.”
JJ’s smile twitched. “What for?”
Rafe arched a brow. “That’s your job. Come up with something.”
He set the coffee on the bedside table and sat down in the wide armchair near the fire, thighs spread, still in his joggers and black tee. His palm rested easily on his thigh.
JJ hesitated. Just long enough to let his pulse quicken.
Then he padded across the room and curled himself over Rafe’s lap, still warm and relaxed from sleep, ass up, face resting on the padded arm.
“I might have rolled my eyes at you yesterday,” he said casually.
“You definitely did.”
“I might’ve mouthed off, too.”
“Always.”
JJ sighed. “I might’ve made you feel like you weren’t in charge for about ten seconds.”
“There it is.”
Rafe smoothed his hand over the curve of JJ’s ass. The skin was pale and slightly tender already. He palmed it, then brought his hand down in a sharp slap—measured, clean. JJ hissed.
“You sure you want this?” Rafe asked, voice soft but firm.
JJ didn’t hesitate. “I want to feel your hand. All morning.”
Rafe spanked him again. And again. A steady rhythm, alternating cheeks, pausing to stroke, to knead. His voice was low, constant.
“You take it so well.”
“You’re made for this.”
“I could do this for hours.”
JJ was groaning now. His cock was stiff, trapped between Rafe’s thighs, leaking onto his leg. Rafe tilted his hips slightly to let the movement grind against him—encouragement, control, reward.
He moved to JJ’s thighs next—crueller skin, sharper sting. JJ gasped, jerked, but didn’t pull away. Rafe whispered to him every time he landed a strike.
“I love how pink you get.”
“Look at you. Helpless and hard.”
“You belong right here.”
When JJ was shaking, panting, still pinned across his lap, Rafe reached for the lube and the toy he’d placed on the end table earlier.
JJ tensed slightly when he felt the slick fingers at his rim, but then melted again as Rafe worked him open slowly.
“I want to watch you take every inch,” Rafe murmured, pressing the dildo in gradually while his other hand stroked up JJ’s spine. “Stay relaxed.”
JJ whimpered into the chair arm, thighs trembling.
“That’s it. Take it. You’re so fucking good for me.”
Rafe rocked the toy in and out, hand firm on JJ’s back, murmuring praise. When he was deep enough, Rafe pulled out his phone and took a slow series of pictures—JJ over his lap, back arched, cock trapped between them, hole stretched and slick.
“Mine,” Rafe said quietly. “Every angle.”
JJ didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
He was pink and leaking, body strung tight but trusted. His toes curled against the rug, his face flushed to match his ass, his breath hitched with each slow push.
When Rafe finally pulled the toy free, he kissed the back of JJ’s neck.
“You did perfect.”
He helped JJ sit back in his lap, legs shaky, cock dripping.
JJ curled into his chest, dazed and glowing.
“Felt like a goddamn ceremony,” JJ mumbled.
Rafe held him tighter. “That’s what you are. A ritual.”
They didn’t move for a long time.
Outside, the mist thinned and gold light poured through the trees. JJ, flushed and sore and loved, was cradled in Rafe’s arms, his mouth still wet with praise, his body marked by something holy.
JJ was flushed from head to toe, sweat dewing along his collarbone, thighs twitching with the aftershocks of pain and pressure. His hole fluttered where the toy had been, pink and slick. He was a vision—compliant, undone, gorgeous.
“Stand up,” Rafe said softly.
JJ groaned but obeyed, muscles trembling. He stood between Rafe’s spread knees, hair tousled, cock hard and leaking, thighs still red from the spanking. Rafe reached for his phone again.
“Hands behind your back.”
JJ complied, chest rising and falling as Rafe raised the phone again. Click.
He took his time—one photo of JJ just standing there: naked, flushed, dripping. Then he made him turn around slowly. Click. One of his ass—cheeks warm and marked, hole glistening and used. Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He was going to lose his mind over these.
“Down,” Rafe said, voice low and reverent.
JJ dropped to his knees.
“Look at me.”
JJ tilted his head up, mouth already parted, eyes wide and glassy. Click. Rafe gripped his hair and fed him his cock slowly, no need to rush. JJ moaned as he opened wide, taking it like a prayer.
“Fuck,” Rafe growled. “Look at you.”
Another photo. Click. JJ on his knees, lips stretched around his cock, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, spit dripping to his chest.
When Rafe couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled out, cupped JJ’s face in both hands, and kissed him filthy—no patience, no hesitation. Just heat and worship.
“Back up,” Rafe said, standing. “Back on my lap.”
JJ climbed onto him again, straddling his thighs in reverse now, his back against Rafe’s chest, head tipping back onto his shoulder. Rafe wrapped a lubed hand around JJ’s cock and started to stroke him slow and firm. JJ whined, full-body sensitive, squirming as Rafe held him steady with his free arm locked around his waist.
“You’re gonna come for me like this,” Rafe whispered, voice against his ear. “Held. Used. Owned.”
JJ shuddered. “Fuck—Rafe—”
“Shh. You’re doing perfect.”
Rafe leaned over, angled the camera just right, and snapped one more photo: his hand wrapped around JJ’s flushed, weeping cock, JJ trembling in his lap, his own cock hard again against JJ’s lower back. Click.
A moment later, JJ came with a cry, whole body bowing forward. Rafe didn’t stop touching him—just slowed the strokes, gentled his grip as he milked him through it.
He took one last shot: Click. JJ spent and panting, come streaked across his stomach, Rafe’s hand still wrapped possessively around him.
They didn’t move for a while.
JJ eventually sagged back, head tucked under Rafe’s chin. His voice was raw. “You’re gonna have to delete those when I die.”
Rafe smirked and kissed the side of his face. “You’re not dying. You’re mine.”
JJ hummed, boneless and gleaming. “So fucking good.”
“You’re perfect.”
Rafe set the phone aside, but not far. He liked knowing he could look at them later—every angle, every mark, every expression.
But right now, he had the real thing. Warm, naked, sated in his lap.
And he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
…………………………………………………………………..
JJ didn’t put clothes on.
Not after the spanking, not after the lap-fucking, not after the photos Rafe had taken of him looking wrecked and desperate and beautiful. He stayed bare because Rafe had told. And Rafe? Rafe hadn’t said it like a command. He’d said it like a need.
“Wanna see you like this all day,” he’d murmured, brushing a knuckle along JJ’s flushed inner thigh. “You’re mine. I want to look at you and remember.”
So JJ stayed naked. His skin buzzing from impact and praise. His body loose and leaking and ready.
The cabin had grown warmer with every passing hour—not just from the fire Rafe kept feeding, but from the heat of JJ’s bare skin against worn wood, soft blankets, couch cushions, his lap. Rafe never left the room for long. Didn’t let JJ out of his sight.\
It wasn’t creepy. It was intense. Contained. Worshipful.
And by the time Rafe guided him back to the bed, JJ’s body was a live wire strung too tight.
“On your back,” Rafe said softly.
JJ went down like it was gravity. The sheets still warm from earlier, his body sore and pink and humming.
Rafe climbed onto the bed, straddling his chest again. He loomed over him—tall and solid and fully clothed in soft jeans and a black henley. His thighs bracketed JJ’s ribs. His cock already out and hard, casting a shadow over JJ’s flushed face.
JJ stared up, eyes wide. “You’re so fucking big.”
Rafe’s mouth twitched. “And you love it.”
JJ nodded, biting his lip. Rafe was six-three, built like something meant to pin you down and keep you there. JJ wasn’t small—five-eleven, lean and scarred and tough—but under Rafe like this, he felt smaller. Overpowered. Owned.
Rafe reached down, stroked his cock once, and then slid it against JJ’s lips. “Open up.”
JJ obeyed. Took him in, tongue already working, hands sliding up Rafe’s thighs to clutch at his ass and waist. Rafe started moving slowly, hips rolling, feeding him more with each shallow thrust.
The view was obscene. Rafe towering above him, breath hitched, hands planted beside JJ’s head on the mattress. JJ’s own cock hardened again between their bodies, untouched.
Rafe didn’t let him finish. He pulled back with a wet sound, panting, and slid down JJ’s body—kissing his chest, biting a nipple, licking the curve of his ribs.
“Stay just like that,” Rafe said, voice hoarse. “Arms up.”
JJ obeyed. Wrists above his head. Eyes glassy.
Rafe pushed JJ’s thighs apart, hooked his ankles and drew them long, stretching him out completely underneath him. And then he blanketed him—full-body contact, cock sliding into him in one long, deep stroke.
JJ’s mouth fell open. “F-fuck.”
Rafe bracketed JJ’s head between his arms, hips moving in a slow, relentless rhythm. His weight pressed JJ down into the mattress, his chest heavy over JJ’s ribs, his cock filling him completely.
“You feel so fucking small like this,” Rafe breathed, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his mouth. “So good underneath me. All mine.”
JJ was moaning nonstop, head tilted back, thighs trembling around Rafe’s hips.
“God—Rafe—I can’t—”
“You can. You’re taking it so good, J. Look at you.”
He kissed JJ again—deep and possessive—and rolled his hips harder, grinding into the spot that made JJ cry out.
JJ came between them, rubbing off against Rafe’s belly, body bowing into his weight. Rafe didn’t stop. He chased his own orgasm with the same brutal control, until he buried himself to the hilt and groaned against JJ’s throat.
After, Rafe didn’t move far. He stayed inside him, heavy and trembling, holding JJ close while his heart slowed.
JJ was boneless. Glowing. Still spread wide open and flushed.
Rafe kissed his forehead. “You’re mine. You know that, right?”
JJ laughed weakly. “You’re such a psycho.”
Rafe grinned, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “Yeah. But I’m your psycho.”
And JJ? He didn’t disagree.
……………………………………………………………..
The fire had burned low.
Rafe lay sprawled across the sheepskin rug, bare chest rising and falling in the aftermath of his last orgasm, the musky scent of sex and sweat still thick in the air. JJ sat nearby on a cushion, gloriously naked, one leg bent, blunt between his fingers, watching him like something feral and fond.
The cuffs were out.
And JJ was scheming.
"Sit up, pretty boy," JJ murmured, voice honey-slicked and smug. "You’ve had your turn."
Rafe cracked one eye open. “You think you’re topping me now?”
JJ leaned over and licked a lazy stripe along his collarbone. “I don’t think. I know.”
Before Rafe could argue, JJ was in his lap, straddling him. He tugged Rafe’s arms behind his back, one wrist at a time, the leather clicking into place around his skin with practiced ease. Then he pushed him gently forward, until his chest hit the rug.
JJ added the ankle cuffs next—binding him tight, face flushed against the wool, his cock slowly stiffening again beneath him.
JJ crouched beside him and ran his hand slowly down Rafe’s spine, nails grazing vertebrae. “Look at you. Big scary biker dom. All cuffed up for me.”
Rafe grunted. “You’re gonna pay for this.”
JJ leaned in and whispered against his ear, “Promises, promises.”
He kissed every inch of Rafe’s back, traced every scar with reverent fingers, palmed his thighs, and murmured praise like scripture. “So fucking strong. So pretty when you’re like this. When you let go.”
Rafe’s breath was tight. He was floating again—barely tethered, undone by the worship in JJ’s voice, the contrast of playful and reverent. JJ rolled him onto his side, stroked his cock with maddening slowness, just enough pressure to make him throb.
JJ lay down beside him, wrapping a leg around his hips and continuing to stroke him. One hand braced against his chest; the other kept slow, steady pressure on his cock.
“You really are a sight like this,” JJ murmured, admiring the long line of Rafe’s body. “Big scary biker. Six-foot-three and tied up like a Christmas present.”
Rafe groaned into the pillow. “You’re the only one who gets to see me like this.”
JJ smiled, affectionate and a little wicked. “You’re damn right I am.”
He leaned forward, pressing a line of kisses along Rafe’s collarbone before palming his thighs, pushing them slightly apart. Rafe tensed when JJ dipped his head, licked a stripe across his nipple. “You’ve got no idea what it does to me. Seeing you like this. All mine.”
Rafe grunted. “You keep talking like that, I’m gonna come right away.”
JJ laughed. “No, you’re not. Not unless I say so.”
“Look at me,” JJ said softly.
Rafe did.
Then JJ’s voice turned wicked.
JJ smiled, affectionate and devilish all at once. “You know, I’ve been thinking. About making a few… changes.”
Rafe froze.
JJ kissed his cheek, warm and slow. “Maybe I’ll chop all this off.” He dragged his fingers through his own wild hair.
Rafe stiffened instantly.
JJ smiled, still stroking him. “Like, really short. Buzzed at the sides. Neat and clean. Practical.”
Rafe hissed. “Don’t.”
“You’re not cutting it.”
“No.” Rafe’s voice cracked. “JJ, no fucking way.”
JJ kissed the nape of his neck. “Might even get my nipples pierced while I’m at it. Cute little bars through them. Let someone hold me down and—”
“No.” Rafe’s voice broke like a bone. “You fucking won’t.”
JJ giggled, soft and evil. “Why not?”
Rafe tried to twist, panic rising like bile. “Because you’re mine. No one gets to touch you like that. No one puts metal in you. Not your fucking nipples. Not your hair. You—Jesus, JJ, please—your hair—”
JJ kept stroking, slow and cruel, his other hand smoothing down Rafe’s flank. “Scared someone’ll see me with a fresh fade and think I’m single?”
“I’ll kill them,” Rafe choked. “I swear to God.”
Rafe groaned, red-faced, hard and trembling. “Don’t even fucking joke about that. Don’t ever change. Don’t let anyone near you. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
“You’re not—” Rafe was panting now, cock still twitching in JJ’s hand, but his whole body was tense. “JJ, I swear to fucking God—”
JJ leaned in, lips brushing Rafe’s ear. “Would you be mad if someone else had to do it? Some piercer with gloves and a clamp and a needle? Touching me. Putting metal through my skin.”
Rafe’s face twisted. “Stop.”
JJ slowed his hand to a maddening crawl. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? Someone else putting their hands on me. Leaving a mark. Changing me.”
“I would lose my mind.” Rafe’s voice was raw. “Don’t—don’t let anyone touch you. Ever. You’re mine.”
JJ cupped Rafe’s jaw, turning his face toward him. “You scared?”
Rafe nodded, shame and possession rolling through him like a wave. “I’ll do anything. Just—don’t change. Don’t let anyone else near you. Please.”
JJ kissed him, tender and deep, pulling their bodies flush together. “You’re so easy to ruin. And you’re perfect when you beg.”
Rafe was shaking by the time he came, mouth open against JJ’s shoulder, a soundless sob against his throat.
JJ didn’t let go. He stroked him through it, then gently unbuckled the cuffs one by one, whispering nothing but praise and love the whole time.
Once Rafe was free, JJ tucked him against his chest, wrapping himself around him like a second skin. He kissed his temple, ran fingers through his hair, and let him come down slow.
“I’m not cutting my hair,” JJ said eventually, smile audible in his voice. “And if I ever pierce anything, you’ll be the one doing it.”
Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just buried his face in JJ’s neck and let out a shaky breath.
“Good,” he said at last. “That’s how it should be.”
“Please,” Rafe whispered. “Don’t. Please don’t change. Don’t cut it. Don’t pierce anything. Don’t give anyone a piece of you. You’re mine.”
JJ leaned over, chest to Rafe’s back, breath hot on his ear. “Say it again.”
“You’re mine,” Rafe groaned. “No one else. No one ever.”
.........................................................
The second morning in the cabin came soft and slow.
No alarms. No clothes. Just JJ tangled in blankets and sunshine, snoring softly into Rafe’s chest while a half-dead fire crackled in the hearth. Rafe hadn’t moved in an hour. Didn’t want to. JJ’s leg was slung possessively over his hip, his cheek pressed just above Rafe’s heartbeat, and Rafe had never felt more… still.
Safe, maybe.
He smoothed a hand down JJ’s bare back, tracing the freckles he’d memorized in secret long before he ever had permission to touch them. JJ stirred and hummed, nuzzling closer.
“Morning,” Rafe murmured.
“Shhh.” JJ’s voice was gravel and sleep. “Still cuddling.”
Rafe huffed a laugh. “You’ve been asleep all night.”
“I’m not done.”
JJ didn’t open his eyes, but his hand wandered—palming lazily at Rafe’s waist, sliding over his hip, not trying anything. Just claiming.
Rafe let him. Let himself be held.
They stayed like that for a while, the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled. Eventually, when JJ finally sat up and stretched—long and loose and glowing—Rafe felt that first tug of something vulnerable pulling at the edges of his calm.
“You alright?” JJ asked, noticing the shift.
Rafe nodded. Then hesitated. “Yeah. Just… thinkin’.”
JJ crawled back down beside him, throwing one leg over both of Rafe’s and wrapping an arm around his middle. “About what?”
Rafe sighed, arm tucked behind his head. “Work. Teaching.”
JJ perked up. “Yeah?”
“It’s not bad,” Rafe said. “Good to be doing something again. Not just waiting around for you to get home.”
JJ bit back a grin. “You miss me when I’m gone?”
Rafe gave him a look. “You know I do.”
They were quiet for a beat.
“I’m good at it,” Rafe went on. “The course. Watching how people move, how they ride, seeing what they don’t see yet. Fixing it.”
JJ nodded. “Yeah. You’re built for that shit.”
“But they’re all so fucking green,” Rafe muttered. “Can’t shift cleanly, can’t balance their weight in a turn, and they ride like they’ve never fucked anything fast or dangerous in their lives.”
JJ laughed, full and open.
Rafe smirked. “One of ‘em asked me what a clutch was. I nearly walked into traffic.”
“I’d pay to watch you teach,” JJ said, propping himself on one elbow. “Big scary biker dom trying to teach Tammy from accounting how to do a hill start without weeping.”
“She did weep,” Rafe muttered.
“I’m begging you to be nice.”
“I’m trying,” Rafe muttered.
JJ grinned. “She cute?”
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “She’s sixty.”
JJ cackled. “Even better.”
“I’ve got a co-instructor, though. Guy named Nate.”
JJ’s brow rose. “And?”
Rafe shrugged. “Knows his shit. Doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t get in my way.”
JJ tapped his chest. “You like him.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I tolerate him.”
“That’s Rafe-speak for friend potential.”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “You said I needed one.”
“You do.”
“Do you have one?”
JJ hesitated.
Rafe’s entire body stilled. “Who?”
JJ rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this girl, Cassie. Works in the curing room. Funny as hell, kinda blunt. Reminds me of Sarah, if she was more into weed and less into daddy’s money.”
Rafe’s jaw flexed. “She flirt with you?”
JJ shrugged. “Maybe a little. It’s harmless. She flirts with everyone.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened. “And you flirt back?”
JJ didn’t answer.
“JJ—”
JJ gave him a look. “You’re seriously jealous of a girl named Cassie who wears overalls and smells like fertilizer?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
JJ brushed a hand over his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Relax,” JJ said gently, brushing a hand over Rafe’s bare chest. “I’m yours. Every goddamn inch. You know that.”
Rafe hesitated. “Are you… still into women?”
JJ tilted his head, amused. “I’ll never not like boobs, Rafe. But you’ve met my type. Messy. Emotional. Criminally hot.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“But,” JJ added, voice softening, “I prefer your cock. Your hands. Your voice. The way you look when you’re angry and in love with me. I’m with you. Only you.”
Rafe nodded slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “I like boobs too.”
JJ snorted. “You do not.”
“I do,” Rafe said defensively. “Just not as much as I like your mouth.”
JJ smirked. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Shut up.”
They sat in silence for a while, joint burning low.
JJ leaned up and kissed his chin. “You’re better than my type. You’re it for me.”
Rafe didn’t look convinced. “You say that now. But people change.”
JJ pushed himself up to straddle Rafe’s waist, bare skin against sweats, thighs bracketing hips. He looked down at him, serious.
“I’ve changed a lot. You changed me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not looking anywhere else. You don’t need to guard me like I’m gonna vanish.”
Rafe swallowed. “I can’t help it. It’s not about trust. It’s about... needing.”
“I know.” JJ reached down and traced the curve of his cheek. “Is there anything I can do to help? Make it stick for you?”
Rafe’s hands slid up JJ’s thighs, resting there like he needed the grounding. He looked up at him, dark eyes hungry, full of longing and shadow.
“There are things,” he murmured. “Ways.”
JJ’s voice dropped. “Tell me.”
Rafe sat up slowly, pressing their chests together, arms wrapping around JJ like he was something breakable. “Let me keep collecting you. Let me mark it. Make it permanent.”
JJ blinked. “You want more photos?”
“Yes.” Rafe kissed his throat. “More proof. More moments. More of you saying ‘I’m yours’ in ways no one else gets to see.”
JJ nodded. “You can have all of it.”
“And keep doing what we’re doing here,” Rafe said. “Taking time. Touching base. Reminding each other we’re not alone.”
JJ smiled and pressed their foreheads together. “Deal.”
Later
JJ made them breakfast—badly. Rafe ate half-burnt toast without comment because JJ was naked and smug about it.
They smoked on the porch, wrapped in a single blanket. Talked about the coast, about finding new riding trails, about maybe—just maybe—rebuilding something here that didn’t look like either of their pasts.
Rafe didn’t spiral.
Not much.
He watched JJ talk, watched the way the sunlight hit his jaw and the healing pink of his thighs, and knew without a doubt: there would never be anyone else. Not for him. Not ever.
And if the rest of the world couldn’t see it, he’d just have to keep proving it—one photo, one moan, one night at a time.
Chapter Text
It was Rafe’s rostered day off after they got back from cabin.
He’d woken up early, restless and wanting JJ against him—helmeted, tight to his back on the bike, like nothing in the world could touch them. Not after the way they’d spent the weekend. Not with JJ still marked and sore from it.
JJ had snorted when Rafe proposed the ride.
“You getting needy in your old age?” he’d teased, tugging on a hoodie with bruises blooming beneath the collar.
Rafe had just stared until JJ grinned, pulled him in, and said, “Yeah, alright. You can drop me off. But only if you make it look like a kidnapping again.”
Now, they were flying up the long stretch of road toward the grow op—cool wind slicing past, JJ’s fingers tapping against Rafe’s ribs in idle rhythm. The air was crisp, sky overcast, the scent of wet earth rising from the forest.
For a while, there was just motion. Just peace.
But peace didn’t last long in Rafe’s head.
He pulled into the clearing beside the shed like he owned it. JJ hopped off, pulling off his helmet, hair wild. He adjusted the riding jacket Rafe had given him for his birthday. It still made Rafe’s mouth dry.
“You coming in?” JJ asked, voice bright. “You’ve already met Walt. Might as well say hi to the plants too.”
Rafe didn’t usually do friendly check-ins. But today wasn’t about usual. It was about connection. He nodded.
Inside, the trim shed buzzed with quiet industry. Drying fans hummed. The smell of resin, citrus, and damp soil hung thick in the air.
Cassie looked up from a rolling table near the curing racks. She clocked Rafe instantly.
“Well, shit,” she said, looking between them. “The biker boyfriend exists. JJ didn’t make you up.”
JJ groaned. “Cass, play nice.”
Cassie stood and walked over, appraising. “I’m Cassie. JJ’s morale support and weed consigliere. You’re taller than I expected. And you’ve got that… ‘I will stab someone for breathing wrong near him’ energy.”
Rafe gave a tight smile. “Not inaccurate.”
JJ laughed and steered him toward the grow room. “C’mon. Before you try to out-alpha each other.”
The grow rows had changed since Rafe’s last visit—before JJ started working here. New lights. Healthier colas. A tight humidity line.
JJ walked with confidence now. “These are the panels I tested. I rigged the spectrum swap last week and it actually improved density across the side row. Walt said I might get to run a whole cycle next season.”
There was pride in his voice. Rafe felt it settle somewhere in his chest—warm and slightly bittersweet. JJ was growing here, literally. Building something.
But just as Rafe let that pride settle, his eyes drifted past the far trellis line.
Someone stood alone, arms crossed, just outside the main rows. Watching.
Button-up shirt, too clean for here. Expensive boots. Clean shave. Hair slicked back like he thought he was still at a boardroom table.
And his eyes—his eyes were on JJ.
Rafe went still.
The man looked away a beat too late, and walked out toward the access road like he’d just finished “inspecting” something.
“Who’s that?” Rafe asked.
JJ glanced over. “No idea. Some investor guy probably.”
Rafe didn’t press. He didn’t have proof. Just an itch behind his ribs.
“Come on,” JJ said, tugging his arm. “You haven’t even seen my pride and joy.”
Rafe let him lead.
They spent another fifteen minutes walking the rows, checking on curing racks, listening to JJ talk soil pH like it was a seduction. And it kind of was.
But when Rafe finally climbed back on his bike, heading off solo with nothing but his thoughts and the faint pressure of JJ’s warmth still in his jacket, the image of that man’s eyes lingered.
…….
Later that evening, just before sunset, Rafe pulled into the dirt lot again—this time to pick JJ up.
JJ was already waiting near the fence, hair windblown, shirt sweat-slicked to his chest.
He climbed on behind Rafe and leaned in close, voice muffled under his helmet. “You miss me, Romeo?”
“Only every second.”
They didn’t talk until they got home. Didn’t need to. The silence stretched easy.
But once inside, while JJ was pouring water and stretching out his back with a groan, Rafe asked casually, “That guy—button-up, business casual. You see him again today?”
JJ blinked. “Oh. Wes? Yeah. Came by for a few minutes. Think he’s one of the silent investors Walt mentioned. Said he’s ‘interested in expansion.’ Whatever that means.”
Rafe’s jaw ticked.
“Talk to you?”
JJ shrugged. “Not really. Asked about the curing process, said I had ‘a good eye for structure.’ Kind of weird, actually. Didn’t seem to know much about weed.”
“And you didn’t mention him before?”
JJ gave him a look. “Didn’t think it mattered. Why?”
Rafe didn’t answer right away.
“Just… keep an eye on him.”
JJ grinned and stepped in, looping his arms around Rafe’s neck. “You jealous?”
“Paranoid.”
“Same thing when you’re hot,” JJ murmured, kissing his throat. “Don’t worry. He’s got nothing I want.”
Still, when Rafe closed his eyes that night, it wasn’t the image of JJ curled against him that haunted him.
It was the buttoned-up stranger with too-clean boots, watching JJ like he already knew what he wanted to buy.
……….
Rafe’s day started before sunrise.
The alarm hit at 5:30 a.m., sharp and merciless. He rolled out of bed with a groan, scrubbed a hand over his face, and leaned over JJ’s sleeping form for a long moment. JJ sprawled across the sheets, golden and half-covered, skin flushed with leftover heat. One arm stretched toward the empty space Rafe would leave behind.
Rafe didn’t wake him. Just brushed his fingers through the light, wild mess of JJ’s hair and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.
He needed the contact. A reminder.
By the time he hit the road for work, the sun was barely peeking over the hills, and the ache had already set in—the ache that only came from distance. From absence. From leaving something he wanted to keep watching.
JJ had promised to text when he got up. Rafe kept checking the screen between traffic lights anyway.
Work wasn’t hard. Not physically. Not even mentally. He could run drills and correct posture in his sleep. But it was the emotional effort that drained him: the attention it took not to think about JJ every three minutes. Not to imagine someone looking at JJ too long. Or laughing too easily at one of his jokes. Or walking too close in a narrow corridor.
Rafe tightened the straps on his safety vest.
He didn’t want to spiral. He wasn’t trying to fall into old patterns. But ever since they’d gotten back from the cabin—ever since JJ had stood naked in the sun and whispered, You’ve got me—something in Rafe had snapped into place.
He’d been given everything he wanted. Everything he needed.
And now the fear of losing it again had its claws back in him.
He stalked the training lot with too much energy. Corrected a nervous rider’s braking posture a little too bluntly. Found himself scowling at his co-instructor Nate’s casual conversation with one of the younger students, just because it reminded him of something JJ might say.
Focus, he told himself.
JJ’s working. He’s happy. He’s safe.
But the name still echoed: Wes. Clean shirt. Too many teeth. Investor type. Questions about JJ.
Rafe clenched the handlebars on the demo bike and counted to five.
He didn’t know anything yet. Had no reason to panic. But instincts didn’t work on logic. Instincts worked on threat detection. And something about that name had felt greasy under his skin.
He checked his phone again. No new messages.
Just a photo JJ had sent that morning: him in his work shirt, tongue stuck out, middle finger up. Beneath it:
“If I die in a gummy-related forklift accident, tell the weed I loved her.”
Rafe snorted despite himself. His fingers relaxed.
Still. He wouldn’t feel right until he had more information. Until he could look Wes in the eyes and know exactly who the fuck he was.
Not yet, he reminded himself.
But soon.
JJ had spent the morning checking trichomes with a jewellers’ loupe and making jokes that Walt pretended not to laugh at.
He liked this part—being surrounded by resin and chlorophyll and quiet confidence. The plants didn’t care where you came from or if you’d been expelled twice from high school. They cared if you understood what they needed. Light. Water. Airflow. Timing.
And JJ was starting to understand.
Cassie slid up beside him mid-morning, two coffees in hand. She handed him one with a raised brow. “You look like someone who got thoroughly fucked and then made the mistake of riding a motorcycle the next day.”
JJ snorted, took a sip. “That is weirdly specific.”
“You got that glow, Maybank,” she said. “Like you’ve seen God and God came on your chest.”
“I’ll let Rafe know you’re complimenting his work.”
Cassie smirked and leaned against the wall, watching him check the light timer. “So, you and your biker dom have a good weekend?”
JJ flushed just slightly but didn’t shy away. “Yeah. Real good. Got a little… creative.”
Cassie whistled. “Lucky bastard. Can’t imagine that dude letting anyone call the shots.”
JJ turned the dial one notch and grinned. “You’d be surprised.”
They moved through the curing racks together, chatting about airflow and terpene preservation. JJ genuinely liked her—Cassie was sharp, sarcastic, but never mean. She didn’t ask invasive questions or fish for gossip. She respected the plants, and she respected him.
Mostly.
“You know Wes is coming by today?” she said around noon, not looking up from the bud she was inspecting.
JJ blinked. “Seriously? What for?”
“Said he wanted to ‘observe operations.’” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Translation: stand around being shiny and rich and vaguely condescending.”
JJ chuckled. “You don’t like him?”
“I don’t not like him,” she said. “I just don’t trust men who smile that much while asking about payroll.”
JJ nodded slowly. He hadn’t thought much of the guy when they’d first met—Wes had shown up in clean boots and a watch that cost more than JJ’s bike. Asked too many questions. Looked around like he owned the place, even though Walt hadn’t introduced him like that.
Just “This is Wes. He’s with the business side.”
Still, Wes hadn’t been rude. Hadn’t said anything overt. Hadn’t even gotten particularly close.
It was Rafe who’d tensed the second he saw him.
JJ caught movement out of the corner of his eye—Wes, walking through the greenhouse, clipboard in hand. Tall, clean-cut, some kind of Pacific Northwest tech vibe. Not looking at JJ directly, but not not looking, either.
Cassie followed his gaze. “Think he’s trying to poach?”
“Poach what?”
“You.”
JJ snorted. “For what? A vape company?”
Cassie shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to scout talent out of here. You’re good, Jay. And you’re hot. That counts more than it should.”
JJ shrugged it off, but a flicker of unease crawled under his skin.
He texted Rafe.
“Wes is here. No accidents yet.”
Rafe’s reply came three seconds later:
“What did he say to you?”
JJ stared at the screen.
“Nothing yet. Chill, baby. Just doing rich guy recon. Not my type.”
Rafe didn’t respond after that. JJ tucked his phone away, heart thumping a little faster than it should have.
……
That evening, when the sky turned pink and the trim shed’s lights flickered off one by one, JJ walked out to the lot and saw Rafe already waiting.
Helmet off. Legs straddling the bike. Eyes locked on JJ like a hawk.
JJ jogged the last few steps and grinned. “Miss me?”
Rafe didn’t smile. Just put his helmet back on. “Let’s go.”
JJ’s grin faded a little. He put his helmet on, mounted his bike and followed Rafe.
The ride home was quiet. Fast.
JJ didn’t ask. Not yet.
But in the dark of the highway, riding close and watching the stars spin past overhead, he could feel it again—that protective wire inside Rafe coiling tighter.
And JJ wasn’t sure if it was because of Wes—
—or because Rafe had finally learned what it meant to have everything he ever wanted, and couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder.
………………………………………………………..
The next morning the air was cold and the road blurred past under his tires. The morning light hit the helmet visor just right, flashing white every few seconds as he leaned into each curve of the highway. He’d left early, long before JJ had even rolled out of bed—though not before kissing the crown of his head and whispering, “Don’t miss me too much, sunshine.”
JJ had mumbled something back—half asleep, face buried in Rafe’s pillow—but Rafe had caught the edge of a smile on his lips. It helped. A little.
He still checked his phone three times before pulling into the instructor lot. No messages yet. Not that he expected one this early.
It wasn’t about jealousy. Not really. It was about knowing what was his. What he’d bled for. What he’d built.
JJ was his.
But the problem was the rest of the world hadn’t gotten that memo.
And Rafe couldn’t shake the image of that man from the shed. Clean shirt, slick mouth, probably thought himself charming. Wes. He hadn’t even spoken to the guy, and he already hated him. The way his eyes lingered too long on JJ’s back when they passed in the corridor. The way his smile didn’t quite match the shape of his mouth.
Something was off. Rafe knew it. Felt it in his spine.
But there was no evidence. Not yet. Just instinct and possession and that gnawing itch that started behind his eyes and worked its way down his spine.
He rolled his shoulders out as he parked, shook off the tension. This was work. He had students to wrangle—six new riders this week, all green and nervous and half of them trying to impress him, the other half too scared to look him in the eye. Fine by him.
He barked orders. Demonstrated slow-speed turns. Critiqued posture like he was born for it.
But even while teaching, even when he was at the center of the lot, visor up, gloves off, voice calm—JJ haunted the edges of his focus.
What if Wes is there again today? What if JJ laughs at something he says? What if he touches his arm, just for a second—
Rafe cut the thought off. Clenched his jaw. Refocused on Tammy from accounting stalling mid-figure-eight.
Still, when his phone buzzed in his back pocket around lunch, he snatched it out like a man starved.
JJ: “Cass says she wants a ride on your bike sometime. Said she’ll bring a blunt and bribe you with brownies.”
JJ: “(Kidding. She’s got a girlfriend. Chill.)”
JJ: “Missed your grumpy ass this morning.”
Rafe exhaled. Smiled.
Then reread the first message and started internally drafting a very polite list of who wasn’t allowed on his bike.
……………………………………..
JJ was elbow-deep in a crate of trimmed bud when Cass sauntered past, joint tucked behind one ear, clipboard in hand.
“Your boyfriend text you back yet?” she asked with a knowing grin.
JJ snorted. “Yep. Probably mid-wheely on some poor instructor's tailpipe.”
Cass laughed, flipping through her notes. “He’s a lot. Like… hot serial killer energy.”
“He’s not a serial killer.”
“But you had to clarify.”
JJ just grinned. “He’s got good instincts.”
“Mmm. Bet that’s what he says about you.”
They kept working, the dry room low-lit and sweet-smelling, trimmed bud stacked in shallow trays. Walt passed through occasionally, muttering to himself about weight and density. JJ was used to the rhythm now. The low hum of good work. The way he’d started belonging.
He caught Wes passing by again around midday—button-down rolled to the elbows, clipboard in hand, laughing at something Cassie said near the racks.
He didn’t linger. Didn’t even speak to JJ. But something in the way he walked—like he was already comfortable here, like he owned the place—made JJ pause.
Investor, Cass had said. Silent partner. Doesn’t get his hands dirty but likes to check the margins.
JJ didn’t know how he felt about that.
Later, as they broke for lunch, JJ leaned against a crate near the open shed doors, biting into a stolen brownie from Cass’s stash. His phone buzzed again.
RAFE: “What do you know about Wes.”
RAFE: “What exactly is his role there.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. He typed back:
JJ: “Nothing serious. Walt said he’s money. Checks inventory sometimes.”
JJ: “You okay?”
The reply didn’t come for a few minutes.
Rafe: “Fine. Just thinking.”
JJ frowned. Cass nudged him with her boot. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Nope,” JJ said, but it came out distracted. “Just… Rafe being Rafe.”
Cass raised an eyebrow. “You want me to punch him?”
JJ grinned despite himself. “No. I got that covered.”
…………………………………………….
Rafe got home just after six, still in gear. JJ was already there, barefoot in the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, hair a little damp from the shower.
Rafe dropped his gloves on the counter and crossed the room without a word. Pulled JJ into his chest.
JJ blinked. “Hey—”
“You smell like lemon cleaner and pot,” Rafe muttered against his throat.
JJ smirked. “That’s called working, babe.”
They stood there for a long beat.
Then: “Tell me if he touches you.”
JJ stiffened a little. “Wes?”
Rafe’s jaw worked. “Yeah.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Good.” A pause. “But if he does—”
“He won’t,” JJ said gently. “And even if he did, it’d mean nothing.”
Rafe kissed him, slow and firm. Like punctuation. Like a promise. His hand slid up JJ’s back, into that light, wild hair—just chaos—and tugged.
JJ melted a little. Leaned into it. Let himself be reminded.
“I’m yours,” he whispered. “Still. Always.”
Rafe just nodded. But the hunger in his eyes hadn’t gone anywhere.
Neither had the storm building behind it.
…………………………………………
JJ's legs were warm around Rafe’s waist, thighs sticky with sweat and sleep. They hadn’t meant to fuck this morning. Not with Rafe needing to hit the road for the training centre an hour away.
But JJ had rolled over, cock hard against Rafe’s thigh, eyes lazy and teasing. One bite to Rafe’s shoulder and a muttered, “You leaving me horny? That’s illegal,” and Rafe had him pinned to the mattress.
The pace had been rough, real. Rafe gripped JJ’s wrists and fucked him fast and deep, mouth pressed to his neck.
“You gonna think about this when you’re teaching?” JJ whispered, breath hitching. “Gonna growl at those baby bikers ‘cause you miss my ass wrapped around your cock?”
Rafe groaned. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Make me.”
He did—with a hand over JJ’s mouth, and his weight heavy, covering him completely. JJ shuddered beneath him, so thoroughly owned that Rafe had to bite down on a moan when he came.
JJ laughed afterward, limp and smug. “Don’t die on your bike. I’ll be mad.”
Rafe kissed him once, hard. “Don’t talk to any investors today.”
JJ blinked. “What?”
Rafe shook his head. “Nothing.”
………………………………………..
Cassie was already rolling joints when JJ arrived. She squinted at him. “You’re walking funny again. Your man ride you into the mattress?”
JJ grinned. “Good morning to you too, Cass.”
“Hey, I’m just jealous. I’ve been dry since Christmas.” She flicked ash into a tray. “So. You planning on telling me about the hot guy in the button-down who was sniffing around again this morning?”
JJ blinked. “Wes?”
“That’s the one. He was asking Walt about you. Said you had ‘natural instincts.’” She made air quotes. “Walt looked like he was gonna choke him with his clipboard.”
JJ shrugged, reaching for gloves. “Wes is harmless. Just another rich dude pretending to get his hands dirty. Probably trying to figure out if I’m smart enough to exploit.”
Cassie snorted. “You’ve got the ‘stoner savant’ thing going. It’s working.”
JJ snapped a glove. “I’m working.”
Cassie lowered her voice. “He watched you move like he was buying stock in your ass.”
JJ paused. “You serious?”
She nodded. “I don’t like him.”
JJ frowned. “I thought he was straight.”
Cassie shrugged. “I thought my ex was poly. Turns out he just couldn’t commit.”
JJ turned toward the hallway just in time to see Wes walk by—button-down crisp, face neutral. He looked at JJ. Just one second too long.
JJ turned back to Cassie. “Okay. Maybe I’ll keep my distance.”
……………………………………………..
Rafe stared at the cluster of students practicing slow turns in the chalked-out parking lot. One kid almost dropped the bike again. Rafe didn’t move. Just gritted his teeth and watched the wobble correct itself.
His phone buzzed.
JJ: Cassie says hi. She’s making me paranoid about that Wes guy. You sure you didn’t slip her your control kink when I wasn’t looking?
Rafe smirked.
Rafe: She’s right to be paranoid. You’re mine.
JJ: Yeah? Wanna remind me how much later?
Rafe thumbed through his photo folder. JJ half-naked in bed. JJ pink from behind at the cabin. JJ on his knees, flushed and laughing.
He sent one back: a candid of JJ asleep on his chest, taken two nights ago.
Rafe: You forget how I look at you?
JJ: Never. Just like making you jealous.
Rafe: You’re gonna regret that tonight.
JJ: Promise?
……………….
By the time Rafe arrived outside the grow op, JJ was buzzing—weed-high and light on his feet, happy to see Rafe, happy to feel the wind again.
But Rafe didn’t say much.
They were halfway home before Rafe turned back and at looked at JJ following him on his bike. At the next set of lights, he leaned over to JJ.
“You still think Wes is harmless?”
JJ leaned forward. “He said some weird shit to Walt today. I’m keeping an eye on him.”
Rafe’s grip tightened slightly. “You’re not alone with him, right?”
“No,” JJ said. Then softer: “You okay?”
Rafe shook his head. “I don’t like the way he looked at you.”
JJ exhaled, slow. “We talked about this.”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “He doesn’t know how to look at you. Not like I do.”
……………………………………………………..
They barely made it inside before Rafe shoved JJ against the door and kissed him rough, tongue deep, hands hungry.
JJ moaned. “You trying to prove something?”
“Yes.”
JJ bit his lip. “Then take it.”
Rafe fucked him hard, possessive, relentless. He didn’t apologize for the bruises he left with his mouth, or the way he gripped JJ’s hips to keep him from pulling away. When JJ came between them, Rafe bit his shoulder and followed, teeth still sinking in.
Afterward, JJ lay sprawled across the bed, panting. “That… was a lot.”
“You still with me?” Rafe asked.
JJ turned his head. “Always.”
Rafe closed his eyes. Still, the unease lingered.
Chapter Text
The sun was already hot by the time Rafe pulled into the training yard.
Six bright-eyed wannabes stood in loose clusters, half of them fumbling with helmet straps, the rest grinning like they thought this would be easy.
Rafe adjusted his sunglasses, pulled his gloves tight, and stepped into instructor mode.
“Mount up. Let’s see who’s been watching YouTube and who’s gonna cry when they stall out.”
Nate, his co-instructor, snorted from behind him. “You’re a fucking ray of sunshine, man.”
Rafe didn’t glance back. “Just honest.”
“Honest’s good. Maybe tone down the serial killer vibes.”
Rafe gave a short laugh. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t dismissive either. Progress.
They ran the drills, went over gear checks, and halfway through Rafe actually caught himself enjoying it. Teaching felt clean. Like control. Like having the upper hand and the knowledge to back it.
But every break—every moment between cones and instructions—his mind went sideways.
JJ.
More specifically, JJ and Wes.
JJ had mentioned him casually. Just a guy. An investor. Someone sniffing around the operation. But the way JJ said his name... something about it prickled.
And Rafe had seen him—briefly—when he’d gone up on his day off. A clean smile, a tailored shirt, and a stare that lingered too long on JJ’s hands when he adjusted a grow light. It stuck with Rafe like grit under his fingernails.
“Hey,” Nate said, breaking his thoughts. “You always get murdery when you're quiet, or is that just a Wednesday thing?”
Rafe blinked. “Sorry.”
Nate offered a water bottle. “You good?”
Rafe hesitated. “Just… thinking about my partner.”
Nate whistled low. “Trouble?”
“Not with him.” Rafe took the bottle. “With the world around him.”
Nate nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
JJ
JJ was wrist-deep in a bucket of buds, tongue between his teeth and eyes half-lidded with concentration, when Cassie leaned over and said, “Investor guy’s back.”
JJ didn’t look up. “So?”
“He was asking about you.”
JJ arched an eyebrow. “Asking how?”
“Like… complimenting your initiative. Commenting on your ‘presence.’” She made finger quotes. “Also: gag.”
JJ laughed. “C’mon, Cass. Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not,” she said. “He’s just the type of guy who thinks buying LED grow shares means he’s spiritually enlightened.”
JJ chuckled, brushing resin off his fingers. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m a realist. You, pretty boy, are the office crush.”
JJ gave a mock bow. “As long as I don’t have to flirt for my paycheck.”
Cassie rolled her eyes but softened. “Walt’s impressed, by the way. Says you’re clocking real yield improvements. Keep it up.”
JJ preened. “Look at me. Not getting fired. Not getting arrested. Might even start a savings account.”
“Slow down, wild thing,” she said. “Weed before 9AM, and now you’re talking financial literacy? Who even are you?”
He snorted but felt the quiet warmth of pride creep up his neck. This was good. This was real.
Behind him, Wes walked through the far end of the room, glancing over. JJ waved, polite but brief.
He didn’t notice the way Wes watched him leave.
That Evening – Rafe & JJ
Rafe beat JJ home by five minutes. Enough time to pour himself a whiskey and try to level out his mood.
He failed.
JJ walked in, bright and flushed, smelling like citrus and earth. His light blonde hair stuck out in every direction, wild as always.
Rafe didn’t say anything. Just stared.
JJ paused in the doorway. “Hey.”
Rafe stepped forward. Gripped JJ’s jacket and pulled him in with a low grunt. Their mouths met fast, desperate.
JJ let him take. Let him push him back against the wall, hands on his hips, mouth opening easily.
“Need you,” Rafe muttered against his throat.
JJ’s voice was soft. “Take me.”
They didn’t make it to the bed.
Rafe pushed JJ onto the couch, knelt to drag his pants off, and bent over him with a hunger that bordered on violent.
He buried himself deep, thrusting hard and slow, pressing JJ into the cushions with the full weight of his body. JJ clutched at him, gasping, panting, grounding Rafe with filthy praise.
“You’re so deep,” JJ whispered. “Fucking wrecking me. No one else could. No one else gets this.”
Rafe bit the side of his neck. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
“I’ll kill anyone who looks at you like—”
“Hey. Eyes.” JJ cupped his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Rafe kissed him hard. “Promise me.”
“I do,” JJ breathed.
Rafe came first, buried deep. JJ followed, riding the friction between their bodies, wrung out and perfect.
Later, they lay tangled in bed. JJ drowsy and soft, Rafe wide awake.
JJ murmured, “Wes asked today where I lived. Said it must be nice, being away from town.”
Rafe’s blood went cold.
“And you said?” he asked, too casual.
“Told him I’ve got a good setup. Quiet. Private.”
Rafe nodded, but his jaw locked.
Private. Too private.
He pulled JJ closer, hand flat on his chest like a brand. He could feel the tension already winding back through his ribs. Slow. Controlled. But dangerous.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
……………………..
The next morning, Rafe left before dawn.
He hated it—hated being on the road while JJ was still warm in their bed, hated trusting the world with the one thing he couldn't replace. But his instructor schedule didn’t care about obsession or dread. So he slipped out with a kiss to JJ’s shoulder and a final check that all their doors were locked.
At the yard, Nate greeted him with coffee and a grin.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” he said.
“Thinking,” Rafe muttered.
“You always think like a villain?”
“Depends on who’s in the story.”
They ran drills. Rafe rode. But his head was back in the redwoods, back in that shed, back on the name JJ had dropped like it was nothing.
Wes. Just a guy. Just an investor.
Except no investor talked to the workers—especially not the new ones—unless he had another angle. Rafe knew the type. Clean shirts. Slick smiles. They didn't get dirty unless they wanted something.
So when his students hit the course break, Rafe sat down in the office and pulled out his phone.
A LinkedIn search. A few whispers on local forums. Company listings in Eureka. Only one Wes showed up tied to agriculture.
Wes Thorne. Investor. PR front for a west-coast grow conglomerate. Based mostly in Mendocino, but Rafe found a short interview in a small cannabis culture blog—something about "reimagining rural talent acquisition."
The photo was the same face Rafe had seen eyeing JJ. His stomach twisted.
Rafe closed the browser. Let it sit. No evidence yet. No confrontation. Not until he knew more. But the next time that man smiled at JJ like he was a fucking asset—
He gripped his helmet until the plastic creaked.
…………………………………………………..
Cassie was already mid-story when JJ walked into the shed. “—so then this guy, this guy, thinks he’s being subtle, right? Flirting while trying to sell me on a new nutrient line? Like dude, you think I can’t see the hard sell under your eyebrows?”
JJ laughed, peeling off his jacket. “You intimidate everyone.”
“I should. I’m a terrifying woman in steel caps. What about you, golden boy? Anyone try to pitch you something gross today?”
JJ shrugged. “Just Wes.”
Cassie arched a brow. “Again?” “Yeah, he asked if I’d ever consider working at a larger operation. Said I’ve got… potential.”
Cassie made a gagging noise. “God, he’s such a brochure.”
JJ chuckled, but unease tickled his neck. “He keeps asking little things. Where I’m from. What kind of work I’ve done. If I’d ever want to move somewhere ‘more ambitious.’”
“You think he’s recruiting?”
JJ glanced toward the hall where Wes had vanished. “Feels more like studying.”
That evening, Rafe was already waiting in the gravel lot when JJ clocked out. JJ smiled at the sight of him, black jacket catching the golden hour light, one boot tapping, helmet in hand.
“Hey, stranger.” JJ swung a leg over his bike. “Miss me?”
“Always.” Rafe’s hand came up to cup JJ’s chin, steady and sure. “Good day?”
“Busy.” JJ leaned in. “And weird.”
“Oh?”
“Wes was back. Said some stuff. Felt… off.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. He started the bike.
“Tell me everything.”
As they rode side by side into the dusk, JJ talked. Rafe listened. And somewhere deep in his chest, something sharp began to settle.
Not yet a plan. Not yet a threat. But close.
………………………………………………………………………
By the time they got back to the house, JJ was talking less and thinking more.
That always meant trouble.
Rafe tracked it in the set of his shoulders as they undressed, the silence over dinner, the way JJ’s knee bounced even while they curled up on the couch. He didn’t press—not at first. Let him stew. Let him work it out.
But later, while JJ was brushing his teeth, Rafe stood in the doorway and said, “If you don’t tell me what’s crawling under your skin, I’m gonna start guessing. Badly.”
JJ wiped his mouth on a towel, glancing at him sideways. “It’s Wes.”
Rafe stiffened. “What about him?”
“He said—” JJ sighed, leaning on the sink. “He said I shouldn’t waste my potential out here. That I’ve got ‘the kind of mind people invest in.’ Like I’m a fucking startup.”
Rafe’s knuckles cracked. “He touched you?”
“No,” JJ said quickly. “Not like that. But he… watches me. Like he’s got a plan.”
Rafe stepped into the bathroom. Rested a hand on JJ’s waist. “You tell Walt?”
“Walt laughed. Said Wes probably wants to poach me. Then told me not to get a big head.”
“Not funny.”
“I know.”
Rafe kissed the curve of JJ’s neck. “You said no?”
“Of course I said no. I said I was happy where I was. That I was building something.”
That helped. A little.
But not enough.
The next day, Rafe was gone before dawn. JJ didn’t blame him—he had early drills, and it wasn’t like he could just skip work to keep an eye on a maybe-problem. JJ knew that.
Didn’t stop the weird little echo in his chest as he watched the sun hit the window.
Cassie offered distraction.
“You know,” she said, stripping gloves off her fingers, “if this guy doesn’t back off, I could fake a pregnancy and tell him it’s yours.”
JJ snorted. “Cass.”
“Better plan: we stage an elaborate break-in. He shows up one morning and all his tires are gone. Scattered like rose petals.”
JJ leaned against the workbench, smirking. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I don’t trust men who use words like ‘ambition’ when talking about someone else’s job. That’s some LinkedIn bullshit.”
JJ laughed. “He’s got this way of talking like he’s doing me a favor just by noticing me.”
“He’s not.”
“I know. It’s just—” JJ hesitated. “There’s this look he gets. Like he’s trying to see through me.”
Cassie’s smile faded. “Rafe know?”
JJ nodded. “Yeah. And he’s… already spiraling. Quietly.”
Cassie raised a brow. “That man ever do anything quietly?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Rafe went straight home after work. Didn’t go to the grow op to pick up JJ. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he needed to get the noise out of his head first.
He pulled out his laptop. Searched Wes Thorne again. Cross-referenced his company with local permits, investment trails, and even a few old articles in trade zines.
One of them showed Wes at a cannabis convention in San Francisco, arm slung around a trimmer half his age.
Rafe zoomed in.
The girl looked a lot like JJ. Wild blonde hair. Fast grin. Ink on her fingers.
His stomach turned.
He shut the laptop.
JJ found Rafe in the kitchen. Shirtless. Tense. Pacing.
“Hey.”
Rafe didn’t turn. “He’s a recruiter.”
JJ blinked. “What?”
“Wes Thorne. He’s done this before. Targets workers in small ops, grooms them for takeover contracts or relocation. Then uses their insider knowledge to destabilize their old employers.”
JJ’s face hardened. “Jesus.”
“I think he’s trying to do it again. With you.”
JJ crossed the room. “Then I’ll shut him down. Loudly. Clearly.”
Rafe looked at him finally. “You shouldn’t have to. You should be protected.”
JJ reached for him. “I am. I’ve got you.”
Rafe pulled him close. Breathed deep.
“Just don’t let him change how you see yourself. You’re not a pawn.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not fucking available.”
JJ smirked. “You jealous, babe?”
“I’d gut him with a spoon.”
JJ kissed his cheek. “That’s my psycho.”
Cassie was elbow-deep in colas when JJ ducked into the curing shed the next morning smelling like clean sweat and leather. “Late again,” she called. “Lemme guess—your biker god needed one more goodbye grope?”
JJ smirked, brushing loose blonde hair from his forehead. “He didn’t grope. He devoured. Big difference.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “You limp like a man who got claimed.
“Your jealousy’s showing.”
She rolled her eyes, but her grin softened. “You good though?”
JJ leaned against the sorting bench and exhaled. “Mostly. Rafe’s been… intense.”
Cassie gave him a look. “And this is different how?”
JJ shrugged. “He’s spiraling again. Not full meltdown mode, but I can feel it. Ever since Wes showed up.”
Cassie’s smile vanished. “He was watching you again this morning. Didn’t say anything, just did a slow circuit like he owned the place. Makes me itchy.”
JJ’s stomach twisted. “He’s barely said two words to me.”
Cassie leaned in. “That’s what makes it worse. He’s quiet. Calculating. Like he’s weighing you.”
JJ laughed without humor. “Rafe’s gonna lose his mind if he finds out you agree with him.”
Cassie snorted. “He already has. Man looked like he was memorizing Wes’s bone structure last time he picked up you up.”
JJ turned, catching Wes out of the corner of his eye—hands behind his back, talking to Walt. No clipboard, no gloves. Just watching.
Cassie elbowed him. “He’s up to something.”
JJ didn’t reply.
The course had ended twenty minutes ago, but Rafe hadn’t moved.
He sat on the bleachers behind the range, helmet beside him, scrolling through Wes Chandler’s digital footprint. There wasn’t much. No Facebook. Sparse LinkedIn. A real estate holding company linked to several agricultural properties, some vaguely legal cannabis ventures across Oregon and Northern Cali.
Nothing specific. Nothing concrete. But the man had money. And an angle.
“Mind if I sit?”
Rafe looked up.
Nate, his co-instructor, stood with two water bottles and an unreadable expression.
Rafe nodded. “Sure.”
Nate handed him a bottle, sat beside him with the quiet ease of someone used to silence.
“You look like someone just threatened your dog,” Nate said eventually.
Rafe didn’t answer right away. “I’m not great at small talk.”
“Good. I’m not great at fake people.”
Rafe huffed. “That was almost a compliment.”
“It was. You’re good at this, you know.”
Rafe turned to him.
“The teaching. The instincts. I’ve worked with guys who coast, who like barking orders but don’t see shit. You see shit.”
Rafe didn’t know how to answer that.
Nate added, “And you’ve got someone waiting at home who keeps you grounded. I can tell.”
Rafe looked away. “Or who I’m trying not to strangle with love.”
Nate smirked. “That too.”
….
Wes caught him on the way to lunch.
JJ raised a brow. “You watching my plants or my ass?”
Wes chuckled. “Is there a difference in this business?”
JJ didn’t smile.
Wes pressed on. “I’ve got a few investment properties upstate. If you’re ever looking to do more than trim and tinker—maybe run a greenhouse—we should talk.”
JJ blinked. “I’m not for sale.”
Wes held his hands up. “Didn’t say you were. Just… keep it in mind.”
He turned and walked off, leaving JJ rooted in place.
Cassie slid in beside him like a ghost. “I hate how he smiles like that. Like he already owns you.”
JJ swallowed. “Yeah. That’s Rafe’s job.”
Cassie snorted. “Call him. Tell him that.”
..
The second JJ slid onto his bike, nodding at Rafe before tailing him again, Rafe felt the fire go out of him a little.
He wasn’t calm. But he was tethered.
On the ride home, at the lights, JJ leaned in close and muttered, “So Wes made a move.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened.
“Offered me a greenhouse. Wanted to talk business. Didn’t touch me, didn’t push. But he’s testing the water.”
Rafe didn’t speak.
Back at the house, JJ tugged off his helmet and leaned into Rafe’s space. “Hey. I told him no. I told him I wasn’t for sale.”
Rafe stared at him. “Good.”
JJ cupped his face. “And if you start researching his family tree and stalking his car, at least let me help.”
That startled a laugh out of Rafe. “You’d help me?”
JJ kissed him. “You’re mine. I protect what’s mine too.”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “You don’t need to do anything. Just stay exactly who you are.”
JJ grinned. “You say that like it’s hard.”
Chapter Text
The deck smelled like sweet smoke, butter chicken, and trouble.
Cassie leaned back in a creaky plastic chair, one boot kicked up on the railing, joint smoldering between her fingers. “So Wes the Wonder Investor showed up again today,” she said without preamble.
JJ groaned. “Seriously?”
“He asked if I knew where you lived,” she added.
That made Rafe stop mid-pour. He set the whiskey bottle down with more care than necessary.
JJ glanced over from the stove. “What’d you say?”
“I said, ‘Nope. But I’m pretty sure he’s got a GPS fetish.’” She took another drag and passed the joint to Rafe, who accepted it silently. “His eyes track you like he’s trying to scan your barcode.”
Rafe exhaled slow, eyes on JJ. “I told you.”
“I know you told me,” JJ muttered, stirring the rice harder than necessary. “You also told me you were gonna stay chill.”
“I am chill,” Rafe said flatly, voice like ice cracking. “This is me being chill.”
Cassie snorted. “Right. And I’m demure.”
JJ dished out dinner without answering.
The three of them sat outside under a string of mismatched fairy lights, plates in laps, bowls balanced on thighs. JJ passed Cassie another beer. Rafe reached for JJ’s hand the second he set his down, grounding himself without even thinking about it.
Cassie noticed, but didn’t comment. She was used to it by now—how Rafe always had to be touching him. A thigh, a wrist, the back of JJ’s neck. Like if he didn’t, something might slip loose.
“I talked to Walt,” JJ said finally. “Told him I’m not looking for anything outside the shed. Said I’m happy where I’m at.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“He said he’d handle it. Quietly.”
Rafe’s mouth tightened. “That won’t stop a guy like Wes. He thinks he’s entitled to anyone he sets his sights on.”
Cassie tilted her head. “You sound like you’ve dealt with his type before.”
“I have,” Rafe said. “He’s not in it for the work. He wants control. Wants to pull people up just to keep them under his boot.”
JJ leaned back, beer resting on his stomach. “He won’t get me.”
“I know,” Rafe said. But his grip on JJ’s wrist never loosened.
After dinner, they lingered at the firepit. Cassie lit another joint and nudged JJ with her knee.
“So…” “How long you two been a thing?”
JJ, mouth full, replied, “Since the island.”
Rafe, without missing a beat, said, “Years.”
Cassie blinked. “That’s two very different timelines.”
JJ smirked. “He’s counting the stalking phase.”
Rafe didn’t look away. “I’m counting everything.”
Cassie gave a low whistle. “Shit. Okay. That’s either romantic or terrifying.”
“Both,” JJ said. “But it works for us.”
Rafe didn’t laugh, but his hand found JJ’s under the table, linking their fingers like a claim.
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Gross. Pass the joint.”
JJ smirked and handed it over. Rafe didn’t even blink when Cassie shifted to loop her arm over JJ’s shoulder, just pulled JJ’s other hand back into his lap, threading their fingers.
Cassie grinned. “You two are so codependent. It’s adorable.”
“I like him where I can see him,” Rafe said plainly.
“I know,” she said, tone less teasing this time. “And honestly? Good. Because if Wes thinks JJ’s something he can sink his teeth into, he’s got another thing coming.”
Rafe glanced at her, gaze dark and level. “If he touches him, I’ll end him.”
“Cool,” Cassie replied. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
JJ sighed and leaned back between them. “You guys are gonna end up hiding a body together, aren’t you?”
Cassie clinked her beer against Rafe’s glass. “Ride or die, golden boy.”
As the sky dimmed, the air turned cooler, and Cassie stood to leave. “Thanks for dinner. And the weed. And the slightly terrifying bonding.”
JJ walked her to the gate. She looked back once and said, “He’s a lot.”
JJ smiled. “Yeah. But he’s mine.”
Cassie left with a smirk and a half-packed Tupperware, Rafe turned all his attention back to JJ. They didn’t talk much as they cleaned the kitchen. Didn’t need to. The silence was charged, slow-burning.
“She likes you,” JJ said, coming up behind him.
“She tolerates me.”
JJ wrapped his arms around Rafe’s waist, lips at his spine. “That’s high praise.”
They stayed like that for a minute, quiet again.
“You okay?” JJ asked.
Rafe nodded. “Better now. I don’t like having to share you. Even in conversation.”
JJ leaned in, kissed him light. “Good. I don’t want anyone else.”
Rafe kissed him back, deeper this time, hands settling at JJ’s hips, thumbs stroking bare skin beneath the hem of his shirt. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” JJ whispered. “You fucking know that.”
Rafe didn’t take him to bed.
He bent JJ over the counter instead, slow and deliberate. Made him feel it. Not punishment. Not desperation.
Possession.
Love, in its darkest, sharpest form.
….
Rafe got the news secondhand.
Not from JJ face to face—who was still at work when Walt apparently made the announcement—but from a text, five words long, no punctuation:
cass and i going oregon
His stomach dropped.
He was still in his instructor’s vest, sweat-damp and furious under the collar, when he stepped off the course, thumb frozen over the screen. He reread the text. Then again.
Oregon. Cass. JJ. Without him.
It took five more minutes before a follow-up came in:
Cannabiz conference. Walt’s bringing us. It’s legit. Don’t spiral
Don’t spiral. Rafe read that part aloud, quietly, like a prayer or a curse. “Don’t spiral,” he muttered.
“You fucking knew I would.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t trust himself to say something that wouldn’t break bones or burn bridges.
The house was too quiet when he got home. JJ wasn’t back yet, and Rafe’s helmet hit the counter harder than it needed to. The living room spun with phantom images—JJ laughing with Cassie on the hotel balcony, JJ explaining grow yields to clean-shirt investors, JJ being looked at by him.
Wes. That name pulsed like a bruise behind Rafe’s eyes. He stalked to the office and pulled up his laptop.
Cannabiz Northwest – Conference Schedule.
He scanned the exhibitor list like a man looking for his own obituary. Wes Thorne was listed as a speaker. Keynote panel on Innovative Industry Recruitment.
Rafe’s lip curled. “Recruitment, huh.”
He clicked the link. Wes had a photo. One Rafe hadn’t seen before. A little older. A little more polished. Still smiling like he thought the world owed him skin and bones.
He didn’t call JJ. He paced.
Didn’t text. Just paced harder.
Every instinct in him screamed that this wasn’t just a conference. This was a fucking trap. And JJ—smart as he was—didn’t see it. Or maybe he did. Maybe that was worse. Maybe he thought he could handle it.
Maybe he didn’t understand how easily people like Wes slipped in. The praise. The curiosity. The offers made in hallways or elevators or over drinks.
He’d done it himself, once. Before JJ ever looked at him like this, he’d studied him. Memorized his walk, his mouth, his habits. He knew what it looked like. He knew what it meant to want something so badly you’d ruin it just to keep it.
That night, JJ got home smelling like citrus and soil and still tried to kiss him.
Rafe let him. Barely. JJ frowned. “Okay. What’s wrong.”
“You’re going out of town,” Rafe said, low. JJ blinked. “Yeah. You knew that
“No,” Rafe said, stepping in closer. “You told me. After it was already decided. You, Walt, and Cassie made plans and left me the fucking courtesy text.”
JJ crossed his arms. “Walt made the call. It’s a work trip.”
“And he’s going to be there.”
“Wes? Yeah. So? There’s like two hundred people going.”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “And how many of them want your number?” JJ rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Rafe.”
“You think this is nothing? You think he doesn’t see the way you light up in a room? You’re not just some hot stoner in a grow shed anymore, JJ. You’re a fucking commodity.”
“And I’m yours,” JJ said sharply. “I’ve told you that. I’ve shown you that. You think I forgot?” Rafe clenched his jaw. The possessiveness clawed up his throat. JJ stepped back. “You know what I think?” he said, voice quieter now. “I think you’re scared. And I think you don’t trust anyone but yourself. And I get it, Rafe. But you either believe in us or you don’t.”
Then he walked away.
Rafe didn’t sleep. He paced. Again.
Then he opened his laptop again.
And this time, he dug deeper. Company tax files. Property holdings. Lawsuits. A cease and desist letter in another state from a different grower. Some kind of internal harassment complaint that never saw court but was noted in old HR logs. He copied it all. Screenshotted, archived. Compiled.
He stared at the screen long after the sun came up. He wasn’t going to stop this trip. But he was going to be watching. Because if Wes so much as looked at JJ the wrong way, smiled too long, touched him—There would be consequences.
….
JJ had the window cracked and one leg propped on the dashboard, wind whipping through his hair as the rental car climbed toward the Oregon border. Cassie was driving, Walt asleep in the back with a hat over his face, and a beat-up Bluetooth speaker bounced quietly with some crusty reggae track Cassie swore was her “networking music.”
JJ was grinning like a maniac. “God, this is so legit,” he said, half to himself. “Actual conference. Actual lanyards. Do you think they’ll let me pretend I know what I’m doing?”
Cassie snorted. “Bitch, you’re speaking on a panel.”
“Barely. It’s just a Q&A about lighting rigs.”
“Still. You’re gonna make Walt cry with pride.”
JJ stretched, his black conference tee riding up to show a strip of golden stomach. “He better. I’ve been carrying that damn side crop.”
He didn’t mention Rafe yet. Hadn’t all morning. There was a text waiting on his phone from two hours ago:
Drive safe. Call me when you get there. I love you.
No emoji. No sign-off. Just raw Rafe—controlled but sharp, like it took effort not to demand JJ turn around and come home.
JJ knew Rafe hadn’t taken it well. Knew his boyfriend—his obsessive, possessive, protective nightmare of a man—was probably chewing his cuticles to the quick and pacing their house like a storm.
JJ exhaled slowly and leaned his head against the glass. “He’ll be fine,” he murmured.
Cassie didn’t ask.
The hotel wasn’t fancy—just a tidy chain motel with a pine tree logo and a decent view of a gas station. But JJ whistled when he opened the door to his room. Clean bed. Private shower. A TV with HDMI ports.
He flopped back on the bed and dialed. Rafe answered on the first ring.
“You there?”
“Just got in,” JJ said. “Room’s fine. I’ve got my own. Walt and Cassie are next door. No murder vibes yet.”
Silence.
“Babe?
Rafe’s voice came low and rough. “I’m home.”
“You okay?”
“No.”
JJ sat up slowly. “Talk to me.”
“I called in,” Rafe said. “Sick. Couldn’t… focus.”
JJ’s stomach dropped. “Shit.”
“I’m not mad,” Rafe said quickly. “I just—this was sudden. You’re hours away. You’re with people I don’t know well. He’s going to be there.”
JJ sighed. “Rafe…”
“I didn’t sleep much last night.” That part didn’t surprise him.
“You trust me, right?”
“Completely.”
“Then trust me to come back. I want this. This job, this career. I want to be good at something. And this trip—it’s part of that.”
Rafe was quiet for a long time. Then: “I’ll be fine.”
JJ knew he was lying, but let it go.
“Call me later?” Rafe asked, soft.
“Promise.”
…….
Rafe sat on the floor in the dark. No lights. No TV. Just his phone on the coffee table and the echo of JJ’s voice replaying in his head.
Wes would be there. That much was obvious
Recruiters always went where the talent was, and JJ—God, JJ was glowing lately. Confident, competent, flirt-ready without even trying. Beautiful in a way that made people greedy.
Rafe clenched his fists. He’d searched Wes Thorne again. Every article. Every interview. A few mentions in Reddit forums from growers in other counties—nothing concrete, but enough to spark a gut-deep rage. Rumours. Shit about poaching staff. Moving them out of town. Grooming them for bigger markets.
Rafe had half a mind to get in a truck he didn’t own and sit outside the hotel like a goddamn stalker. Instead, he checked JJ’s location. Still in town. Still at the conference centre.
Rafe closed his eyes. Breathed. But it didn’t help. The thing under his skin—the wolf, the rot, the unrelenting need—it gnawed. JJ was miles away. Out of reach. Unprotected.
Rafe gripped the arm of the couch until his knuckles popped. He would not spiral. He would not lose JJ over paranoia. But he needed to know more. He opened JJ’s Instagram. Harmless. He was tagged in a post from Cassie: a selfie of the two of them at the expo booth.
JJ looked flushed, radiant, laughing with his hand on her shoulder. In the background, near the edge of the frame, Wes was talking to Walt. Looking. Right.
Rafe’s stomach turned to ice. He needed a plan. Tonight he’d let JJ call. Be calm. Be supportive. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, he’d dig. He’d dig until Wes Thorne had nowhere to hide.
And if JJ didn’t come home looking exactly how he left?
Rafe didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.
Rafe didn’t sleep the night JJ left.
He tried. He really fucking tried. Poured whiskey over ice and stared out the kitchen window until dawn. Paced. Smoked. Read the same job site listing three times before slamming the laptop shut like that could stop the ache in his ribs.
The house felt wrong without JJ in it.
Too quiet. Too clean. The bed smelled like him—citrus and weed and sweat—and that only made it worse. Rafe lay flat on his back, hand fisted in the pillow JJ always used, and imagined someone else making him laugh. Someone else getting too close. He pictured Wes, slick and smiling, leaning over JJ at the conference bar or brushing past him in the hotel hallway. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe it wasn’t.
Didn’t matter.
Because Rafe wasn’t there.
And that was unacceptable.
He called in sick at dawn. Just—sent the text, put the phone face-down, didn’t wait for a reply. They’d cope without him for three days. He’d done more than his share lately.
JJ had kissed him goodbye like it wasn’t a big deal. Like they hadn’t just crossed a line in their relationship, letting JJ travel without Rafe shadowing him. But it was a big deal. JJ had smiled, shouldered his duffel, and promised to call.
He hadn’t called back yet.
Rafe stood in the doorway of their bedroom, helmet in hand. The house was still. His stomach roiled.
You said you’d try. Trust. Breathe. Let him shine.
He clipped his helmet on and locked the door behind him anyway.
Highway North. Oregon-bound.
The bike thrummed beneath him like a second heartbeat. The wind didn’t help. Nor did the sun. He rode fast. Brutal. Caught in a headspace too tight for anything except motion and need.
Every mile north ratcheted the obsession tighter.
He’d stalked JJ for years before they ever kissed. Watched him from car windows, from dunes, from shadows. It had been sick, he knew that now—but it had also been the only way he’d survived. The only relief from the hunger.
But this was worse.
Because now he’d had JJ. Had him laughing in his kitchen, moaning in his bed, whispering “Yours” with nothing but truth in his eyes. He’d seen JJ undone—cuffed, stripped, sobbing with pleasure—and now the thought of losing even one part of that drove him fucking insane.
He rolled into the outskirts of town just after four.
JJ had said mid-tier conference hotel. Rafe had done a little recon the night before. Only two hotels in the area hosted events like that. He found Walt’s truck in the parking lot of the second one.
Rafe didn’t go in.
Not yet.
He parked across the street and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, heart thudding like he was twenty again—watching from behind the old Waverider surf shop as JJ flirted with strangers.
He felt twenty. Crazy. Sick.
And more alive than he had in months.
A few hours later.
It had taken everything in him not to punch the desk clerk just for breathing too loud.
He’d slipped in, hoodie up, gloves on, helmet under one arm. Posed as a delivery driver looking for the event coordinator. Scanned the floor. Took mental stock of exits, layout, foot traffic.
Cassie. Walt. JJ.
And Wes.
There he was. Leaning casually against the bar like he owned the place, shirt crisp, eyes on JJ.
JJ was laughing. Not at Wes—thank god—but Cassie had said something that made him lean into her, mouth open, easy and bright. Rafe’s stomach flipped, sharp and ugly.
Then Wes touched JJ’s elbow. Just a glance of fingers. Just a comment near his ear.
JJ didn’t flinch.
But he didn’t move away either.
Rafe’s vision blurred at the edges.
He didn’t confront. Not yet. He watched. Waited. Counted seconds. Tracked patterns.
Then he slipped out again, breathing like he’d run a marathon, cock hard in his jeans from stress and jealousy and need.
JJ was his. All of him. The mouth Wes had whispered near? Rafe had fucked it raw three nights ago. The hand Wes complimented? Rafe had made it tremble.
And if this man thought for a second he could take even a sliver of JJ away—
Rafe climbed onto the bike and peeled off.
Tonight, he’d figure out how to make his presence known without getting arrested.
Or maybe not.
….
JJ’s hotel room wasn’t fancy. Clean sheets, beige curtains, flat screen mounted like it was doing a job. But the view was decent—if you liked parking lots and redwood silhouettes at dusk. Cassie had laughed when they checked in. Said it looked like a place people came to cheat on their spouses.
JJ thought it looked like freedom. He stretched out on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling half-heartedly through texts from Rafe. There were a few—short, clipped, clearly typed in a frenzy:
Get some rest.
Text me when you’re back in the room
Who else is going out after?
JJ smiled. God. He could feel Rafe’s anxiety vibrating through the words. He sent back:
Cassie made me do tequila im gonna die
Then followed it up with a blurry selfie of himself, flushed and grinning, Cassie photobombing behind him with a double middle finger.
He didn’t mention Wes. Not yet. Because while JJ had mostly laughed Wes off, he wasn’t stupid. The man had an angle. And JJ had seen enough smooth-talking Kooks to know when someone was collecting information behind a smile.
But still—this was his work trip. He’d earned it. Fought for it. Rafe didn’t need to turn it into a fucking crime scene. “Y’know,” Cassie said from her bed, legs crossed and joint tucked behind her ear, “you’ve got that look.”
JJ blinked. “What look?”
“Like your crazy hot biker boyfriend is probably in the parking lot, staring up at the window, debating whether to scale the building and drag you out.”
JJ barked a laugh. “He’s not that bad.” Cassie raised an eyebrow. JJ sighed.
“Okay, he might be exactly that bad.”
“Is it hot?”
JJ thought about it. The way Rafe took control. The way he needed to. How he watched JJ like a man starving.
“Yeah,” JJ murmured. “It’s fucking hot.”
Cassie lit the joint. “Then ride it till the wheels fall off, blondie. But maybe hide the kitchen knives.”
It was 2:07 a.m. when JJ’s light finally went out.
Rafe had moved his bike to the back lot hours ago, helmet locked, jacket draped over the handlebars. He was in the alley behind the laundromat now, crouched beside a vending machine, watching the side of the hotel like it might breathe if he stared hard enough.
He hadn't even noticed how cold he was until he stood to stretch, knees cracking. His body ached from the ride, but his mind was more raw than tired. Cassie’s room was dark. JJ’s was darker. He’d gone dark too, phone off, no messages sent
The fear wasn't that JJ would cheat. That wasn’t in him. The fear was that Wes would offer JJ a new kind of world. One with career ladders and clean shoes. One with stability that didn’t come with bloody knuckles and a boyfriend with police records and trauma scars. A world JJ might not want—but might feel like he deserved.
That’s what scared Rafe. That, and the fucking idea of Wes knocking on that hotel door with a proposition disguised as an opportunity.
He clenched his jaw. He needed to see JJ. Needed to touch him. But if JJ saw him here, it would undo something delicate between them—something JJ had been trying to teach him about space and trust and believing he wouldn’t disappear.
Rafe stepped into the shadows again. Just a ghost tonight.
Chapter Text
JJ
The cheap hotel blackout curtains muted the sunrise, casting everything in dull slate tones. JJ sat up, stretched, and checked his phone. Two messages. Neither from Rafe. He stared at the screen a long time. Then opened the curtains.
Empty lot. Nothing unusual. But a shape across the way caught his eye. Leather jacket. Hung on a bike that wasn’t there last night.
His breath caught. He turned away fast, heart pounding.
He wasn’t mad. Not really. He knew Rafe—knew this wasn’t about distrust. It was obsession, sure. Fear. Love so intense it looked like threat from the outside.
But JJ had grown to understand that obsession. Had seen it turned inward, back when Rafe couldn’t even say he liked men out loud. It was all part of the same dark current.
JJ exhaled slowly. Grabbed his phone:
You here?
Nothing. Then:
No.
JJ smirked.
Liar. Jacket’s on the bike.
Stay in. Stay safe.
JJ bit his lip. Typed:
I’m not mad. But you gotta let me breathe
No reply.
He set the phone down and looked at his reflection in the hotel mirror. He looked older somehow. Still wild, still JJ—but maybe more grounded than he used to be. More real.
He wanted Rafe. God, he always did. But he needed him sane. He needed to bring him back from wherever this spiral was taking him.
Cassie knocked five minutes later. “Breakfast. You decent?”
JJ opened the door in his boxers. “You tell me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Put pants on, pretty boy.”
He threw on jeans and followed her out. Didn’t check the parking lot again. Didn’t need to. Rafe would come to him eventually. And when he did, JJ was going to make him talk.
…
Rafe didn’t sleep.
He parked three blocks away this time. Walked the neighborhood twice. Scouted exits, entrances, the restaurant, the bar. He knew JJ was inside. Knew which floor, thanks to the fire escape map by the elevator. He knew which room had light spilling under the curtain.
He stood across the street in the shadows and watched. Just long enough to make sure JJ hadn’t left. That he was safe. Alone. Not smiling too much at anyone who didn’t deserve it.
And when he finally got back to his own cheap motel room—half a mile down the road, no heater, no lock that worked quite right—he stared at the ceiling until the sun went down. Every muscle in his body screamed for JJ.
…
JJ was in bed, shirtless in the dark, high on conference buzz and Cassie’s edibles, when he heard the knock. Not loud. Just… definite. He froze. Cassie was already asleep next door. Walt was out with some growers. Nobody else knew his room number.
JJ opened the door slowly.
Rafe. Leather jacket. Messy hair. Eyes wild.
JJ stared. “You came?”
Rafe stepped inside without answering. Shut the door behind him.
“You fucking came,” JJ said again, grinning, backing up as Rafe closed the space between them. Rafe didn’t speak. Just grabbed him.
Their mouths crashed together—bruising, desperate, wet. Rafe pushed him against the wall, kissed him like it was the only way to stay alive. JJ groaned. “You didn’t trust me?”
“I trust you,” Rafe growled, biting his jaw. “I don’t trust him.”
“You’re insane.”
“You like that I am.”
JJ’s knees buckled. Rafe lifted him by the thighs, carried him to the bed, dropped him like a prize. “Clothes off,” he ordered.
JJ obeyed. Rafe stripped, eyes on him the whole time, dark and devouring. “You look so fucking pretty when you know you’re mine.”
JJ spread his legs. “Then claim me.”
Rafe crawled over him. Slid his cock along JJ’s stomach. Pressed their bodies flush. “This trip ends tonight,” Rafe said against his mouth. “You’re coming home with me.”
JJ moaned. “Yes. Yes, please.”
And Rafe took him—deep and slow and final.
Marked him. Branded him with every thrust, every kiss, every whispered mine.
…
JJ lay wrecked, breathless, arms flung wide on the tangled hotel sheets. Rafe curled around him, one leg thrown over both of his, hand splayed over his stomach like a claim. JJ laughed, hoarse. “You really couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Rafe kissed his temple. “You left. I followed. That’s the deal.”
JJ turned to look at him. “You’re insane.”
Rafe nodded, serious. “I warned you.”
JJ smiled, fingers finding Rafe’s hand. “I love you, psycho.”
Rafe exhaled. “I know.”
They slept like that—limbs tangled, walls thin, danger closer than they knew.
Because across town, in a bar built into a faux lodge, Wes Thorne was sipping neat bourbon and looking at his phone.
He hadn’t seen JJ all day. But he’d seen the unfamiliar bike parked by the hotel. And now he was wondering why the newest recruit had a secret visitor with Carolina plates.
He flagged the bartender.
“You ever hear of someone named Rafe Cameron?”
Thee next morning, Rafe was already awake when JJ stirred.
“You’re staring at me,” JJ mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Rafe didn’t deny it. “You sleep like you don’t have enemies.”
JJ blinked. “Do I?”
Rafe stood, pulled on his jeans. “Anyone who wants to take you from me is an enemy.”
JJ grinned, then winced. “Okay, psycho. That cock has consequences.”
“You’ll live.” Rafe tossed him his flannel. “We’re checking out after breakfast. You’re riding home with me.”
JJ stretched out, looking too beautiful for a mid-grade Oregon hotel bed.
“You wanna explain that to Walt?”
“You’re sick,” Rafe said flatly. “I’m taking you home to rest.”
JJ raised a brow. “And Wes?”
Rafe’s expression darkened. “Still watching.”
JJ exhaled, sitting up. “Then let’s give him a good show.”
They kissed again. Harder this time. Hungry.
But there was tension beneath it now. A storm coming. A name passed between strangers. A man who wanted JJ.
And a man who go nuclear before letting that happen.
….
The roar of the bike drowned everything else out. Wind, thought, regret. JJ pressed tight to Rafe’s back, thighs snug around his hips, helmeted head tucked low like he belonged there. Like he wanted to belong there.
He did.
They hadn’t talked much since the hotel.
Not in words, anyway.
The ride was long—down out of the Oregon hills, back into the winding roads that cut toward home, the dusky redwoods giving way to duller trees and wider sky. Rafe hadn’t said where they’d stop. He hadn’t needed to. JJ would go wherever the bike took him.
And Rafe rode like a man trying to outrun something. Or chase it down.
They pulled into Eureka at golden hour. Still warm, still hazy. Rafe killed the engine in front of the house, kicked the stand down, and sat there for a moment with his head bowed. JJ didn’t move. Just wrapped his arms a little tighter around Rafe’s middle.
“I’m not sorry,” Rafe said, finally.
JJ stepped off the bike. “Didn’t ask you to be.”
They got inside. Kicked off boots. Peeled off layers.
Rafe dropped his helmet, shook out his hair, and stared at JJ like he was trying to memorize him all over again. JJ smirked.
“You gonna say anything else, or just keep looking at me like I’m about to vanish?”
Rafe stalked forward. “You do vanish. Into other rooms. Into other conversations. Into fucking hotels with people I don’t trust.”
JJ arched a brow, standing his ground. “I told you everything.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Rafe.” JJ stepped into his space. “You found me. You took me. You wrecked me so good I still can’t feel my knees. What else do you want?”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “You. On top of me. Remind me I’m yours.”
JJ’s eyes darkened. “Bedroom. Now.”
They didn’t speak much after that. JJ straddled him slow. Took his time. Let Rafe feel every inch of surrender, every moment of stretch and friction. Rafe’s hands gripped his hips tight, head tipped back, throat bare and vulnerable.
“Say it,” JJ whispered, riding him steady, pace brutal and tender in turns.
Rafe gasped. “Yours.”
“Again.”
“Yours.”
JJ kissed his collarbone. “And I’m yours. But you already knew that.”
They came together. Close. Wet. Clinging. Afterward, Rafe held JJ like he’d fall apart without him. Maybe he would.
…
Wes Thorne wasn’t prone to obsession. Not in the way most people meant it. He’d built his empire on precision, not passion—on data, not desire. He didn’t get curious. He got results.
But there was something about the kid.
JJ Maybank. The name shouldn’t have mattered. A charming trimmer with dirt under his nails and gold in his smile, good at winning over old growers and new investors alike. He made people laugh. He moved like he was used to being watched. But he hadn’t acted like he knew what he was worth—until now.
Until the bike showed up. Until JJ disappeared from the bar that night, never came back to the hotel suite, skipped the final panel, and returned the next day looking flushed and quiet and fucked.
Wes knew a claim when he saw one.
And now he knew who’d made it.
He leaned back in the leather desk chair of his rented Airbnb, the taste of expensive coffee lingering at the back of his tongue. His laptop cast a cold glow across his face as he pulled up a few more buried records, scraping the corners of access he wasn’t supposed to have.
Rafe Cameron.
Juvenile files flagged. Multiple sealed arrests. Medical records redacted. A stretch in Florida rehab, unconfirmed. Two years unaccounted for. Rumours about a missing classmate. More rumours about a father with too much power and a trail of covered-up violence.
And JJ had been wrapped up in it.
JJ Maybank. Former Outer Banks delinquent. Only remaining family a father with long rap sheet, jail time and a history of violence . A scattering of school expulsions, community service, an uncle who died of liver failure. And then—nothing. Until California. Until now.
Wes narrowed his eyes. He clicked again.
There—a photo from last year. Grainy. From a Pogue protest on the island. JJ in the crowd, hoodie pulled low, next to a man with a distinctive jaw and leather jacket. Shadowed, but unmistakable. Rafe.
A few more searches, a call to a contact in Charleston, and Wes had the full picture.
They hadn’t just run away.
They’d vanished.
Together.
.....
Rafe was watching again.
Cassie saw it first.
She didn’t say anything at first—not when JJ came back to work flushed and floaty, not when she saw the bruises blooming under his collar or the motorcycle parked two blocks away. She liked JJ. Liked the way he made jokes when no one else dared, how he got her to smile even during the worst trimming days.
But now? Now she was watching him bend over a row of curing trays while someone in the shadows behind the trellis fence across the parking lot leaned just a little too still.
She nudged Walt.
Walt followed her gaze. Grunted. “He’s back.”
Cassie murmured, “He never left.”
…..
Back at home, Rafe wasn’t sleeping.
JJ had passed out on the couch hours ago—still half-wrapped in his hoodie, one foot sticking out from under the throw blanket, mouth parted in a soft snore. The TV was still glowing with something stupid and bright.
But Rafe sat in the chair across from him, arms folded, eyes sharp.
He was being watched.
He could feel it.
Not just by Wes.
By everything.
Every decision he’d ever made, every moment he hadn’t pulled JJ closer soon enough.
He pulled out his phone.
Clicked through JJ’s photos again.
The ones JJ didn’t know he’d taken. The ones he’d taken long before they were together. Blurry beach shots. Surveillance footage from the old OBX gas station. That time JJ was drunk and laughing in someone else’s truck bed.
He stared. Memorized. Clutched the phone until the edge bit into his palm.
This man doesn’t get to take him.
This man doesn’t even get to look.
…
Wes showed up at the grow site again two days later.
Early. Dressed too clean. Wearing mirrored sunglasses and a watch that cost more than JJ’s monthly paycheck.
Cassie was already on edge. JJ was elbow-deep in fertilizer. Rafe wasn’t on the premises, but she felt him in the air.
“Morning,” Wes said smoothly. “Thought I’ drop by and look at the new crop. See how things are progressing on the ground.”
JJ wiped his hands. Smiled too easily. “Didn’t know you did so many field trips.”
“I make exceptions for talent.”
JJ blinked. “You talking about me?”
Wes smiled, slow and snake-like. “Sure am.”
Cassie crossed her arms. “JJ’s busy. We’re all running short today.”
“Won’t take long.” Wes’s gaze flicked over her, then back to JJ. “Mind walking me through your section?”
JJ hesitated. Cassie saw it.
Saw the second JJ squared his shoulders and smiled again, fake as fuck.
“Sure,” JJ said. “Let’s walk.”
The walk was short. Down one row, then another. Wes asked benign questions. Took notes on his phone. Complimented JJ’s skill, his instincts, his charm.
But then he stopped in the shadow of the greenhouse. Turned.
“Who’s your friend?”
JJ blinked. “What?”
“The one with the Carolina plates. The one who picked you up from the hotel.”
JJ stiffened.
Wes stepped a little closer. Not threatening. But close.
“Rafe Cameron. That’s his name, right?”
JJ didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Wes smiled. “Interesting guy. History like that, I’d usually expect a little more… distance from someone trying to stay out of trouble.”
JJ said nothing.
Just stared.
Then smiled, sharp and deliberate. “We all got pasts. Doesn’t mean we don’t have futures.”
Wes held the stare. “Sure. Just want to make sure yours stays intact.”
He turned. Walked away.
Cassie came out of the shed thirty seconds later.
JJ was still standing there, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides.
“You okay?”
JJ nodded.
But he didn’t speak.
That night, Rafe got home late.
JJ was already in the shower.
He didn’t even wait.
Stormed into the bathroom, yanked the curtain aside. JJ yelped, then saw his face.
“Rafe—”
“You talked to him.”
JJ’s mouth opened. Then shut.
“I told you he was watching.”
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
“He knows my name.”
JJ stared. “Did you think he wouldn’t find it? You parked your bike in front of the fucking hotel!”
Rafe’s jaw twitched. “He asked about me. That means he’s circling.”
JJ stepped forward, naked, wet, water sliding down his skin like temptation and truth. “Then stop giving him reason to circle. You act like we’re in hiding.”
“We are.”
“No,” JJ said quietly. “We were. Now we’re living.”
Rafe didn’t respond.
Just stared.
Then—very softly—“Not if he takes you.”
JJ pulled him into the water.
Wrapped his arms around him.
“Then don’t let him.”
…
Wes Thorne poured himself a third bourbon and turned down the jazz.
The glow of the monitor lit up everything he needed to know.
Kildare Island. The Cameron family.
Land wars. Offshore drilling. Financial fraud.
And at the corner of too many threads: Rafe.
Not just a wild rich kid with anger issues.
A legacy liability.
An unresolved explosion in a Kook-branded package.
And there was JJ, glinting beside him like a spark.
Wes ran the photos again. Surveillance stills. Public posts. Traffic cams. JJ in the truck bed of a Pogue rally. JJ at a bail hearing. JJ with Rafe on a stolen night caught by some sleepy gas station feed.
He zoomed in. Rafe’s eyes were always on JJ.
Even then.
That wasn’t infatuation.
That was obsession.
Wes sat back, exhaled slow.
Now it wasn’t just about JJ’s charm, his rising status, his chemistry with the product and people.
Now it was about leverage.
About power.
Because if Rafe Cameron was unstable, and if JJ was the trigger—
Wes smiled to himself.
Everyone had pressure points.
All he had to do was find the right one to press.
……………………………………….
Cassie had never liked slick men in expensive shoes.
She didn’t trust smiles without edges, or interest that came too easy. And Wes Thorne, with his cashmere attitude and polished teeth, was giving her a very specific itch beneath the skin.
She’d seen the way JJ stiffened after the walk. The way he didn’t crack jokes that afternoon. The way Rafe’s bike started circling again like a shark who smelled blood.
And when she caught Wes looking across the field during break, eyes tracking JJ through the haze of afternoon light like a mark on a map—
That’s when she decided.
She wasn’t just going to watch.
She was going to warn.
JJ smoked alone behind the processing barn, joints tucked behind his ear like always. But he wasn’t high. Not really. Not with the way Wes’s words had stuck to his ribs.
"Rafe Cameron. That’s his name, right?"
He didn’t like the way Wes said it—like Rafe was a problem to solve.
Like JJ didn’t already know every sharp edge of the man he loved.
He inhaled deep, exhaled slow.
Rafe had followed him. Fucked him. Taken him home like a warning.
But JJ wasn’t some passive prize to be guarded.
He was the one who chose to be here.
Chose Rafe.
Every day.
Even if Rafe still didn’t believe he could be worth choosing.
…
Rafe cleaned his gun that night.
He didn’t need it. He told himself that.
They were safe. JJ was thriving. He was teaching again. The house was warm and filled with the scent of JJ’s stupid weed balms and that ridiculous hot sauce he couldn’t stop buying.
But his hands itched for readiness.
Wes knew his name.
That meant Wes had his scent.
He took out his laptop and typed in a search engine he didn’t trust, eyes narrowing as he pulled up real estate records, business holdings, flight logs, anything tagged to the Thorne name.
What he saw made his blood boil.
Wes wasn’t just some suit. He was plugged into the spine of the state’s cannabis economy. He had holdings in Humboldt, Mendocino, LA, and a shell account in South Carolina.
Rafe leaned back.
The fucker had reach and power.
But Rafe had desperation.
And that always won.
……
The next morning broke slow and gray over Eureka.
JJ woke to an empty bed, still damp hair plastered to his neck, a dull ache in his hips, and the faint scent of cedar and motor oil lingering on the pillow beside him.
Rafe was already up.
Not just up—gone.
JJ wandered into the kitchen barefoot, found a steaming mug waiting on the counter. A fresh roll of maps sat beside it. Paper. Ink. Notes scrawled in Rafe’s tight, aggressive handwriting.
Routes. Timetables. Backup locations. Alternate IDs.
Paranoia, JJ thought.
Except… it wasn’t.
Cassie had texted late the night before:
You okay? That dude gives me bad vibes. Keep your head up.
And keep your boyfriend from doing something stupid.
JJ sipped his coffee, glanced at the window.
There was a crow perched on the fence. Watching. Silent.
Just like Rafe.
…
Cassie wasn’t nosy by nature.
She was pragmatic. Liked her weed trimmed tight and her bullshit trimmed tighter.
But when she found JJ alone at the edge of the dry shed later that day, posture tense and distracted, she said what needed saying.
“You two good?”
JJ flinched slightly. “Yeah. Fine.”
Cassie raised a brow. “Liar.”
He smiled crooked. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“I’m not supposed to smell war coming either, but here we are.”
JJ looked up. “What do you know?”
Cassie crossed her arms. “I know Wes asked me about your background last night.”
JJ froze.
“I know he’s the kind of man who smiles while gutting someone’s future.”
“And Rafe?” JJ said quietly.
Cassie looked at him carefully. “He’s not what I thought.”
JJ blinked.
She leaned in. “He’s smarter. Scarier. But he loves you. That’s clear.”
JJ’s throat worked. “He’d kill for me.”
“I’m starting to believe it.”
JJ whispered, “I think he’s planning to.”
…
Wes made his next move from behind a glass wall.
Back in the Bay Area, he met with a colleague from a security firm under the guise of enhancing on-site cannabis protections. But the conversation drifted.
“Know anything about a guy named Rafe Cameron?” Wes asked.
The woman raised a brow. “Why?”
Wes offered his charming smile. “He’s involved with one of our new trimmers. Came out of nowhere. No work record. Lotta sealed stuff. I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”
An hour later, she handed him a folder.
Black-and-white printouts. A private investigator’s brief. Photos from OBX. One blurry arrest mug. One leaked image from a hospital. Another from a rehab center in Florida.
Wes flipped through slowly. Then stopped.
A picture of Rafe—mid-fight, fists bleeding, holding JJ behind him. Protecting him like a prize.
Wes smiled.
“Fascinating.”
……
Back home, Rafe was building something.
Not with nails or screws—but with names, data, printed spreadsheets, and burner phones.
He wasn’t just spiraling.
He was arming.
JJ found him that night cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by printouts and red marker lines.
He stood in the doorway, silent.
“You said you wanted to live,” Rafe said without looking up. “I’m making sure you can.”
JJ stepped forward slowly. “What does that mean?”
Rafe stood. Eyes burning. “It means if he so much as tries to touch you, I’ll gut him.”
JJ didn’t flinch.
Just stepped into his space.
“You want me safe?” he said.
Rafe nodded once.
“Then let me help.”
Rafe stared. “Help me stalk him?”
JJ smiled faintly. “Help you bury him.”
……
That night, a fire alarm went off at Wes Thorne’s Eureka hotel.
Small. Local. No damage.
Just enough to interrupt his sleep.
When he got outside, Rafe was parked across the street.
Helmet off. Hair wild. Hands bare.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Wes saw the smirk. The stillness. The warning.
Rafe didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just watched.
And when the fire truck left and the crowd dispersed, Wes went back inside with one new thought ringing in his head:
He’s not going to let go.
……
Cassie wasn’t the type to panic.
She grew up with stoners, dealers, and shit cops. Saw enough bad trips and worse betrayals to recognize real trouble when it slithered in smiling.
And Wes Thorne was smiling way too much.
She cornered JJ behind the greenhouse the next day, voice low.
“He asked me about you again. About Rafe.”
JJ tensed. “What’d you say?”
“That I didn’t answer questions from strangers in loafers.”
JJ tried to laugh, but it didn’t land.
Cassie grabbed his arm. “You need to tell him to back off, JJ. Because if Rafe doesn’t kill him first…”
JJ swallowed. “Then what?”
“Then I might.”
JJ blinked. Cassie stared.
Then she handed him a joint. “Go home. He needs you steady.”
…
JJ found Rafe in the shed, surrounded by maps, tools, the scent of oil and tension. He was rebuilding something that didn’t need fixing—an engine already clean, already tuned.
“Hey,” JJ said.
Rafe looked up. Face blank.
“He’s asking about you again,” JJ murmured.
“I know.”
“Cassie’s pissed.”
“She should be.”
JJ stepped close. “What do you want me to do?”
Rafe’s jaw worked. “Stay home. Stay safe. Let me handle it.”
“Rafe.” JJ’s voice was sharp. “You said we’d do this together.”
Rafe turned to him, eyes shadowed, voice low. “You’re not ready for how far I’ll go.”
JJ’s chin lifted. “Then take me with you.”
…
They waited until the end of the week. Until Wes returned for another "drop-in" at the grow. Until Cassie “accidentally” left JJ alone at the back gate.
JJ knew what to do. Lean against the fence. Pretend not to notice Wes coming.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Wes said, too casually.
JJ didn’t turn. “Not hiding.”
“No. You’re not. But he is.”
JJ’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Wes stepped closer. “Rafe. Unless you’re both pretending this little backwoods romance isn’t about to implode.”
JJ turned then. Slowly. “You got something to say?”
Wes smiled. “Not to you.” And he walked away.
Rafe was waiting.
They met on the edge of the lot, where the trees started and the road turned to gravel. Wes stopped when he saw Rafe standing there, still as stone, helmet in one hand, expression unreadable.
“I was hoping we’d talk,” Wes said. “Eventually.”
Rafe said nothing.
Wes smiled. “You know, you weren’t easy to find. Kildare’s records are like a patchwork. Sealed files, sealed mouths. But there’s always a trail, even in blood.”
Still nothing from Rafe.
Wes tilted his head. “You know what surprised me? Wasn’t the fights. Or the drug stints. Or the rumors about that body in the marsh.”
A flicker. Just a twitch in Rafe’s jaw.
“It was your father.”
And that was it.
That one word.
Wes stepped closer. Voice smooth and venomous.
“So, Rafe… how is your father?”
The air cracked.
Rafe’s eyes went glassy. Not with tears—never tears—but with something older, colder. He was back in that house. That long hallway. The echo of Ward’s voice telling him to man up. To clean the blood. To lie better. To kneel when told and smile when dismissed.
He was seventeen and punching mirrors.
He was eighteen and hiding painkillers in his sock drawer.
He was twenty and staring at JJ through a car window, too afraid to touch what he wanted.
And he was twenty-four now. And JJ was his.
And this man—this fucking man—was trying to undo all of it.
Rafe moved.
Fast. No warning.
One hand grabbed Wes by the shirt. Slammed him into the trunk of a pine tree so hard the bark cracked. The helmet clattered to the ground.
“You don’t say his name to me,” Rafe snarled, breath hot, lips peeled back like an animal. “You don’t say anything about him. You don’t know what he is.”
Wes didn’t flinch.
His voice was quiet. “But I know what you are.”
That was when Rafe hit him.
Once.
Hard.
Across the face, knuckles splitting.
Wes staggered but stayed upright.
“You want a war?” Rafe growled. “You’re gonna get one.”
Wes wiped the blood from his lip. “So dramatic. No wonder he loves you.”
Rafe’s fist curled again.
But this time—JJ was there.
“Enough.”
His voice rang out across the trees.
Rafe turned, panting, eyes wild. JJ stepped between them.
“Go,” he said to Wes. “Now.”
Wes looked at him, long and strange. “You sure?”
“I’m not the one you should worry about.”
Wes smirked. “We’ll see.”
He walked off, slow and smug.
JJ turned to Rafe. “What the fuck was that?”
Rafe shook, jaw clenched. “He mentioned my father.”
“And that’s your trigger now?”
“That was my life.”
JJ touched his face. Gently. “It isn’t anymore.”
Rafe caught his wrist. Pressed his forehead to JJ’s. “Don’t let him take this from me.”
JJ whispered, “He won’t.”
They stayed there.
Together.
Chapter Text
Kildare Island, Four Years Ago
Rafe was twenty.
Too old for the house parties. Too angry to stay home.
And far too aware of the way JJ Maybank was leaning back against a dock piling, beer in hand, sunburnt and careless and seventeen.
God, he hated him.
God, he wanted him.
JJ had no right to look like that.
All golden skin and lean muscle and that grin that made Rafe want to crack his jaw just to see if he’d still smile.
He’d been watching him for a year by then.
Maybe longer.
At first it was easy to lie to himself—he was just keeping tabs. JJ was trouble. JJ was a Maybank. JJ was too loud, too visible, too alive. Rafe was supposed to watch. That’s what predators did.
But predators didn’t come home drunk and hard.
Didn’t jerk off in the dark, biting down moans, imagining Pogue mouths and Pogue hands and a Pogue voice whispering c’mon, rich boy, you scared?
And predators didn’t fucking cry after.
Not like he did.
That night, Ward was waiting at the top of the stairs.
“You smell like rot,” his father said coolly. “Try not to drag the family name any lower.”
Rafe laughed in his face. “It’s buried already, old man.”
Then he locked himself in his room and railed a line. And another. Then six fingers of bourbon.
He stared at the ceiling for hours, imagining JJ again—this time on his knees. Whining. Reaching. Begging.
And he hated himself so much it felt like violence.
So he punched the wall until his knuckles bled and passed out facedown on the rug.
He would never have JJ. Not back then.
But god, he already belonged to him.
Rafe struggled for sleep again that night. He managed maybe four hours of anxious drifting and shallow sleep before giving up.
He sat on the back steps of the house, chain-smoking, eyes on the trees, mind spiralling. His pulse hadn't slowed since Wes said it—how’s your father—and it hadn’t dropped since JJ touched his face, forehead to forehead, soft and steady, grounding him.
But the damage was already done.
Because now Wes knew.
And if Wes knew, it wasn’t impossible that Ward knew.
Rafe’s father had power still. Even halfway across the country. And if Ward found out who his son was still living with—sleeping with—what he’d done, who he’d become—
He’d send someone. He’d find a way. He’d tear it all down.
Rafe felt the vomit rise. Swallowed it back. Lit another cigarette. His hands were shaking.
He couldn't go back to the version of himself that once watched JJ from a distance, fists clenched, cock aching, mind fracturing with guilt and lust and shame.
That kid was dead. He had JJ now. JJ wanted him now.
He would not lose him.
The next day, JJ was called into the back office of the grow. Cassie waited for him outside, arms crossed, jaw tight. Walt wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Inside: a clipboard. An HR rep. And Wes Thorne.
Wes didn’t speak. He just stood in the corner with that fucking expression—one part regret, three parts threat.
“We’re reviewing your presence here,” said the rep. “Given the recent… incident on private property involving one of our investors.”
JJ stared. “I didn’t do anything.” “No one said you did.”
“But my boyfriend did, and now you’re trying to boot me for it?”
“It's more complicated than that.”
JJ’s voice dropped. “He was protecting me.”
Wes finally spoke. “That’s not what it looked like.”
JJ stood. Hard. Hands flat on the table. “You know what it was, Wes? You poking a man until he broke.”
Wes tilted his head. “I know exactly what I did.”
JJ smiled. Cold. “Then I hope you know what I’m going to do.”
And he walked out. Walt followed. Cassie followed after.
JJ didn’t stop until he was on his bike, helmet on, hands trembling on the clutch. He had to get home.
…
He slammed the door behind him. Found Rafe in the kitchen, pacing, shirtless, bruised knuckles raw.
“They’re threatening my job,” JJ said. Rafe’s head snapped up.
“They’re saying I’m a liability. That you’re a threat. That we’re not safe to have around.”
Rafe's voice went flat. “You’re not going back.”
“The fuck I’m not.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Rafe—”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
JJ charged into his space. “You want to lose me again? Go ahead. Start dictating. Lock me in the fucking house.”
“You’re mine.” Rafe growled. “That means I protect you.”
“And I protect you.” JJ shoved him.
Rafe shoved back.
JJ grinned. “You wanna go?”
Rafe’s eyes darkened. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“Bitch, I finish everything.”
They crashed together like thunder. Chests slamming, arms grappling, tangled and snarling down to the couch. JJ tried to pin him. Rafe flipped him, harder, kissed him like it was war.
“Say it,” Rafe hissed, teeth grazing his throat.
JJ bit his lip. “You gonna cry again when I break you open?”
Rafe’s breath hitched. “Try it.”
JJ shoved him again. They rolled. Fought. Clawed. Clothes torn. Teeth bared. Dicks hard.
JJ finally pinned him—really pinned him—thighs braced wide, cock thick and leaking as he hovered just above.
“You gonna be good?” JJ whispered, voice gone rough.
Rafe didn’t speak. Just moaned. Low. Needy.
JJ slicked himself fast. No prep this time. Just spit. Pressure. Stretch. Force. Rafe grunted, back arching, hand clawing at the cushions.
“Too much?” JJ rasped, hips starting to move.
Rafe snarled. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
JJ fucked him harder. “You think about me like this?” JJ hissed. “Back then? On your knees, gagging for it?”
Rafe gasped. “Every day.”
JJ grabbed his throat. “You belong to me.”
Rafe came without warning, all over himself, body jerking, choking on a cry. JJ kept going. Fast. Deep. Feral.
Until he spilled inside him, shaking, hand still gripping Rafe’s throat. They collapsed in a tangle of sweat and spit and bite marks.
Rafe’s voice, broken and quiet: “I can’t go back.”
JJ kissed the shell of his ear. “You won’t.” Rafe closed his eyes.
But the world was shifting again. Wes had made his move. And the storm wasn’t over.
….
Rafe didn’t mean to fall asleep. But sometime before dawn, with JJ curled into him—skin warm, mouth open, back pressed tight against Rafe’s chest—his body just… gave in. Like a machine run too hot for too long. Muscles unlocked. Breath slowed. And for the first time in what felt like a week, the noise quieted.
No images of Wes. No echoes of Ward. Just JJ. Safe. Breathing. There.
When Rafe woke, light was leaking through the blinds and his hand was still splayed possessively over JJ’s stomach. His first thought wasn’t panic.
It was: Mine.
He kissed JJ’s shoulder. Barely a brush. JJ stirred. “Stop vibrating.” Rafe smiled against his skin. He felt sharper after the sleep. Not calmer. Just… cleaner. Like someone had wiped blood off the blade but left it honed.
JJ cracked one eye. “You’re gonna be useless at work.”
“I’m already useless at work.”
JJ grinned sleepily. “You mean hot. You mean dangerous. Leather jacket. Bossy voice. Dumb girls trying to flirt with their instructor.”
“I don’t look at them.”
JJ snorted, rolling into his chest. “No. You look like you want to kill someone.”
“That’s because I do.”
“Go ride,” JJ murmured. “You’ll feel better.”
“You’ll text me?”
JJ grinned against his neck. “Every time someone looks at me.”
“You think that’s funny?”
JJ dragged his nails down Rafe’s stomach. “Wasn’t trying to be.”
…
Rafe [delivered]:
Just passed a deer. Thought about running it off the road.
JJ [read 8:22 a.m.]:
That’s not what deer do, baby.
Rafe [delivered]:
Neither do I. But I would for you.
JJ [read 8:23 a.m.]:
You threatening to fight the wildlife again?
Rafe [delivered]:
You still in bed?
JJ [read 8:24 a.m.]:
Showered. Half dressed. Fully hard. Missing you.
Rafe [delivered]:
You fucking better be. Send proof.
JJ [read 8:26 a.m. + photo received]
[a mirror selfie—steamed glass, towel low, his fingers making a heart over the fresh bruise on his hip]
Rafe [delivered]:
I will take you apart when I get home.
You understand me?
JJ [read 8:27 a.m.]:
Every word, Daddy
Cassie found him later, zoned out in the trimming shed, earbuds in, tempo too fast for concentration.
She tapped his shoulder. “Hey.”
JJ jumped. Covered it with a smile. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
JJ nodded. Then sighed. “They’re still sniffing.”
Cassie’s mouth twisted. “If they push you out for that asshole’s bruised ego—”
“They’re waiting for us to slip. That’s all.”
Cassie crossed her arms. “You’re not gonna let them, are you?”
JJ’s jaw flexed. “I’ll burn the whole fucking greenhouse down before I give him what he wants.”
Cassie’s brows rose. Then she just handed him a Gatorade. “Good boy.”
JJ [sent]:
How’s work?
Rafe [read 12:48 p.m.]:
Boring. Kid almost high-sided a 250. I nearly threw him off the track.
JJ [sent]:
You need lunch or a blowjob?
Rafe [read 12:50 p.m.]:
Both. You safe?
JJ [sent]:
Cassie has me on leash duty. No one’s getting near me without a knife in the eye.
Rafe [read 12:51 p.m.]:
She’s growing on me.
JJ [sent]:
She says you’re a creepy white boy with a Jesus complex.
Rafe [read 12:52 p.m.]:
She’s not wrong.
The difference in Rafe was subtle but real.
Sleep hadn’t dulled the edge. It had sharpened the aim. He still couldn’t shake the threat Wes posed—what he knew, what he might have said.
But today, Rafe didn’t feel like prey. He felt like a blade sliding into place.
He left the course early, rode home harder than usual, helmet slicing wind like a bullet.
When he arrived, the house smelled like garlic and weed. JJ was barefoot, shirtless, licking sauce off his thumb.
He turned. Smiled. “Hey, baby. Want a beer or my mouth?”
Rafe didn’t answer. He lunged.
JJ squealed, tried to run. Rafe grabbed him. Spun him. They crashed into the counter, laughing, wrestling hard.
JJ’s foot caught on the rug. They tumbled. Rafe ended up on top, pinning him.
JJ grinned. “You lose again?”
Rafe shoved his thigh up between JJ’s legs. “You’re the one about to beg.”
JJ arched. “Do it. Wreck me.”
The wrestling turned rough. Brutal. Clothes yanked. Hair pulled. Skin bitten.
Rafe pinned him hard, cock leaking against JJ’s back.
“You gonna scream?”
“You gonna fuck me right here?”
“The floor’s hard.”
“You won’t feel it.”
Rafe shoved in with no finesse—just spit, rage, possession. JJ howled.
“You think about me like this?”
“Back then? When I was seventeen? All the time.”
Rafe grunted, thrusting deeper. “Say it.”
JJ moaned, voice wrecked. “You’re mine. You’re mine.” Rafe came hard, head tipped back.
JJ followed seconds later. Barely breathing.
They lay there on the kitchen floor, fucked out, spent, shivering.
JJ touched Rafe’s jaw. “You gonna sleep again tonight?”
Rafe nodded. “Only if you’re under me.”
JJ smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
…..
Cassie was waiting when JJ pulled up to the lot. Her stance said everything—arms crossed, jaw tight, not quite meeting his eyes.
JJ removed his helmet slowly. “What’s wrong?”
“Wes is here,” she said. “With Walt. And some guy from money.”
JJ’s stomach dropped.
Cassie exhaled hard. “He asked to see you. Alone.”
JJ locked up the bike. “Then let’s get this over with.”
Wes was already seated at the back table in the admin cabin, dressed too neat for a field visit. Walt looked uncomfortable beside him—shirt wrinkled, jaw clenched. A stranger in a charcoal sport coat sat off to the side, quiet, watching.
JJ stepped in. “You wanted me.”
Wes smiled. “Always.”
JJ didn’t sit.
Wes tapped a folder. “Let’s talk about consequences.”
JJ said nothing.
“I could file a report,” Wes said. “About Rafe. Assault. On private property, against an investor. I could send it to the police. To the licensing board. To the people who keep this place running.”
JJ’s jaw tightened.
“I could also recommend terminating your position,” Wes added. “Or shutting the grow down entirely. We’re not short on places to invest.”
JJ stared. “What do you want?”
That smile again. Cold and exact. “I want you.”
A long beat.
“An exclusive contract. NDA. Travel when needed. Flexible duties. No public record.” He looked JJ over slowly. “You know how this works.”
JJ’s voice was ice. “What are the duties?”
“They’d become clear in time.”
JJ didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“You’ve got a week to think about it,” Wes said, standing. “Until then, don’t come back.”
JJ didn’t answer.
He just turned and walked out.
Cassie met him near the greenhouse, eyes searching his face. “Well?”
JJ’s hands were fists. “He wants to own me.”
Cassie’s face darkened. “Like, a job offer?”
“With a leash attached.”
“Are you—”
“No. I didn’t say anything. Just walked.”
Cassie exhaled. “Fuck.”
JJ rubbed his temples. “I’m benched. One week.”
She reached for him. “You want me to talk to Walt?”
“No.” His voice was low. “Don’t make this your fight.”
Cassie stared. “Too late.”
…
Rafe was in the garage again when JJ came in—shirtless, oil-smudged, focused. JJ didn’t say anything. Just stood there.
Rafe looked up. Saw the silence on his face.
“What happened.”
JJ told him everything. Word for word. The threat. The offer. The week.
Rafe’s mouth stayed tight. “You said no?” he asked.
JJ hesitated. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t trust what would come out of my mouth.”
Rafe stepped in, voice rough. “Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he look at you like he meant to?” JJ nodded.
Rafe cupped the back of his neck. Pressed his forehead to JJ’s. “You’re not going back.”
“He said he could shut it all down.”
“I’ll bury him first.”
…
That night, they were in bed. JJ’s breath was warm against his chest, a hand resting lightly over Rafe’s ribs, steadying the beast under his skin. Rafe lay still. Staring at the ceiling. The ceiling stared back.
He picked up his phone. Checked an old, encrypted email—one he hadn’t looked at since they fled the island. There it was.
Subject: Your sins always find you.
Body:
“Heard you’re playing house with a Pogue.
How’s California treating you, son?”
–W.C.
Rafe didn’t breathe. Ward knew.
Rafe laid the phone down on the nightstand like it was made of glass.
He looked at JJ, asleep now, lashes dark, jaw relaxed, arm slung over him like a lock.
He pulled him closer. Wrapped around him. Held on.
Chapter Text
JJ sat on the porch steps with a cigarette he hadn’t lit.
He kept thinking: It wasn’t supposed to be like this. California was supposed to be the break. The escape. A job he loved. A home that felt real. A man who touched him like he was sacred and savage all at once.
He had that. Had it.
And now everything felt like it was bleeding out.
Ward wanted him erased. Wes wanted to own him. And Rafe—God, Rafe just wanted to keep him.
But every version of staying came with a price. Someone gets hurt. Someone goes down. The grow op collapses. Cassie gets fired. Walt gets dragged. Rafe gets ruined—or worse.
Or… JJ disappears.
Just… goes. Leaves Rafe. Leaves it all. Slips away quiet, like he was never real. He knew what that would do to Rafe. Knew it would unmake him.
But maybe it would keep him alive.
And JJ? JJ had already spent his whole life running.
I can do it again, he thought.
I can disappear to save them all.
Maybe that’s what I’m for.
He curled in on himself, spine pressed to the post, cigarette still unlit. He didn’t cry. He just sat there, still, burning in the places no one could see.
Rafe watched JJ through the kitchen window. He was staring at nothing. That was the scariest thing.
Just a few weeks ago, Rafe had everything he’d never dared to imagine: JJ. His. Real. In his bed. On his bike. Calling him baby and psycho and I love you.
Freedom. Work. Sanity—for once. The chance to be a person, not just a disaster waiting to go off.
And now? Now his mind was all daggers.
Every angle led to pain. Every option ended in loss.He could see the shapes of it: Wes taking JJ with some NDA and a smile.
Ward pulling legal strings to have him locked up or exposed. JJ breaking under the weight of it all and vanishing like smoke.
And Rafe? He had murder on his mind.
He kept it folded up in the back of his brain, like a secret exit. If they take him, if they touch him, if they threaten what’s mine—then yes.
Yes. Yes, I’ll kill them.
He hadn’t told JJ that. He couldn’t. Instead, he went to the door and called him in.
“Get inside,” Rafe said.
JJ didn’t move. Didn’t look up.
“J,” Rafe tried again. “Come inside. Please.”
JJ stood slowly. Flicked the unlit cigarette into the grass. Followed without speaking.
Rafe didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch.
They stood in silence, ghosts in their own house, waiting for the next bomb to fall.
…
Cassie and Walt arrived within the hour. The four of them sat around JJ’s kitchen table with a map of the county, financial printouts, burner phone records, and a spreadsheet Rafe had built like a man on a mission.
Cassie tapped one page. “Here. This fund—‘Blue Carbine Enterprises’—was dormant until three weeks ago. It’s now funnelling money into Wes’s shell corporations. You dig deep enough, the trail goes back to Ward.”
Walt squinted. “I know that name.”
Cassie raised a brow. “You would?”
“I worked freelance at a riverboat casino in North Carolina,” Walt said. “Lot of cash movement. High-volume laundering. That fund used to be under a different name. A laundering front. I remember it because of the way they moved the money—slow, overcut, through fake staff salaries.”
JJ sat up straighter. “You think we can trace it?”
Walt nodded. “I know we can. But we’ll need someone to leak it. This isn’t a cop job. This is a press job. A spotlight.”
Rafe exhaled like he’d been holding it for weeks. “Then we go public.” JJ stared at the papers. The names. The numbers.
His voice was hoarse. “If we do this, they’ll come harder.”
“Let them,” Rafe said. “Let them try.”
JJ left the table quietly. Walked into the bathroom. Locked the door. He didn’t cry. He just sat on the closed toilet lid and held his face in his hands.
He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to stay.
He wanted everyone to be okay.
And deep down, that old voice—that broken part of him—still whispered: You're the reason everything goes to hell.
He could still disappear. Tonight.
But what if they win?
He stood. Washed his face. Looked in the mirror. Saw himself—older now, leaner, stronger. Someone who’d survived more than anyone expected.
And maybe that meant he could fight.
After Walt and Cassie left for the night—armed with files and names and burner phones—Rafe found JJ sitting on the bed, not looking at him.
“You’re scaring me,” Rafe said quietly.
JJ looked up. “Why?”
“Because I keep waiting to wake up and find you gone.”
JJ’s breath caught. “I thought about it.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t.”
Rafe nodded. Sat down beside him. “We might still lose everything.”
“Then we lose it together.”
Rafe finally turned to him. “I love you.”
JJ touched his jaw. “I know. I love you too, you crazy, dangerous, beautiful man.”
And they kissed like it was both a goodbye and a promise.
They hadn’t won yet.
But they hadn’t surrendered either.
…….
JJ moved like a ghost through the house.
He didn’t take much—just his wallet, a burner phone, and a hoodie he hadn’t worn in weeks. Rafe was still dead asleep, sprawled shirtless in the sheets, a bruise blooming along his ribs from training the day before. His hand had fallen toward JJ’s empty side of the bed.
JJ stared at him for a long time.
He was leaving everything he loved, just for a few hours.
But it felt like walking off a cliff.
I’ll come back, he told himself.
He had to.
He pressed a kiss to Rafe’s temple—soft, almost imperceptible—and slipped out the front door before the sun rose.
…
It was just past 6:50AM when JJ stepped into the lobby of the glass-and-steel hotel where Wes was staying.
The man met him at the elevator, dressed casual: fitted jeans, black polo, no tie. He looked too clean for how dirty this game had become.
“You’re early,” Wes said, gesturing to the suite.
JJ didn’t move. “You wanted a meeting. This is it.”
Wes smiled thinly and stepped aside. The suite was high-end. Minimalist. Cold. JJ didn’t sit.
“You alone?” Wes asked.
“I said I would be.”
“Good.” Wes walked over to the minibar. “You want coffee, or do we skip the small talk?”
JJ kept his arms folded. “You said you had terms.”
“I do.” Wes poured himself something dark, unsweetened. “You work for me. Directly. I’ll handle your contracts, locations, image, and compensation. You’ll stay in cannabis—because you’re good at it—but I decide where and how. You travel when I say. You speak when I say. You disappear when I say.”
JJ’s jaw locked. “So I’m just a piece you move around a board.”
“I could’ve said pawn, but you’re not useless,” Wes replied. “You’re talented. Marketable. And if you do this, your friends stay safe.”
JJ’s stomach twisted. “You’re threatening the people I care about to get me to obey.”
“I’m presenting reality,” Wes said. Then: “Besides… I’m not the only one who wants you out of the picture.”
JJ’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
Wes took a sip of his coffee. “Your boyfriend’s father came to me. He’s tired of the circus. He offered me backing—money, silence, access—on one condition. That I make you disappear.”
JJ swallowed. His mouth went dry. “So he traded me as part of his investment with you.”
“Like a liability. A threat to his name. To his son.”
JJ stared at the wall. Couldn’t speak.
Wes walked toward him—slow, relaxed, invasive.
“Just imagine, JJ. You say yes. You come with me. You’re paid. Protected. Used, yes—but used well. And Rafe? He gets to keep his life. His job. His fragile little grip on sanity.”
JJ’s voice was cold. “And what if I say no?”
Wes leaned in, his breath warm against JJ’s cheek.
“Then I see how far I can push before someone breaks.”
JJ stepped back, hard. “I’ll think about it.”
Wes’s smile sharpened. “You do that.”
….
JJ drove thirty miles inland. Industrial edge of town. An old rail diner, parked and converted, sat on the edge of a long-empty lot.
Ward was already there.
He didn’t stand when JJ entered. Just gestured to the other side of the booth.
JJ sat. Tense. Silent.
“You look tired,” Ward said. “Not sleeping well?”
“I want to know what you’re doing,” JJ said.
“I’m protecting my son,” Ward replied, too calm. “From you. From what he’s become.”
JJ’s fists curled on the table. “He’s free now.”
Ward’s lip twitched. “Free? He’s broken. Damaged goods clinging to someone who makes it worse.”
“You don’t know what we are.”
“I know what you are,” Ward said. “A low-rent con with a criminal record, daddy issues, and a trail of chaos in your wake. You didn’t save Rafe. You infected him.”
JJ leaned forward. “He’s better now than he ever was with you.”
Ward’s eyes darkened. “Because of sex? Because of weed and motorcycles and pretending your little Pogue romance matters?”
JJ’s jaw clenched. “Get to the point.”
“The point,” Ward said, cold and brutal, “is that Rafe was born a Cameron. And what you’ve done—what you are—is a stain on everything he could’ve been.”
JJ didn’t respond.
“You’re not the prize,” Ward sneered. “You’re the problem. You’re a parasite. An infestation I intend to burn out.”
JJ stood. “Try me.”
Ward didn’t move. “You walk away now, and maybe I leave it at that.”
JJ didn’t look back.
Rafe woke to an empty bed.
At first, it didn’t register. JJ was an early riser sometimes. Maybe on the porch. Maybe in the kitchen. But the flannel was still draped over the back of the chair. The boots were gone.
Rafe grabbed his phone. No text. He called. Straight to voicemail. He tried the shared location app. Disabled.
He stood in the middle of the bedroom, breath shallow. Blood starting to roar in his ears. He texted Cassie. Have you seen JJ?
Not since yesterday. Why?
He texted again. Tried Walt. Nothing.
He opened his laptop and scanned every flagged keyword in the financial reports. No updates. No calls. No panic.
But JJ was gone.
Rafe sat down on the floor.
Every nightmare he’d ever had—every sick, lonely, violent spiral he’d buried—came rushing back.
JJ was out there. Alone. With them.
Chapter 38
Notes:
CNC scene is fully negotiated and safe within the story’s context.
This chapter is pure filth and full of feelings.
Chapter Text
He let himself in quietly, still wearing the hoodie from that morning, shoulders hunched like he’d been walking through a war zone. His hands were in his pockets. His face was pale.
Rafe was waiting on the couch—jaw clenched, fists bloodless, bike keys in one hand like he was ready to drive off cliffs to find him.
When their eyes met, JJ’s breath caught.
And Rafe stood up like a storm had risen inside him.
“Where the fuck were you.”
JJ closed the door behind him. Didn’t speak. Just walked forward, slow. Careful.
Rafe didn’t move.
“I had to try something,” JJ said quietly. “I thought maybe—if I went alone—if I got close enough—”
“You disappeared.”
JJ flinched. “I left before you woke up.”
“You shut off your location. You didn’t answer your phone. I thought—” Rafe’s voice broke. “I thought they took you.”
JJ stepped closer. “They didn’t.”
“You went to both of them?” Rafe snapped. “You walked into their fucking dens alone?”
“I needed to know what they wanted. I needed leverage—”
“You needed me.”
That hit like a slap. JJ inhaled sharply.
Rafe stared at him, eyes wild, body trembling. “You think I can survive this if something happens to you?”
JJ’s voice cracked. “I thought I could handle it.”
“You’re twenty-one. Not bulletproof.”
JJ stepped closer, tears brimming. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
And then they were colliding—grabbing, holding, pulling into each other like gravity was sick of pretending. Rafe crushed JJ into his chest, hands in his hair, breathing like a drowning man.
“You come to me next time,” he whispered against JJ’s ear. “No matter what. You don’t walk into wolves alone.”
JJ nodded, clutching him. “I’m sorry.”
Rafe kissed his temple. “Tell me everything.”
They sat on the floor.
JJ told him about the hotel suite. Wes’s calm voice. The job offer lined with barbed wire. The casual threat: your friends stay safe if you obey.
He told him about the touch. The twisted grin. The way Wes looked at him like a trophy he hadn’t won yet.
Rafe’s hands balled into fists.
Then JJ told him about Ward.
About the diner. The things he said. The cold hatred in every word.
“You’re not the prize,” JJ repeated. “You’re the problem. A parasite. An infestation.”
Rafe’s face turned to stone.
“And he offered to fund Wes,” JJ finished. “Said if Wes took me away, he’d launder the money to help.”
Rafe didn’t speak. Just stood. Paced.
Then: “I’m going to kill him.”
JJ stood too. “Rafe.”
“I mean it.” Rafe turned, eyes dark. “I will end both of them.”
“You can’t. That’s what they want.”
“I’m not letting them touch you again.”
JJ stepped into his space, palms flat on his chest. “Then help me win. With proof. With something that’ll burn them instead.”
That word—burn—hit something inside him.
Rafe nodded, voice low. “Then we do it together. No more disappearing.”
JJ leaned in. “Together.”
The house filled with voices soon after.
Cassie came first, hair tied up, no-nonsense. She took one look at JJ and pulled him into a hug. “You ever sneak off again, I’m telling your boyfriend.”
JJ mumbled, “He already knows.”
Walt arrived minutes later. Brought weed and pizza and his weird knack for knowing when shit was about to go sideways.
The four of them gathered around the kitchen table—chaos in their eyes, caffeine and tension in their blood.
“We need to hit both of them where it hurts,” Cassie said, flipping open a notebook. “Money, power, reputation.”
“I’ve got a forensic trail between Ward’s charity fund and Wes’s ‘consulting firm,’” Rafe added. “We leak that, they both go down hard.”
JJ frowned. “They’ll bury it before it hits the light.”
“Unless we hit them fast,” Walt said. “Loud. All at once.”
Rafe stared at him. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I used to run courier cash between shell farms and banks when I was seventeen,” Walt said. “One of the names on your list? I’ve seen before. I think I know where one of the safe deposit boxes is.”
Everyone went still.
“You serious?” Cassie asked.
Walt nodded. “If we find it, and it links the money trail, that’s our checkmate.”
JJ looked between them. “So… we take down Ward and Wes with their own game?”
Rafe’s eyes darkened. “Or die trying.”
Later that night, JJ couldn’t sleep.
He lay awake in their bed, staring at the ceiling, heartbeat loud in his ears.
Rafe came in quietly. Stood in the doorway, watching him.
“You still mad?” JJ asked.
Rafe shook his head. “I’m terrified.” He crossed the room and climbed in, straddling JJ’s hips. Stared down at him like he might break.
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“I wasn’t.”
“But you could’ve.” Rafe leaned down, mouth against JJ’s jaw. “And I never would’ve recovered.”
JJ cupped his neck. “I came back.”
“Don’t ever leave again.”
“I won’t.”
Rafe kissed him—slow, deep, desperate. Hands roaming like he was trying to reclaim every inch.
JJ pulled him closer. “Show me.”
Rafe did.
They didn’t speak for a long time.
Just sweat. Teeth. Bruises. Hands clutching. Bodies breaking into each other.
JJ cried out. Rafe whispered, mine.
And afterward, they lay tangled in silence.
Not safe.
But together.
…
It was Cassie who noticed the man in the truck.
Gray Tacoma. Parked just down the hill from JJ and Rafe’s place. No movement. No delivery logo. No lights. Just still, like a hunter waiting out his prey.
She didn’t panic. She snapped a photo, called Walt, and stayed in view of the front window with her hand in her hoodie pocket—on the switchblade she always kept when things felt off.
By the time Rafe walked to the front door, phone still clutched in his hand, Walt was already there. He’d pulled the security feed from earlier that day.
Rafe didn’t speak as he played the clip. Didn’t blink when he paused it. Zoomed in. The man in the truck had a familiar face. Quiet. Clean-cut. Featureless. But Rafe recognized him.
“He used to work for Ward,” Rafe muttered. “Did surveillance. Sometimes muscle. Always silent.”
JJ stood by the fridge, barely breathing.
“They’re watching us now?” he said. “Like—physically watching?”
Cassie nodded grimly. “Which means the pressure’s working. They’re spooked.”
“They should be,” Rafe said, opening the drawer under the counter. Out came burner phones, notebooks, old flash drives he hadn’t touched in a year. “Because we’re about to drop a fucking hammer.”
Walt and Cassie were relentless.
Backed by the obsessive fury of Rafe and JJ’s need to survive, they dug through years of fake land trusts, laundering routes, and investor fronts. What they found that night sent adrenaline slicing through the room.
“Ward's trust—has been quietly funnelling capital through Wes’s shell firm for weeks,” Walt explained, spinning the laptop toward the group. “They wash it through consulting invoices and reinvest it as private loans into legal businesses. Like cannabis.”
Cassie arched an eyebrow. “Meaning this whole grow op might already be a test case.”
JJ’s stomach dropped. “You’re saying they already have money in this?”
Walt hesitated. “...Yes"
Silence.
Rafe stood slowly. He didn’t look surprised. “Ward’s always wanted to launder through green industries,” he said. “Less stigma, more growth. Wes's deep connections and power? They’ve got the perfect front.”
Cassie’s voice dropped. “We leak this with the right paper trail, and it’s over for them.”
JJ’s phone buzzed. One new message.
Your dad’s in the jail infirmary. He's been injured. I’d hate for anything else to happen to him.
JJ froze.
He was pale when he sat down in the bedroom. Didn’t speak. Didn’t hand Rafe the phone—just showed him.
Rafe read it. Once. Then again. He didn’t speak either. But his entire body pulsed with rage.
JJ stood up suddenly. Restless. “They know what’ll break me.”
Rafe nodded, jaw clenched.
“I keep thinking—if I just disappear, they’d stop coming.”
Rafe’s voice was flat. “If you disappear, I stop breathing.”
JJ turned sharply. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
They stared at each other in silence, the air thick with pressure and panic. Then JJ stepped forward. Into his space.
“I need you,” JJ whispered. “Right now. I need your hands. Your mouth. I need to forget this for a second.”
Rafe didn’t move.
JJ’s fingers curled in his shirt. “Come on, baby. Just fuck it out of me.”
Rafe flinched.
“Please,” JJ murmured. “I don’t care how fucked up we are. You know I like it like that. I just need—”
“Stop.” Rafe’s voice was strained. “Don’t ask me for that right now.”
JJ blinked. “Why?”
Rafe’s throat moved. “Because I’m not safe.”
JJ’s breath caught. “What?”
“I can’t, JJ. Not tonight. Not like this.” Rafe’s voice was low and shaking. “Where my head is at… everything—I’m not safe.”
JJ’s hands dropped to his sides. His face fell in slow motion.
And Rafe hated himself for it.
He saw it—everything—in JJ’s eyes: the disappointment, the ache, the need for closeness. Rafe knew JJ’s pattern. He didn’t cry when he was scared. He didn’t beg. He fucked. He sought comfort in heat, in motion, in surrender.
But Rafe’s sex profile was always a risk. Even with JJ. Especially now—coiled in rage, adrenaline and obsession tearing through his skin like knives.
He couldn’t trust himself.
But he could give JJ something else.
He reached for him. Grabbed the back of his neck. Pulled him close and sucked into the side of JJ’s throat, just hard enough to mark. JJ gasped.
Rafe growled in his ear, voice full of smoke and steel.
“When this is over, I am going to lock you in a room and sodomise you all night long, like a new inmate in a prison cell with a psycho.”
JJ’s breath hitched. His whole body shuddered.
He closed his eyes, leaned into Rafe’s chest. “Promise?”
Rafe pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ll be sore for days.”
JJ exhaled. A soft sound. Grounded. A little destroyed.
But okay.
…
The leak dropped at 7:03 AM.
Cassie’s voice came through Walt’s burner, half breathless, half electric.
“It’s out.”
Walt was already logged in on three devices. JJ sat at the table beside him, reading headlines aloud as they changed in real time.
“WARD CAMERON IMPLICATED IN CANNABIS MONEY LAUNDERING RING.”
“SILENT INVESTOR ‘WES THORNE’ LINKED TO SHELL COMPANIES, OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS.”
“RAFE CAMERON, MISSING SON OF DISGRACED DEVELOPER, SPOTTED IN CALIFORNIA.”
Rafe didn’t speak. He stood behind JJ’s chair, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching the implosion of a dynasty he’d spent a lifetime trying to survive.
Cassie read from her screen. “Two financial analysts are already naming Wes as a high-risk private equity manipulator with ties to illegal real estate flips.”
“And Ward?” JJ asked, voice low.
Walt scrolled. “Congressional ethics committee’s been pinged. His name's in three flagged trust accounts. And someone leaked a grainy photo of him walking into Wes’s Pacifica office 2 weeks ago.”
JJ snorted. “Who would’ve done that.”
Cassie deadpanned, “Could’ve been anyone.”
Rafe didn’t smile.
The retaliation came fast.
JJ was the first to see it—an alert on the private Discord server the grow op used internally.
⚠️ URGENT: RAID ON PROPERTY. ALL STAFF TERMINATED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. HOLD COMMS. DO NOT RETURN.
JJ went cold. “They hit the grow.”
Cassie grabbed her phone. “Let me call—”
But she stopped. Her screen lit up.
CASSIE, WALT – EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, YOUR POSITIONS ARE TERMINATED. SECURITY WILL ESCORT YOU OFFSITE IF YOU RETURN.
JJ swayed. “What the fuck.”
Walt’s phone buzzed. A voicemail. He played it on speaker.
“Walt. It’s over. The feds showed up with a list. Whole place is shut. Wes pulled funding. Everyone’s cut loose.”
JJ sat down hard. “He torched the whole thing. Just to get at me.”
Rafe was already moving. Fast.
Rafe’s knuckles were bleeding by the time JJ found him—leaning against the kitchen sink, fists still clenched, eyes wild.
JJ didn’t ask. He just wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Held him through the shaking. Held him while Rafe whispered, “I can’t protect you from everything.”
JJ whispered back, “I don’t want you to. I want you beside me.”
Rafe’s head dropped. “I hate him. I hate them both.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“You think we’ve gone too far?” JJ asked.
Rafe turned, grabbed him by the shirt, eyes burning. “Not far enough.”
By that evening, every major financial outlet had the story. New leaks appeared by the hour: investments from shell firms, suspicious property swaps in Georgia, a Bahamas account in Ward’s name with seven figures frozen by regulators.
Cassie read aloud from her phone: “Senator Holmes just disavowed Ward publicly.”
“Wes, too,” Walt added. “His name just got pulled from two cannabis consortiums. Websites stripped. Spokespeople ghosted.”
“Who leaked the Bahamas account?” JJ asked.
Rafe didn’t look up. “I did.”
JJ stared. “When?”
“Yesterday,” Rafe said flatly. “I sent it to three lawyers, two journalists, and a priest.”
Cassie blinked. “Jesus.”
“No,” Rafe said. “Ward.”
That night, the house felt like a bunker. Every device encrypted. Every window checked.
JJ sat on the floor, back against the couch, Rafe beside him, knees drawn up. Walt and Cassie were asleep in the other room, both still processing the loss of their jobs, the fall of the grow, the implosion of everything they’d built.
JJ exhaled. “I really thought we were safe here.”
Rafe didn’t respond.
JJ turned his head. “We’re not done yet, are we?”
Rafe’s eyes were dark. “Not until they stop breathing.”
JJ didn’t flinch.
Instead, he leaned closer. “Then let’s finish it.”
……………………………..
The house was too quiet after the collapse.
Cassie’s duffel sat half-unzipped by the couch. Walt had taken over the corner armchair with his laptop, tapping through shell corporations and public records like the whole thing was a logic puzzle instead of a war.
JJ smoked on the back porch in the hoodie he’d stolen from Rafe’s side of the bed. Rain came in sheets, dense and slow, soaking the steps, painting the trees with silver.
Rafe stood just inside the door, , silent, enveloped by his dark hoodie, watching the rise and fall of JJ’s breath like it was all that kept him from flying apart.
“You cold?” Rafe asked eventually.
JJ shook his head. Didn’t look back. “Just trying to feel something other than dread.”
It wasn’t just the grow that had fallen.
Cassie’s bank account was frozen for forty-eight hours pending investigation. Walt’s side contract on a second operation upstate vanished without a call. JJ’s phone kept buzzing with media pings—calls from unknown numbers, texts from blocked senders, and a string of emails about “alleged misconduct” from Wes’s firm, hinting at liability concerns.
He couldn’t read more than a few words before rage took over.
“I didn’t even do anything,” JJ muttered, pacing the bedroom, hand in his hair. “All I did was fucking exist near you.”
Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees. “That was enough for them.”
JJ turned. “They’re trying to erase me, Rafe.”
Rafe looked up, eyes wild. “They’re trying to erase us.”
The email came that night. Encrypted. No subject line.
JJ found it first. Showed it to Rafe without saying a word.
“The sins of the son are always heavier than they seem. You dragged him into this. Don’t be surprised when you lose him, too.”
There was no name. But they knew who it was.
Ward Cameron didn’t need to sign anything anymore.
Rafe froze. His fingers curled like claws around the burner phone, like he could crush the words if he held tight enough.
JJ took his hands gently.
“Don't give him the power,” he whispered.
But Rafe was already somewhere else—back in Kildare, back in the estate, back in his childhood bedroom trying to breathe under the weight of a name that crushed everything soft inside him.
The pressure was fracturing the edges of JJ’s resolve.
He stood outside after midnight, soaked from rain, bike cover hanging in tatters, smouldering at the base from where someone had lit it up with petrol like a warning.
Cassie had been first on the scene. JJ just stared at it for a long time.
“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “They touched my bike.”
Rafe appeared at his side like smoke, shirtless, barefoot, pupils huge.
“They made it personal,” he said quietly.
JJ turned to him. “You think I’m next?”
“No.” Rafe’s voice was cold. “They are.”
…
Cassie stood in the kitchen the next morning, blunt behind her ear, sleeves rolled up.
“We're not backing down, right?” she asked, sipping coffee.
JJ nodded. “Never.”
Rafe looked between them. “We can’t let them dictate the next move.”
Walt stepped in, holding up a phone. “Then maybe it’s time to call in help.”
JJ frowned. “You trust someone?”
“No,” Walt said. “But I know a journalist who hates Ward Cameron more than we do.”
Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Almost impossible.”
“But not actually impossible,” Cassie added, and they all shared a look—equal parts fear, defiance, and battle-readiness.
That night, JJ came to Rafe’s room, wet from the shower, eyes red, body humming with tension.
“I need something to hold onto,” he said softly.
Rafe, seated on the bed, glanced up. “JJ—”
JJ climbed into his lap. Straddled him. Pressed their foreheads together.
“I’m not trying to fuck the fear away,” he whispered. “I’m trying to remember I’m still here.”
Rafe touched his face. “You are.”
“Prove it.”
They didn’t undress all the way. Didn’t bother with slow kisses or gentle touches. It wasn’t about tenderness. It was about holding on.
Rafe took JJ hard, on his back, with a hand on his throat and one under his thigh, whispering mine over and over until JJ was crying with the force of it.
When it was done, they lay tangled in the aftermath, sweat cooling, breaths shallow.
“You still with me?” Rafe murmured.
JJ nodded. “Until the end.”
Rafe kissed his temple. “Then we keep going tomorrow and for as long as you will have me.”
They curled into bed eventually, JJ still half in Rafe’s lap, head against his chest. Finally naked. Neither slept.
The message from Wes sat on the phone like a loaded gun.
And Rafe—eyes burning in the dark—kept one hand fisted in JJ’s hair and the other resting on the Glock beneath the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured against JJ’s skin. “You hear me?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re mine.”
JJ nodded. “I’ve always been.”
“We’re together. Feels profound for me, JJ. Loving you. I wanted you to know it’s not all crazy. Thank you for loving me.”
JJ reached up to kiss Rafe deeply, before descending on his neck and softly sucking. Rafe made a noise between and purr and a groan.
“JJ, that feels amazing but I am fucking exhausted, babe. I need a couple of hours.”
JJ cuts him off, “Not asking for another round. I want you on top of me while I go to sleep, please. Maybe not your whole body weight, but like.. a fair bit? With your arms around me?”
Rafe’s heart exploded, this request was like a manifestation of a thousand fantasies that did or didn’t involve violence, involving JJ all these years. Blanketing JJ naked and sleeping with him like he owned and protected him, after thoroughly fucking him.
Rafe kissed JJ deeply and stroked his neck as he told him, “Anything for you, JJ.”
Rafe moved around , and moved JJ’s body until he found a position that covered most of JJ’s body but with his forearms bracketing JJ’s head, and his legs entwined with JJ’s, he managed to balance his weight enough to give JJ the pressure he needed without crushing him overnight.
“Thank you,” JJ whispers.
“…I just needed to feel you. Real close. Right here. Your body is intense even when you are sleeping. And I feel protected when you have me like this in bed.”
Rafe murmured “I love you JJ. I’ll always love you. Never stop protecting you.”
“ I know,” chokes out JJ, softly. “I love you so much, Rafe.”
Rafe nuzzled his head deeper into the gap between JJ’s shoulder and his neck, and drifted off. JJ wasn’t far behind, and they breathed against each other as they each found sleep.
They lay like that until morning.
Then: Planning. Waiting. Counting down.
………………
The news broke slowly—then all at once.
By the time the media had it, Ward Cameron was already in North Carolina, sweating through depositions. Wes Thorne was arrested at a private airstrip, boarding a flight to Mexico with an encrypted laptop and a suitcase full of burner phones.
Neither man made a statement.
But the press didn’t need one.
“Southern Syndicate?”
“Political Power and Drug Profits?”
“Carolina Kingpins Tied to Interstate Cannabis Scandal”
Every hour brought another headline.
California state investigators called Rafe twice. FBI once. A detective from Kill Devil Hills left a message on JJ’s old phone that still made Rafe’s blood turn cold.
They weren’t in the clear. Not yet. But it was the best non-lethal outcome they’d hoped for.
Wes and Ward were eating each other alive in the press.
And JJ was still here.
Alive. Free. Bruised, but not broken.
Rafe found him in their bedroom.
Naked under the sheet, one leg flung out, a joint half-finished in the ashtray beside the bed. The window was open; JJ’s skin was glowing in the dusk.
He looked like peace.
And it broke something open in Rafe’s chest.
He crossed the room slowly. Sat on the edge of the bed. Leaned down to brush his lips over JJ’s ear.
“Are you awake?”
JJ snorted faintly, voice low and amused. “I am now, Rafe.”
Rafe smiled.
Then gripped his wrist and pinned it above his head.
JJ blinked. Still sleepy. Still high. But his pupils flared, and his breath caught in that familiar, hungry way.
“Color?” Rafe murmured.
JJ licked his lips. “Green.”
Rafe kissed his throat. “Word?”
“Keep going.”
The game was on.
Rafe’s hand slid down his chest. Gripped his hip. Flipped him easily, yanking JJ’s arms behind his back and holding them there with one hand.
JJ gasped into the sheets. “Jesus.”
“No,” Rafe whispered. “Just me.”
He kissed down JJ’s spine like a man memorizing topography. Bit the small of his back. Reached under him to toy with his cock, keeping him just on edge—never enough, never gentle.
“You know what I thought when I saw you sleeping?” Rafe growled.
JJ moaned. “That you wanted to ruin me again?”
“I wanted to remind you. That you belong to me.”
He pushed in slow—no warning, no buildup—just enough stretch to make JJ cry out into the pillow.
Rafe didn’t stop.
He fucked him deep. Steady. Ruthless.
Not angry. Not desperate.
Claiming.
JJ’s voice cracked on a moan. “You waited to do this.”
Rafe grunted, fucking harder. “Because you needed it.”
JJ twisted under him, back arching, eyes wide and shimmering. “Say it.”
“You’re mine,” Rafe snarled. “My fucking boy. My miracle. My reason for not killing them both with my bare hands.”
JJ shuddered. “I wanted this.”
“I know,” Rafe growled. “I know every inch of you. Every scream. Every cry. Every sick little part of you that wants to be fucked through the floor.”
JJ whimpered. “Then do it.”
Rafe obliged.
He kept him there for what felt like hours.
Hands bound behind him with a belt. Cock leaking onto the sheets. Rafe inside him, unrelenting.
JJ was shaking when he whispered, “Yellow.”
Rafe stopped instantly.
Unbound his wrists. Flipped him over. Held his face.
JJ blinked. “I’m okay.”
“I know,” Rafe whispered. “But I had to hear it.”
JJ kissed him.
And they finished together—close, tight, clinging.
Afterward, Rafe lay on his back, hand threaded through JJ’s hair, heart slowing.
JJ exhaled. “We’re not safe yet, are we?”
“No,” Rafe said. “But no one touches you again. Not now. Not ever.”
JJ smiled. “You mean it?”
Rafe turned, kissed him full and deep.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it.”
…
The town wasn’t quiet.
But it was quieter.
The grow op was still under scrutiny while investigators tore through its history—but the raids had stopped. The threats had gone silent. Wes was gone. Ward was leaking integrity from every front.
And JJ was starting to breathe again.
He sat on the back porch of the house, legs kicked up, joint burning slow between his fingers. Rafe was inside somewhere, pacing, cleaning, doing whatever obsessive thing he did when he wasn’t sure how to relax.
Cassie had texted that morning:
Walt got cleared. Back at the site next week. If we keep our heads down, we’ll get full clearance within the month.
You okay, blondie?
JJ had stared at the message for a long time before replying:
Getting there.
Because it was true. He was getting there.
But he wasn’t there yet.
“You ever think about what happens if this all works out?” Rafe asked that night.
JJ looked up from the floor where he was doing lazy pushups in his underwear, all sinew and smirk. “Like… we don’t die?”
Rafe snorted. He was sitting at the table, laptop open, surrounded by printed zoning reports and county development filings.
JJ pushed to his feet and padded over, shirtless, curious. “What’s this?”
“Nothing yet,” Rafe said. “Maybe something.”
JJ scanned the headings. His name appeared on more than one page. “You planning my future without me?”
“Planning your future with you,” Rafe corrected. “Eventually.”
JJ blinked. “Rafe…”
“You’re not gonna be someone’s employee forever,” Rafe said quietly. “You’re better than that.”
JJ leaned on the table. His voice dropped. “What if I’m not?”
“You are,” Rafe said. “And I want to back you. When the time comes.”
JJ didn’t answer. Just walked over and straddled Rafe’s lap, still sweaty from the floor. He brushed his mouth over Rafe’s jaw.
“You scare me when you talk like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you see something in me I’m not sure I can live up to.”
Rafe gripped his waist. “You already have.”
Cassie showed up two days later with groceries, updates, and three new piercings JJ hadn’t seen before.
“You’re in your housewife era,” she told Rafe. “I approve.”
Rafe rolled his eyes and took the produce.
She pulled JJ aside while Rafe cooked. “He’s serious, you know.”
“Yeah,” JJ said, voice quiet.
“You thinking about it?”
“I want it,” JJ admitted. “I just… I don’t know if I believe it yet.”
Cassie didn’t press. Just slung an arm around his shoulders. “When you’re ready. But let him build you a kingdom, J. He’s got nothing else he wants to rule.”
JJ stared across the room at Rafe—barefoot, shirtless, reading a recipe on his phone like it was a map to JJ’s happiness.
“I know,” JJ said. “That’s what scares me.”
…
That night, they didn’t fuck.
They just curled up on the couch—JJ tucked under Rafe’s arm, Rafe’s hand on his hair, both of them half-listening to some documentary with the volume too low.
JJ murmured, “If we make it through all this…”
Rafe didn’t move. “Yeah?”
JJ looked up at him.
“I want to try. Owning something. Running something. Something real.”
Rafe kissed his forehead like a benediction.
“You already do,” he said. “You just haven’t signed the papers yet.”
…
JJ didn’t need anyone to show him around.
He’d worked every square foot of this place before Wes had shut it down with a few well-placed threats and a single vindictive call to the licensing board. He knew the irrigation rhythms, the smell of a healthy cola versus a sick one, how to cut clean stems with dull blades if you had to.
They weren’t selling right now. Suspended trading until the legal storm passed.
But they were still growing.
JJ walked the rows with quiet confidence, exchanging nods with the skeleton crew Cassie and Walt had managed to keep. There weren’t many left. Not yet. But the ones who stayed looked to JJ like he belonged here. Like they remembered how he held the place down before things went to hell.
He didn’t bring it up to Rafe—but he was proud of that.
Rafe’s job was an hour away. He couldn’t keep riding with JJ every morning, hovering like a wolf outside a henhouse. He’d burned too many sick days tailing JJ to Oregon, too many more pacing the halls while Wes and Ward made their final plays.
But he could still plan.
And plot.
And build something underneath JJ’s feet so he wouldn’t fall again.
On his lunch break at the motorcycle training grounds, Rafe sat in the staff breakroom, helmet beside him, scouring zoning maps and licensing law for Humboldt County.
He had two tabs open.
One for forming a new LLC.
The other for investigating a quiet, behind-the-scenes buyout of the place JJ already loved.
Cassie and Walt hadn’t ruled it out. Not yet.
And Rafe had the capital. He had it because he’d been born with it, yes—but he’d kept it by being ruthless. Strategic. Dangerous.
He could use that for something clean now.
Something his boy could own.
They rode home together at dusk. Rafe trailing a few bike lengths behind, watching JJ’s posture—relaxed now, cocky. Confident again in a way that meant something.
When they got home, JJ peeled off his boots on the porch and lit a joint. Rafe stood behind him, watching the sun go down. No words.
Until JJ murmured, “You still thinking about it?”
Rafe didn’t have to ask what it meant.
“I’m always thinking about it.”
JJ passed him the joint. “Cassie said you’d make a good silent partner.”
“I’m not good at staying silent,” Rafe said. “But I’d do it for you.”
JJ leaned into him. “You still wanna back me, psycho?”
“Already am.”
They’d talked about it weeks ago. In whispers. In gasps. In the heat after violence, in the raw safety of recovery.
CNC. Prison cell scene. Psycho cell mate. Power play. Safe words. Real danger. No harm.
Rafe had promised JJ he’d get better. He had. He was.
So when JJ came out of the shower that night wearing loose brown overalls—nothing underneath, hair damp, pupils dilated—Rafe knew exactly what he was asking for.
Rafe put on his own. No shirt. No briefs. No softness.
He grabbed the spare key. Led JJ by the wrist to the smallest room in the house—a converted storage closet with a single window, low ceiling, and nothing but a mattress on the floor.
JJ stood in the centre, breathing fast.
“You sure?” Rafe asked, voice low, brutal.
JJ nodded. “Green. Word is ‘mercy.’”
Rafe shut the door.
Turned the lock.
The game began.
“Well look what we have here,” Rafe drawled, staring at JJ with a feral intensity.
“I don’t want any trouble, man” JJ croaked out.
“I’m afraid you’ve found it, boy.”
Rafe shoved JJ against the wall, face-first, hands above his head.
“You think you’re cute?” he growled.
JJ panted. “No, sir.”
“You think you can just walk into this jail, tease me with this tight little body, and not get punished like the fag you are?”
JJ whimpered. “Please.”
Rafe grabbed a fistful of blond hair. Yanked. Bit his ear. “Not ‘please,’ bitch. Beg.”
JJ gasped, hips grinding against the wall. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“You talk when I tell you to talk,” Rafe snarled. “Or I fill your mouth so you don’t forget who you belong to.”
JJ’s lips curved. “Then shut me up.”
Rafe did.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was teeth and spit and heat. Rafe bit down hard on JJ’s bottom lip, then dragged him by the hair to his knees.
“Open.”
JJ obeyed.
Rafe shoved his cock into his mouth like it was punishment. No warning. No rhythm. Just rough, primal throat-fucking.
JJ choked instantly, eyes watering, fists clenched at his sides. Rafe didn’t let up—kept a hand in JJ’s hair, the other braced on the wall, hips snapping forward fast and brutal.
“Fucking slut,” Rafe growled. “Look at you. On your knees like you belong here.”
JJ gagged again, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Rafe hissed. “Tight mouth. Wet eyes. Perfect little prison wife.”
He pulled out with a messy pop and hauled JJ back to his feet by the overalls. Spun him around. Shoved him into the wall.
Rafe ripped the front of JJ’s overalls down to the waist. Exposed his back, his ass. Grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked.
JJ gasped.
“You know what happens now,” Rafe growled against his ear. “You get broken in.”
He spit into his palm, slicked himself quick and rough, and shoved into JJ in one savage thrust. JJ yelped—hands splaying flat against the wall, body arching from the force of it.
“Fuck—”
Rafe clamped a hand over his mouth.
“You shut that hole unless I say. You get used like a good little bitch.”
He slammed into him again. And again. Loud, bruising slaps of skin on skin. Rafe leaned his full weight in, panting hard, fucking him up against the wall like the world outside didn’t exist.
“You feel that?” he hissed. “That stretch? That’s your new reality.”
“Every night. On command. Because you belong to me.”
JJ could barely breathe. But he didn’t tap out.
He pressed his cheek to the wall and took it.
JJ screamed, legs trembling.
Rafe held him there, pressed to the wall, buried inside him like a psycho who’d been waiting days for this. Which he had.
“Tell me what you are,” Rafe snarled, rutting.
JJ moaned. “Your cellblock bitch.”
Rafe slammed deeper. “Say it louder.”
“Your fucking fag!” JJ shouted, voice cracking. “Your inmate. Your hole.”
Rafe grabbed both wrists, pinned them high, fucked him hard—no rhythm, no restraint, just force and possession. The mattress wasn’t touched.
JJ was weeping by the time he came, untouched.
Rafe didn’t stop.
Rafe pulled out with a ragged breath. JJ’s legs buckled.
He sank to the floor, forehead to the mattress, heart still racing.
It felt over.
But Rafe wasn’t done.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
JJ flinched.
Rafe grabbed him by the hips. Hauled him back. Slammed him down face-first into the mattress.
JJ let out a broken noise. “Rafe—fuck—”
“You thought that was it?” Rafe growled. “You thought your shift was over?”
He pinned JJ’s shoulders down, mounted him again, and shoved inside raw.
JJ cried out, half pleasure, half overwhelmed. Rafe was rougher now—more animal than man.
“You think anyone’s gonna save you from this?”
“You’re a hole,” he snarled. “My tight little blonde wife, and I’m your fucking nightmare husband.”
JJ sobbed into the mattress.
Rafe leaned over, whispering against his neck.
“You’re mine. Till morning roll call. You understand?”
JJ nodded, wrecked. “Yes. Yes—fuck—yes.”
They came together again, louder this time, Rafe slamming deep with a final brutal thrust, grinding in, shaking.
They collapsed on the floor hours later. Minutes passed in silence.
Slick. Bruised. High on adrenaline and something deeper.
JJ curled into Rafe’s chest. Still shaking.
JJ lay sprawled, sweaty and marked, chest still heaving.
Rafe tilted his head up and kissed him. Then again. And again.
“You okay?” Rafe murmured, voice softer now.
JJ nodded, voice hoarse. “Fucking perfect.”
Rafe closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to JJ’s shoulder. “That was…”
“A dream come true?” JJ teased weakly.
“More than that,” Rafe said. “I used to think about this when I couldn’t sleep. Just me, you, a locked room, and no rules.”
JJ reached for his hand. “It was hot.”
“We should make this one of our regular scenes.”
JJ smirked. “Yeah. But next time, I get a safe word and a water bottle.”
Rafe laughed—low and unguarded. “Deal.”
He kissed him again. Gentle now. Worshipful.
Rafe closed his eyes for the first real sleep he’d had in days.
And they slept on the floor, tangled, drained, alive.
Chapter 39
Notes:
Hey if you have come this far, please leave a comment or kudos. Ego needs it, plus happy for feedback and inspiration from readers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
JJ didn’t need training wheels.
He’d already worked every inch of the grow op long before Wes shut it down in a tantrum of corporate spite. Now, with the operation technically paused—suspended trading, legal fog—he was still there every day. Watering. Monitoring. Repairing small things before anyone else noticed they were broken.
The grow was still alive. And so was JJ’s place in it.
Cassie had seniority, sure, and Walt had his steady-hand leadership, but when it came to the actual work, when it came to trust on the floor, eyes were starting to drift to JJ.
Subtle things. The way Walt paused before answering a question, glancing to see if JJ had something to say. How Cassie threw him the clipboard during a daily check without asking if he wanted it.
He didn’t act like a boss. Didn’t need to.
He just showed up. Knew what he was doing. Owned it.
And that mattered.
Cassie didn’t mention it, but she knew something was shifting. JJ could tell from the way she watched him from across the trim tables. Curious. Cautious. Not unfriendly.
She knew he was connected to something bigger. Or someone.
Because even with the operation frozen, people still had to get paid. Utilities had to run. The skeleton crew still needed leadership. And there were rumors—soft ones, not confirmed—that someone was quietly looking into the current ownership.
JJ brought it up once, carefully.
“If someone were buying out the partners—quietly—what would that mean?”
Cassie tilted her head. “Depends on how big the buyout. What the buyer wants.”
“Control. Not spotlight.”
Her smile curved slow. “Sounds like someone I’ve met.”
He nodded. “Rafe’s looking into it.”
Cassie didn’t flinch. “You think he’d let you fail?”
JJ shook his head. “No. But he’d let me prove I can do it.”
It was quieter now.
Not silent, but settled. The house no longer felt like a safehouse or a trapdoor escape route. It felt like a home. The kind they never thought they’d deserve.
JJ had his own drawer. His own mug. His name on bills Rafe made him pay because “You’re my partner, not my pet.”
There were herbs growing out back—basil, mint, cilantro. All dying, but the intent was there.
Rafe worked his job again—motorcycle instructor, still dangerous, still sharp—and rode home every night with oil-streaked hands and sunburned shoulders.
JJ would meet him on the porch. Hand him a joint. Ask what kind of day it had been with a half-smile and no expectations.
And Rafe would answer with a look like JJ was the reason he survived it.
It was late.
JJ was high. Rafe was warm and silent, lying shirtless beside him under thin cotton sheets. The window was cracked. Somewhere outside, a distant dog barked at nothing.
JJ exhaled slow. “Think they’ve met yet?”
Rafe blinked. “Who?”
“Our dads.”
A pause. Then a dry laugh from Rafe. “Prison meet-cute?”
JJ snorted. “What’s Ward’s vibe in there, you think? White-collar yoga? Or biting people for the remote?”
Rafe turned his head, sleepy and amused. “Ward’ll try to run the place. He’ll make enemies real fast. Someone’ll catch him slipping.”
JJ stretched. “Reckon he’ll survive?”
Rafe shrugged. “Not my concern anymore. I gave the Feds everything. If he burns, he burns.”
JJ was quiet a moment. Then: “You think I should feel bad?”
Rafe’s head tilted. “About what?”
“My dad getting jumped. In jail. Because of Wes. Because of me, if you trace the line far enough.”
Rafe didn’t rush his answer. “Do you feel bad?”
“Yeah,” JJ said softly. “But I also think... he had some beatings coming. I just wish it had been you again. And me this time. You know—proper send-off.”
Rafe barked a laugh. “Same. Can you imagine? Tag team beat-down. They’d have to separate us.”
JJ smirked. “Prison buddies. Cellblock kings.”
They both laughed. Then quiet settled over them again—warm, spent.
“Funny how we made it out,” JJ murmured.
“Not funny,” Rafe said. “Miraculous.”
Rafe came in the next evening with dust on his boots and a contract draft in his bag.
JJ was waiting with beer and plans.
They sat on the porch steps as the sun went down. No drama. No blood. Just two men, bruised but steady, quietly mapping out a future.
And for the first time in weeks, it felt like nothing was being taken from them.
They were building now.
Together.
…………………..
The office didn’t look like much—just a converted storage unit in Eureka’s back industrial stretch, where legal cannabis tried its best to look legitimate. But inside, the papers being signed were the kind that changed lives.
Rafe leaned over the conference table, boots muddy from the parking lot, signature dark and angular across a sheaf of documents. The notary barely looked up.
“Initial here,” she said. “And here. And full signature there.”
Cassie stood behind JJ near the doorway, arms folded, watching the process with something like satisfaction. Walt was there too—clean flannel, sun-scorched skin, silent approval in the set of his shoulders.
JJ didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. The name on the business wasn’t his—yet—but the name on the daily grind was. Everyone in that room knew who was holding the grow together.
The buyout was formal now. Rafe had officially assumed financial control from the previous passive investors. The new paperwork designated him as managing silent partner—no voting rights on cultivation decisions, no day-to-day say.
But he’d built in protections: full operational veto in case of outside threats, a two-year automatic renewal clause for JJ’s leadership contract, and a discretionary fund for expansion.
He’d also dropped his motorcycle instruction hours by half.
“You’ll still teach?” JJ had asked the night before.
Rafe had kissed the corner of his mouth. “Only enough to stay sane.”
Cassie met JJ at the gates of the suspended grow op just after sunrise.
She had a clipboard and coffee again. “No new legal calls today. Permits still transferring.”
JJ took the list. “So we’re still half-legal but functional?”
Cassie grinned. “That’s weed, baby.”
They worked through the humid morning, checking light levels, nutrient flow, fan speeds. JJ adjusted the timer on a curing bay while Cassie tested pH. They barely needed to speak—every task already understood.
JJ wasn’t just the guy people listened to anymore.
He was the one people followed.
It was subtle. The way crew members paused to glance at him before making a decision. The way Cassie deferred to his instinct more than the clipboard. The way the place settled around him.
It wasn’t noise or flash.
It was presence.
It was ownership. Even if the paperwork wasn't all finished yet.
JJ’s hands were covered in soil. Rafe had the day’s last email open on his phone: confirmation of initial state-level permit transition. It would take weeks still, but the first domino had fallen.
“They’ll want to do a site check before confirming the grow license in your name,” Rafe murmured, scrolling.
JJ leaned back. “You’ll come with me?”
“You’ll be the one talking. I’ll stand there and look rich and dangerous.”
JJ smirked. “That your specialty?”
Rafe’s eyes flicked to him. “No. You are.”
JJ went quiet. Then, “You really doing this for me?”
Rafe set the phone down. “I’m doing it with you. That’s the difference.”
They didn’t need to say more. The foundation was already set—signed, sealed, nearly delivered. It wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. It was theirs.
………..
The grow site didn’t look like much from the outside. Faded signage, chain-link fencing, a gravel lot still half-rutted from winter rains. But inside, it was spotless.
JJ stood in the main hallway, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Clean jeans, collared shirt, hair a little tamed. He looked—Rafe thought—like someone who owned something. Like someone who’d earned it.
Cassie trailed him with a bag of zip ties and a can of compressed air. “State inspection’s not till next week,” she said, “but this is good dry-run shit. You’re ticking every box.”
JJ barely glanced at her. “This place was held together with duct tape three months ago. I’m not letting that show now.”
Cassie smirked. “You sure you’re not just nesting like a lesbian before the landlord shows up?”
JJ grinned. “Only thing nesting in here is the spores I killed last week.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m your boss.”
They both laughed.
But under it—beneath the competent rhythm, the checklist, the scrubbed corners—there was something quieter at play. The crew wasn’t just preparing the space. They were falling into formation behind JJ. The defiant, flirty, reckless boy who’d started in the trimming room was now the man checking moisture levels and pest control. Delegating. Deciding.
Rafe watched him from a distance once or twice. Stayed out of sight. But it didn’t matter. JJ filled the space now. There was no going back.
Rafe worked two phones that day. Burner in one hand, business line in the other. A state-level compliance officer on one, his backchannel fixer from Mendocino on the other.
He didn’t raise his voice once. Didn’t pace. Just sat at the kitchen table, eyes like razors, laptop open to licensing statutes, half-eaten protein bar forgotten by his wrist.
Everything had to be clean.
The ownership transfer was filed but under review. Rafe had legally bought out the original investors. Quiet, discreet. His name was nowhere on the public-facing documentation—but the state knew. The accountants knew. The lawyer knew. And that was enough.
JJ’s provisional management contract had been submitted alongside the transfer of grow and sell permits. The state hadn’t yet assigned a final inspection date, but it was close. Any day now.
Rafe’s goal was clear:
No obstacles. No surprises. No chance of failure.
He had background checks ready. Zoning exemptions pending. A legal strategy in his back pocket in case any of Ward’s old enemies came sniffing around.
Every detail mattered.
Because JJ wasn’t just building a grow op.
He was becoming something else.
And Rafe wasn’t about to let the state—or the ghosts of their fathers—steal it.
They met back at the house that night, dusty and wired. JJ threw himself onto the couch, kicked off his boots, and stared at the ceiling like it held answers.
Rafe sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “HVAC cert’s coming in tomorrow. We’re clean.”
JJ didn’t move. “I’m nervous.”
Rafe turned. “Why?”
JJ hesitated. “Because I want this. Really want it. And that usually means something’s about to go wrong.”
Rafe leaned over, pressed his lips to JJ’s temple. “Nothing’s going wrong. Not while I’m alive.”
JJ smiled faintly. “That’s your toxic loyalty showing.”
“Maybe,” Rafe murmured. “But it’s still yours.”
They sat like that a while. Then JJ turned toward him.
“Will you be there?” he asked quietly. “During the inspection?”
Rafe didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be parked across the street. In full black. Looking dangerous.”
JJ huffed a laugh. “That’ll help.”
“It always does.”
JJ’s laughter softened into something else. His hand drifted over Rafe’s chest. “Thank you,” he said.
Rafe didn’t say you’re welcome.
He just kissed JJ’s knuckles, slowly, like he’d done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred more.
Later, after dinner—stir-fry and the last of the good soy sauce—and after a joint that softened the world into something manageable, JJ pulled Rafe into bed without preamble. Not for sex. Just closeness.
They lay there in soft light. Rafe’s hand on JJ’s chest, thumb brushing the ridge of his sternum.
“I didn’t know I could have this,” JJ whispered. “Not just the job. This.”
Rafe didn’t answer.
But his hand tightened.
“Feels like the world’s gonna come knocking again,” JJ said after a long beat. “Looking for a way in.”
Rafe's voice was low. “Let it knock.”
JJ blinked at the ceiling. “What if it kicks the door down?”
Rafe pulled him closer, breath warming the side of JJ’s neck. “Then I’ll be standing there.”
JJ turned to look at him, half stoned, fully serious. “You mean that?”
“I mean everything I say to you.”
JJ stared at him for a long moment. Then leaned in and pressed his lips to Rafe’s jaw. “Okay,” he whispered. “Then let’s do this.”
The morning was fog-slick and still when JJ pulled into the lot behind the grow site. No dew on the ground—just mist curling low against the earth, softening the hard lines of chain-link and concrete.
He took a moment before unlocking the back gate. Just stood there, helmet under one arm, head tilted to the sky.
Then he exhaled, keyed in the code, and walked inside.
Inside, it smelled like clean soil and pine disinfectant. He moved through the familiar corridors—the processing room, the grow chambers, the humidity-controlled hallway where he used to trim under Cassie’s supervision—and now passed through like he belonged. Because he did.
Today wasn’t the inspection. But it was close.
He ran his hands along the wall, fingers brushing the stainless steel door frame of the dry cure room, checking with his body what he already knew from the clipboard.
Perfect. Or damn close.
Cassie arrived twenty minutes later, slurping a gas station coffee and raising a brow. “You been here since dawn?”
JJ nodded. “Had to beat the fog.”
“You know it’s not a race, right?”
“It is to me.”
Cassie didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, understanding him without words, and got to work.
Back at the house, Rafe paced the kitchen with a sheaf of documents in one hand and a coffee in the other. His motorcycle boots thudded softly on the hardwood, but his mind was moving faster than his body.
He’d reduced his motorcycle instructor hours to part-time. Told the boss it was a temporary thing, personal reason. He’d said it flat, calm, like he wasn’t rearranging his life around one golden-haired, reckless Pogue who now had a real shot at legitimacy.
But he was.
Because this mattered.
Everything had to be clean, tight, documented. Permits were in final review. The California Department of Cannabis Control was sending someone for a compliance check sometime in the next ten days, and Rafe wanted every inch of JJ’s future sanded to polish.
He cross-checked bank transfers. Made calls to his private legal contact about the final permit transfer language. Sent three emails to the zoning board and had a text chain going with the property owner—just to make sure there were no residual liens or documentation snags.
He wasn’t just building something for JJ.
He was protecting something that could finally belong to him.
That night, JJ collapsed onto the bed with soil under his nails and a tired grin on his face. Rafe walked in from the shower, towel around his hips, eyes already locked on him.
“Good day?” Rafe asked.
JJ turned his head on the pillow. “It’s working. It’s all… coming together.”
“You’re doing it,” Rafe said. “Not just watching it happen.”
JJ reached up. Tugged Rafe’s towel. “Maybe I just like when you watch me work.”
Rafe leaned down, kissed him slow, deep. “You have no idea what it does to me.”
JJ blinked lazily. “Tell me.”
Rafe’s voice dipped. “Makes me want to bend you over the processing table and fuck you through harvest season.”
JJ laughed, a rough sound. “Too tired tonight.”
“Then sleep.” Rafe brushed his thumb across JJ’s cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
They fell asleep pressed together. No sex. No fanfare.
Just skin and trust.
The next day, around 2:14 p.m., Rafe got the call.
Inspection confirmed. Forty-eight hours.
He didn’t tell JJ immediately.
Instead, he waited outside the grow site, watching through tinted windows as JJ supervised a trimming session with two newer staff. Cassie sat perched on a step-stool, keeping an eye on them all, occasionally flicking dried leaf bits off her jeans.
JJ moved with a quiet authority that made Rafe’s chest ache.
So he waited until JJ was back at the house, showered and mellow, sprawled in clean clothes on the couch with a joint and a water bottle. That’s when he told him.
“Forty-eight hours.”
JJ blinked. “Shit.”
“You ready?”
JJ didn’t answer for a moment.
Then: “Yeah. I am.”
The next day was a blur. JJ and Cassie reviewed documentation, batch tags, lab test logs. Walt came by to help patch a minor duct issue and left with a bag of homegrown as thanks.
JJ didn’t stop moving.
And neither did Rafe.
That night, they ended up sitting on the living room floor, backs against the couch, plates of takeout balanced on their knees. It wasn’t a celebration.
It was a war council.
And when Rafe finally looked over and said, “I’ve never been proud of anything in my life the way I am of you,” JJ didn’t speak.
He just reached out. Took Rafe’s hand. Held it in silence.
Later, in bed, Rafe kissed JJ’s shoulder and murmured, “What do you want if this all works out?”
JJ turned slowly. “More of this.”
Rafe blinked. “What does that mean?”
JJ smiled. “You. Me. A grow op we own. Quiet nights. Maybe a dog.”
Rafe laughed quietly. “You want a fucking dog now?”
“I want something that makes it harder to leave.”
Rafe swallowed. “You don’t need anything for that. You’re not leaving.”
JJ touched his face. “I know.”
And they slept.
Wrapped in skin, sweat, hope.
…
The meeting room smelled like lemon cleaner and weed.
Cassie had her feet up on the table. Walt was chewing the end of a pen. JJ leaned back in the creaky office chair like it was a throne, boots crossed on the concrete floor.
Rafe stood behind him, silent, arms folded. Watching everyone like a security detail who also might fuck you up if you asked for a snack wrong.
“So,” Cassie said, gesturing with her joint, “what the fuck are we calling this place now?”
JJ grinned. “What was wrong with Green Coast?”
“It’s boring,” Walt replied. “Sounds like a smoothie bar.”
Cassie exhaled. “Weed & Greed.”
JJ laughed. “That sounds like a cartel-run dispensary.”
“Okay but kind of a vibe?” Cassie smirked.
Rafe tilted his head. “You’re not calling it that.”
“You got a better one?” JJ shot back.
Rafe shrugged. “Maybank & Co.”
JJ blinked. “That’s so… serious.”
“You are the boss,” Rafe muttered. “Or are you pretending not to be?”
Cassie grinned. “Oooh. Daddy talk.”
Walt looked up. “Weed Daddy Co-op.”
Everyone groaned.
JJ snorted. “You know what? We’re not deciding today.”
Rafe leaned down to murmur in his ear. “Name it later. Brand it like a burn mark.”
JJ shivered. “Not helpful.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow at them. “You two gonna fuck in the conference room or what?”
JJ had never imagined enjoying meetings. Or zoning maps. Or conversations about licensed plant numbers and water allocation limits.
But the day moved smooth. Confident. The inspector walked the grounds with JJ and Cassie, clipboard out, nodding at everything. She even complimented the drainage planning.
JJ signed off on three compliance documents without looking back. Walt brought lunch, Cassie handled the visitor badge process, and Rafe—
Rafe just watched.
Quiet, ever-present, eyes on everything.
And when JJ glanced over at him—Rafe mouthed, You look good in charge.
They rode home together, Rafe just behind JJ, like always. The house was warm. The lights low.
JJ kicked off his boots and turned, still in the same soft T-shirt and work jeans, hair a mess. “You want food or…”
Rafe kissed him before he could finish.
“You were fucking hot today.”
JJ smirked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They moved together, slow at first. JJ tugged Rafe’s belt open, unbuttoned his shirt. “You remember what you promised me?” he murmured.
Rafe blinked. “Which part?”
JJ shoved him toward the bedroom. “Strip. Get on the bed. And don’t cover anything.”
Rafe’s breath hitched—but he obeyed.
JJ sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.
Rafe lay back—naked, flushed, legs open, already half-hard. The late golden light made him look less like a man and more like a fever dream.
JJ raised an eyebrow. “You gonna pose or just lie there like a pin-up prisoner?”
Rafe glared. “Fuck you.”
“Later,” JJ said, snapping a photo. “Arms up.”
Rafe obeyed. JJ took another.
Then reached down and grabbed him—balls to cock—rough and tight.
Rafe gasped.
JJ smirked. “You like this shit.”
Rafe tried to look defiant. Failed.
JJ leaned in, tongue dragging along Rafe’s neck. “How many photos do you have of me, huh?”
“Hundreds.”
JJ laughed. “Figures. Time to even the score.”
He took another photo—this one mid-moan, Rafe’s thighs flexing, his mouth parted.
JJ dropped the phone. “Now open that mouth, baby.”
JJ shoved in slow.
But not gentle.
One hand on the back of Rafe’s head, the other gripping his own cock, guiding it past Rafe’s lips like a claim.
Rafe groaned, eyes fluttering shut.
JJ used his mouth like he’d earned it—slow grind, then deep snap, making Rafe gag.
“Yeah,” JJ muttered. “Take it. You like tasting me.”
He held Rafe’s hair, moved his hips, soft curses spilling from his lips as Rafe’s mouth sucked and drooled.
“Pretty fucking mess,” JJ whispered. “You’re so good at this.”
JJ didn’t wait.
He flipped Rafe onto his stomach, dragged his thighs open, and spit on him like he owned the whole scene.
Rafe whimpered, grinding against the mattress.
“You ready?” JJ growled.
Rafe nodded, breathless. “Please.”
JJ shoved inside.
Rafe arched, crying out, legs trembling.
“Shit,” JJ hissed. “You feel that? That stretch? Fuck—so tight for me.”
He grabbed Rafe’s hips and fucked—deep, hard, mean.
“You know people know, right?” JJ gasped. “That I own this ass.”
Rafe shook beneath him.
JJ bent low, lips to his ear. “You think they don’t notice? The way you walk after? The way you look at me? They fucking know, Rafe. You get fucked. By me.”
Rafe moaned, raw.
JJ didn’t let up. “Say it.”
“I get fucked,” Rafe choked.
“By who?”
“You—fuck—by you—”
JJ slammed into him again, balls slapping, the sound obscene. “Say it.”
“I get fucked by JJ Maybank.”
They lay tangled on the bed, sticky and gasping.
Rafe’s head was on JJ’s chest, legs limp, body bruised in the best ways.
JJ brushed a hand through his hair. “You okay?”
Rafe nodded. “I feel… amazing.”
JJ smirked. “Good. You looked amazing too. Photos are definitely staying.”
Rafe groaned. “Fuck.”
JJ kissed his temple. “You wanna pick the grow op name tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
JJ grinned. “Let’s go with something classy.”
Rafe murmured, “Like… Maybank Industries?”
JJ snorted. “That sounds like a defense contractor.”
They laughed into the pillows.
Together. Grounded. Dirty. Real.
…
JJ flopped onto the couch in the staff lounge like it owed him something. “Okay. We’re not leaving until we’ve got a name.”
Cassie passed the joint to Walt. “You said that an hour ago.”
“And yet here we are,” Walt murmured, exhaling smoke like a bored dragon.
Rafe was sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall, looking like a bodyguard forced into a book club. “This is a waste of time.”
“No,” JJ said, pointing at him. “This is branding.”
“We sell weed, JJ.”
“We sell vibes, Rafe.”
Cassie cracked up. “Put that on a sticker.”
They all had notebooks. Or phone Notes apps. Or, in Walt’s case, a legal pad with half a dried leaf stuck to it.
“Let’s go,” JJ said. “Everyone read out your list. We’ll rate and roast.”
“Roast like critique,” Walt clarified, deadpan.
Cassie rolled her eyes. “No one thought you meant literally cook the names.”
“I’m going first,” JJ declared. “You’ll see why.”
He cleared his throat.
JJ’s Top Ten Grow Op Names (Patent Pending):
- Bud Light (Cassie groaned)
- Green Means Go
- Half Baked and Fully Operational
- The Dank Side
- That’s a Weed Business, Baby!
- Sativa Sativa Burning Bright
- Bitchcraft & Botany
- Weed the People
- The Highground
- JJ’s Plants Are Better Than Yours
Cassie was crying. “Number ten is the most JJ thing ever.”
“It’s not ego if it’s true,” Rafe muttered.
“Your turn, psycho,” JJ said.
Rafe took his time. Looked up from his notebook like a war general reporting losses.
Rafe’s Top Ten Grow Op Names (He Refused to Call It That):
- Sons of Extraction
- Ashes to Ashes, Weed to Weed
- Slow Burn Syndicate
- The Real Green New Deal
- Crop Circles and Cycle Breakers
- Property Damage & Perennials
- No One Touches This Bud
- The Last Safe Place
- Runaways & Roots
- Buds Before Dads
Cassie fell off the couch.
JJ pointed at him, coughing on laughter. “That’s going on the wall. Frame it.”
Walt just said, “Number ten is dark. But accurate.”
Cassie was already cackling before she began.
Cassie’s Top Ten Weed Empire Names:
- Puff Puff Past Trauma
- Emotional Support Plants
- Weedle & Co.
- Stalk Market Crash
- It’s Just a Little Grow Up
- Blunt Force Karma
- Potent & Petty
- Chronic Conditions Apply
- Don't Talk to Me or My Clones Ever Again
- The Photosynthesis Circle Jerk
JJ was wheezing.
“I’m gonna die,” he whispered.
Walt took the joint calmly. “Good. One less vote.”
Walt adjusted his glasses. “I prepared options filtered for market viability, SEO alignment, and packaging potential.”
“Boooo,” JJ jeered.
Walt read them anyway.
Walt’s Top Ten Professional Suggestions (with Hidden Zingers):
- Redwoods Reserve
- Ridge & Root
- Goldline Botanicals
- Verdant House
- Synthesis Farm Co.
- 707 Herbworks
- Coastal Cultivar
- Maybank & Cameron Agricultural Holdings (Rafe blinked)
- The Greenhouse Effect
- Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em
Cassie blinked. “I hate how useful yours are.”
JJ was still stuck on number eight. “You put our names together like we’re—”
“Married?” Rafe offered.
JJ turned beet red.
They stayed in the lounge for another hour, giggling, throwing names back and forth, tweaking ones they liked, getting absurd.
No consensus. But the mood was good.
Cassie leaned back in her chair, smiling. “I don’t know what we’ll pick. But I like this part. Feels like we’re really building something.”
JJ glanced at Rafe, who was pretending not to watch him too closely.
“We are,” JJ said.
Rafe nodded. Quietly. Like he was promising something.
…
The final paperwork had been processed. The state systems updated. The license laminated and pinned on the fridge, because Rafe said it made it real.
Maybank and Cameron Holdings.
JJ stared at the name for a long time.
He was barefoot in the kitchen, a coffee in hand. Still rumpled from bed, hair wild, wearing the overalls Rafe had bought him “just because you’d look hot and dangerous in them”—which he did, of course. But right now, he wasn’t thinking about weed or market share or Rafe’s habit of licking his collarbones before sunrise.
He was thinking about the name.
His name.
Rafe’s.
Together.
Rafe leaned against the counter behind him, silent, watching JJ trace a finger over the edges of the document.
“You hate it?” Rafe asked, half a breath.
JJ shook his head. “No. I just… I never thought I’d put my name on anything that mattered.”
Rafe’s arms wrapped around him from behind. “You mattered long before your name did.”
JJ turned in his arms. “You too, you know.”
Rafe gave a faint huff of disbelief.
JJ’s thumb brushed the side of his face. “You think your name is poison. But it’s not. Not anymore.”
Rafe held his gaze. “I used to think if I left the island behind, I could leave the name too.”
“You didn’t leave it,” JJ said. “You remade it.”
They curled up on the couch after lunch, paperwork scattered across the coffee table, sun slanting warm across the floorboards.
JJ lay with his head in Rafe’s lap, and Rafe ran his fingers gently through JJ’s hair.
“You know why I liked the word Holdings?” JJ asked softly.
“Because it sounds fancy and vague enough for the IRS to ignore us?”
JJ snorted. “No. Because… it’s what we do. We hold.”
Rafe looked down at him.
JJ continued. “We held on. To each other. Through all of it. You held me when I couldn’t breathe. I held you when you thought you weren’t worth holding.”
Silence. Then Rafe whispered, “Fuck.”
JJ smiled. “Yeah.”
They stayed like that a long time. Rafe stroking his hair, JJ blinking up at him, the weight of something unspeakably personal wrapped in those shared syllables.
Cameron. Maybank. Holdings.
The names they were born with. Tainted, cracked, cursed.
And now—theirs.
Something worth keeping.
…
Rafe wore black work boots and a dark green tee, sunglasses on, hair messy, clipboard in hand.
He looked like a contractor. Or a mercenary. Or a man about ten seconds from breaking someone’s fingers if they stepped out of line.
Cassie whistled as he walked through the gate. “Well, if it isn’t our in-house warlord.”
Walt grinned over his clipboard. “Security consultation or fashion intimidation?”
Rafe didn’t slow. “You’re both still on payroll. Act like it.”
Cassie smirked. “Why’s he sexy when he threatens us?”
“Trauma,” JJ said, breezing by with a tray of clones. “Shared trauma.”
Rafe trailed a finger down JJ’s back as he passed. “Careful, blondie.”
JJ looked over his shoulder. “Or what?”
Rafe didn’t answer. Just raised one brow and moved on.
Rafe spent the morning walking the perimeter, noting weak spots in fencing, visibility lines from the road, blind corners near the tool sheds.
He’d already submitted a security contract for installation of cameras and sensor lights.
“Paranoid much?” Walt asked, watching Rafe mark another gate post.
“Prepared,” Rafe replied. “This place stays safe. No matter what.”
Walt sobered. “Yeah. Fair.”
Cassie approached with a mason jar of tea and handed it to Rafe. “Keep hydrated, Daddy Doom.”
“I hate that,” Rafe said flatly, but took the drink.
JJ passed again, cheeky grin in full force. “You’d like it if I said it.”
“You say it and I’m putting a lock on your ankle,” Rafe replied without looking up.
Cassie cackled. “Jesus.”
JJ flushed. “Promises, promises.”
Rafe caught his eye and said nothing—but that look promised everything.
Later that day, they all sat at the back table reviewing inventory. JJ was leaning too far back in his chair. Rafe watched him with narrowed eyes.
“You break your neck showing off,” he said, “I’m not carrying your ass to urgent care.”
“I’m agile,” JJ said, stretching. “Like a feral cat.”
Cassie nodded. “More like a raccoon. Cute, loud, likes trash.”
JJ tossed a pen cap at her. “You love me.”
Rafe leaned over. “I’m going to remind you how to behave later.”
JJ blinked. “That a threat or a promise?”
“Both,” Rafe said. “You’ll find out when I close the door behind us.”
Cassie made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Can’t you two keep the innuendo at home?”
“We’re not even trying,” JJ said smugly.
“That’s the problem,” Walt muttered.
Rafe stood. “Back gate’s still unsecured. Someone come with me or I’ll talk about my sex life in more detail.”
Cassie was already walking. “Let’s go, horny security guard.”
That evening, they locked up together. JJ flicked the last light off and turned toward Rafe in the golden dusk.
“You kept looking at me like you were planning something.”
Rafe didn’t deny it. Just stepped close, pulled JJ’s hips against his, and said low in his ear, “You’re due for something mean.”
JJ’s breath caught. “Yeah?”
Rafe’s hand traced his jaw. “I’m thinking full blackout. No safeword, no light, no mercy.”
JJ blinked.
Rafe grinned. “Kidding. Mostly. We’ll workshop it.”
JJ shoved him, laughing. “You’re evil.”
“I’m yours,” Rafe said. “Same thing.”
They walked home side by side, boots kicking up gravel. Tomorrow, Rafe would go back to teaching. Three days a week on the road, then home to this. To him.
JJ bumped their shoulders together. “You’re planning something twisted.”
“I always am.”
JJ smiled to himself. Couldn’t wait.
Notes:
Comments please
Chapter 40
Notes:
CNC scene is fully negotiated and safe within the story’s context.
This chapter is pure filth and full of feelings.
Chapter Text
The training lot was half-paved, half-dirt, the morning sun already beating down hard. Rafe stood in full gear, visor up, arms crossed, watching some nervous guy stall a 125cc for the fourth time.
“Ease off the clutch,” he said, flatly. “It’s a throttle, not a panic button.”
He shouldn’t have been here. Not with everything still humming under his skin—Wes, Ward, JJ’s safety, the fallout still unfurling from all sides. But the job was stability. Legitimacy. And it gave him the money and cover to plan the next scene properly.
He didn’t notice his phone buzz until the student finally got the bike rolling in a wobbly line down the lot. Rafe stepped off to the side and checked the message.
JJ
Your little housewife misses you.
Rafe smiled without meaning to.
Rafe
Housewife?
JJ
Trimmed three pounds of bud and told Cassie you were gonna ruin me again tonight. She gave me trail mix and said good luck.
Rafe
I fucking hate her.
JJ
You don’t. You just wish I sexted you less at work.
Rafe
I wish you were less smug when I let you get away with it.
JJ
You love it.
Rafe exhaled, glanced around the lot. No one was watching.
Rafe
Tonight’s scene’s set. Small room. You on your knees. No speaking unless I ask a question.
JJ
What’s the theme?
Rafe
back to the cell
JJ
Rough day at work?
Rafe
No. Just picturing you with your mouth open and your hands behind your back.
JJ
Fuck.
Rafe
That’s the idea
The grow op was running on half-staff, suspended from formal trading while the legal mess sorted itself out. But the plants still needed tending. And JJ—now in unofficial charge—moved through the rows with a quiet confidence that made everyone pay attention.
Cassie passed him a fresh joint, already lit. “You checking your phone again?”
JJ took a drag. “He said I’m getting behaviorally corrected tonight.”
She barked a laugh. “Jesus.”
“He’s probably drawing up a spreadsheet about it right now.”
“You two are like if Gone Girl was about kink and codependency.”
JJ grinned. “That’s actually not far off.”
She squinted at him. “You happy?”
He shrugged. “Happy’s a weird word. But I wake up and want to stay. That’s something.”
Cassie bumped his shoulder. “That’s everything.”
Rafe peeled off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair, standing beside his bike as the last of the students packed up. His body ached in all the usual places, but his mind was already elsewhere.
Back home.
JJ.
His mouth. His grin. His fuck me anyway you want eyes.
He pulled out his phone.
Rafe
Scene starts the second I close the door. Lose the attitude by then
JJ
You wish
Rafe
I don’t have to wish. You’ll be begging by the third minute
JJ
You really think I’ll crack that fast?
Rafe
I think you’ll moan my name with your thighs shaking and apologize for every time you got smart with me today.
JJ
So… every time I opened my mouth?
Rafe
Exactly.
There was a pause.
Then:
JJ
You’re lucky I love being corrected.
Rafe
You’re lucky I love breaking you open.=
He hit send, slipped the phone into his jacket, and swung a leg over the seat.
Helmet on. Engine roaring.
He was coming home.
They were already in the room.
The smallest one in the house. No windows. Only a bed on the floor, the lock Rafe had installed clicking into place behind them an hour ago. It smelled like sweat and tension. JJ’s wrists were bare, but he didn’t need restraints. He knew what tonight was.
Rafe sat in the only chair in the corner, legs spread, boots planted wide. He hadn't spoken in ten minutes.
Just… watched.
JJ, still in the beige overalls Rafe made him wear for this scene, shifted against the wall, uneasy. Rafe's stare was deranged. Possessive. Like a man deciding which part of his prey to carve open first.
Finally, Rafe stood. Unzipped his fly. Pulled his cock out and curled one finger.
“Knees.”
JJ hesitated.
Rafe tilted his head, slowly. “You gonna make this hard?”
JJ’s voice came out rough. “Fuck you.”
Rafe crossed the room in three strides. JJ made it two steps toward the door before Rafe caught him, fisting the front of his jumpsuit, lifting him like he weighed nothing and slamming him into the wall with a thud that rattled the plaster.
JJ gasped. Rafe's hand clamped over his mouth.
"You think someone’s gonna help you, little bitch?" he hissed, close enough for JJ to feel the heat of his breath. “You think anyone cares what happens to fresh meat in here?”
JJ struggled. Rafe yanked his head back by the hair, dragging him to his knees.
“You wanna fight it?” Rafe whispered, shoving his cock to JJ’s lips. “You’re gonna get hurt.”
JJ bit back a moan and opened his mouth.
Rafe didn’t ease in. He shoved deep, fast, fingers in JJ’s hair, holding him in place. JJ gagged, spit pooling down his chin, eyes watering.
“Yeah,” Rafe snarled. “Choke on it. Cry for me.”
When JJ pulled back too hard, Rafe let him—only to grab him by the neck and haul him over the bed. Yanked the jumpsuit down to his knees and bent him flat, ass up.
The first smack landed like a gunshot.
JJ flinched violently. Rafe didn’t pause.
Another. Harder. Then three more, red blooming across JJ’s pale thighs and ass.
"Keep fighting,” Rafe growled. “I’ll beat you so fucking bright the whole block’ll see you glowing.”
JJ whimpered.
“Oh, you’re gonna cry tonight,” Rafe muttered, unzipping his own jumpsuit the rest of the way. “They’re gonna hear you, you tight little blonde prison wife.”
He spat in his hand. Lined up behind JJ.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.”
The first thrust was punishing. JJ screamed into the mattress. Rafe didn’t slow. He held JJ’s hips in a bruising grip, pounded him flat, every stroke a possession, a punishment, a vow.
“You know what you are?” Rafe hissed, driving deeper. “You’re mine. My hole. My fucktoy. My fucking bitch until I decide you’re done.”
JJ choked out a sob, hips trembling under the assault.
Rafe fucked him hard, unforgiving, until JJ collapsed limp beneath him. They came tangled, messy, animal.
They crashed out like that. No aftercare. Just sweat, heat, exhaustion.
But a few hours later, JJ stirred.
The room was dark.
He felt it before he opened his eyes—the press of Rafe’s weight on top of him again, already inside him, already thrusting slow and thick and possessive.
A hand clamped over his mouth.
“Shh,” Rafe whispered. “Don’t wake the others.”
JJ thrashed under him, but it was weak, instinctive. Rafe was stronger. Always stronger.
“This hole’s still mine,” he said into JJ’s ear, fucking him harder, deeper.
JJ whimpered.
“I’ll take it all night if I want. You gave it to me. Remember?”
JJ nodded against his palm.
“Good boy.”
The second round was shorter. Brutal. No mercy.
Afterward, Rafe rolled off, pulled JJ into his chest. Kissed his hair.
“You did so good for me.”
JJ trembled.
Rafe kissed him again.
“I dreamed about this for years,” he whispered. “You have no fucking idea.”
And JJ, fucked raw and held tight, reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.
“I do,” he murmured.
And they slept—bruised, spent, together.
Rafe woke before the sun, still half-wrapped around JJ’s body, one hand low on his waist, the other under his shoulder. The smallest room of the house—locked from the inside—was thick with heat, the smell of sweat, sex, and something darker. JJ’s skin was marked in places. Not hurt. Just used. Owned.
Rafe didn’t move at first.
He just watched.
JJ’s back rose and fell, the lines of his spine sharp in the low light. His neck had bruises from Rafe’s grip. His thighs were marked from where Rafe had held him open. There was a smear of dried spit near his mouth and scratches on his hips. His breath came slow and deep. Safe.
Rafe swallowed hard.
He used to hate himself for wanting this. Used to jerk off in the dark, biting his fist, his whole chest flooded with shame. He used to think if anyone ever saw the things that played in his head, they’d lock him up or put him down. Ward told him once—after catching him with a kink site open, late and stoned—that anyone who liked hurting people during sex was a danger to society.
“You want to be a criminal so bad, go to prison. See how you like it then.”
And he had. In his head. Over and over.
Until JJ.
Until JJ said yes.
Until JJ begged him to lock the door and take him like a psycho cellmate, and moaned through the pain, and kissed him after. Until JJ cried thank you into his chest.
Until JJ wanted all of him.
Rafe’s eyes stung. He blinked it away.
You're not a monster anymore, he told himself. He chose this. He chose you.
Still, the possessiveness hadn’t eased. Not with love. Not with time. If anything, it had grown teeth. Claws. A need to ruin anyone who looked too long at JJ. To own every mark, every moan, every version of JJ that existed. Because nobody got to see this—JJ stripped, crying, gasping, wrecked and beautiful—except him.
He leaned in and kissed JJ’s shoulder. “Mine,” he whispered against the sweat-warmed skin. “Only mine.”
JJ stirred with a soft groan. “Fuck.”
Rafe pressed a kiss behind his ear. “You okay?”
“No,” JJ muttered, voice croaky. “You beat the shit outta me.”
“I know.”
JJ cracked one eye open. “Kinda hot, though.”
Rafe smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me see.”
He rolled JJ onto his side, slow, careful. Hands mapped over sore thighs, reddened ass, the bruises blooming along his ribs and hip. He checked for welts, cuts, anything that had gone too far.
JJ watched him. “You look like a guy who’s inspecting a car he just totalled.”
Rafe huffed. “You’re not a car. You’re mine. I fucked you raw last night.”
“Yeah,” JJ said, eyes heavy-lidded. “And it was hot as fuck.”
Rafe looked at him for a long moment. Then leaned down and kissed the spot he’d left reddest on JJ’s ass.
JJ sighed into the pillow.
That morning, they both went to work.
Rafe, back in instructor gear, pacing a line of new riders who didn’t know they were about to learn from the most dangerous man on the West Coast. JJ, easing through the day with a slow, loose gait that made Cassie laugh and Walt snort and nobody ask too many questions.
Rafe’s phone buzzed during a water break.
JJ:
my boss is a sadist
my ass is broken
i hope ur proud of urself
also
i keep thinking about round 2
in the dark
hand over my mouth
do it again soon pls
Rafe stared at the message for a full minute before replying.
Rafe:
You liked that?
You cried, baby.
Loud enough for the neighbours.
JJ didn’t answer for ten minutes. Then:
JJ:
I’d cry louder next time.
just promise me you won’t stop unless I safeword
Rafe:
Never stopping unless you do.
A pause. Then another text from Rafe.
Rafe:
Send me a photo, pretty boy.
JJ sent one: standing behind a cluster of new clones, shirtless under his open flannel, sweat on his chest, sunglasses low on his nose, grinning.
Rafe saved it to his locked folder.
Then sent one back: a picture of JJ lying on his stomach a few weeks ago, all tan skin and lazy morning hair.
Rafe:
This one kills me. Your whole back, all stretched out like you’re waiting for me to mark it.
I stare at it when I’m away too long.
Then another:
JJ kneeling at the edge of the bed, arms behind his back. Rafe had taken it post-scene, JJ glowing and proud.
Rafe:
This one too. That look in your eye? No one’s ever given me that. Not in my whole fucked-up life.
There was a long pause before JJ replied.
JJ:
I love you, freak.
Rafe:
I love you more, bitch.
JJ:
I win.
Rafe:
You always do.
The house was warm with low music and the smell of weed when Rafe stepped through the front door that evening. JJ was barefoot in the kitchen, slicing limes for something ridiculous. Probably cocktails. Or something worse—one of Walt’s mystery-infused herbal drinks that tasted like ass and hit like a freight train.
Rafe stopped in the doorway and just looked at him.
JJ in basketball shorts and nothing else. Soft light kissing his collarbone. Still marked, faintly, where Rafe had gripped him. He turned slightly and caught the look.
“What?” JJ asked, eyes crinkling. “You gonna say something or just stare like a psycho?”
Rafe stepped closer. “You look… fine,” he murmured, hand ghosting over JJ’s waist as he passed. “Like someone who cried his lungs out last night.”
JJ rolled his eyes. “And moaned, and screamed, and begged. Don’t forget begged.”
“I didn’t.” Rafe’s voice dipped lower. “I made notes.”
JJ laughed, flushing a little. “You always make notes?”
“Only when I’m planning a follow-up.” He leaned in and kissed JJ’s shoulder. “Which I am.”
JJ’s smirk faded just slightly, replaced with something deeper. His voice gentled. “I’m good, Rafe. Really. I liked it. But yeah… maybe just one of those a week.”
Rafe nodded. “Deal.” He tugged on JJ’s waistband. “Still sore?”
JJ leaned in with mock seriousness. “A good prisoner never complains.”
Rafe chuckled, but there was something in his eyes—something that burned with too much feeling. He turned and pulled open the fridge to buy himself a second.
Because he’d had everything he wanted last night. Everything he used to hate himself for wanting. JJ face-down, whimpering, fighting just enough. Begging, yes, but also trusting—giving himself over completely, and loving it. Wanting it. Wanting Rafe.
And still, somewhere under all that satisfaction was the ghost of the man he used to be. Alone in the dark, jerking off to prison fantasies, high out of his mind, furious at himself for even thinking that way. For needing it. For craving power and pain and the illusion of control.
JJ had burned that old shame down to ash. But the memory still lived in his blood.
He looked back at JJ, who was busy messing with a shaker. Totally at ease. Radiant.
Safe.
And that was the difference. It wasn’t just kink. It was them. It was real.
It was nearly noon the next day when Rafe kicked off his helmet, wiped sweat from his brow, and made his way across the lot to grab water. Nate was standing near the lockers, flipping through some printed paperwork.
“Yo, Cameron,” Nate called. “You finally stopped scaring the rookies. Progress.”
Rafe gave him a dry look. “Didn’t realize my face came with a warning label.”
Nate grinned. “Not your face. Your silence. Some of them thought you were an ex-Marine.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, I figured when you nearly tripped on the oil pan yesterday.”
Rafe let out a reluctant snort. “Not my finest moment.”
Nate shrugged. “You look almost human today,” Nate said, flipping a clipboard toward Rafe. “Let me guess—your man sent you out the door smiling?”
Rafe didn’t answer. He marked up the lesson schedule with a red pen.
Nate leaned against the bench. “He must be something.”
Rafe paused. “He is.”
“You got a photo?”
Rafe hesitated. Then pulled up one of his favourites. JJ half-naked in the greenhouse, dirt smudged on his cheek, laughing into the sunlight.
“Damn,” Nate muttered. “Yeah. That’d do it.”
Rafe clicked his phone dark. “He’s more than that.”
Nate studied him. “You ever wanna grab a beer sometime, talk about things that aren’t brake cables and throttle response…”
Rafe gave the faintest nod. “I’ll think about it.”
That was the most anyone got.
That evening, Rafe was in the smallest room of the house again—door locked, light low, pacing.
No props. No costumes. No elaborate set. Just the place where JJ had whimpered and fought and come so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Rafe ran his hand along the wall, then sat in the corner. Thinking. Planning.
Next time: maybe a quieter start. Whispered threats. Holding JJ by the throat and asking if he remembers the last time he tried to run. Maybe blindfolded. Maybe hooded. He wasn’t sure yet.
But the one thing he was sure of: JJ would get the same choice he always got. Green for go. Yellow to slow. Red to stop.
And if JJ said green? Rafe would tear the stars from the sky to give him the most intense night of his life.
…
Rafe didn’t need to tweak security anymore. He’d already buried enough motion detectors and firewalled camera feeds to satisfy his paranoia. But he still came to the grow site twice a week—under the pretense of handling backend logistics.
He had spreadsheets open in a dusty office, invoices pinned neatly to a corkboard, new suppliers vetted and waiting. But his eyes were always on JJ.
Every chance he got.
Sometimes through the glass, other times from the edge of the field, where JJ bent low over irrigation lines or wandered the rows checking humidity. Rafe memorized how the sun caught his hair. The way his overalls clung to his hips. How he smiled without knowing, fully at home.
Rafe didn’t interrupt. Just watched. Quiet, intense, dangerous. Like a wolf pacing the edge of something sacred.
Cassie walked by once and muttered, “You ever blink, or do you just stand there brooding until your boyfriend bends over?”
He didn’t answer.
She smirked. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Walt tossed JJ a clipboard and tapped his pen against the column marked Lead Cultivation Notes.
“You’re lead now, blondie. Live it.”
JJ blinked. “Wait, like, actual title?”
“Better than what I was calling you in my head,” Cassie added. “Goldenboy. Trichome twink. Head Pogue in Charge.”
JJ laughed. “Okay, stop. I can feel my ego inflating.”
Rafe, who’d just walked in, gave him a slow once-over. “Might pop if you keep talking.”
JJ winked. “You’d like that.”
The vibe was light. Hopeful. There was work to be done—clean-up, replanting, some bureaucratic hurdles still dragging—but the permits were in. Final approval was pending. Everyone could feel it. Like a fuse lit. The old crew ready to come back. Trading status just around the corner.
The place was alive again.
That night, back at the kitchen table, Rafe ran through figures on his laptop. Tax pathways. Equipment upgrades. Licensing clauses.
He double-checked JJ’s stake in everything. Ensured JJ’s name was everywhere it needed to be—and nowhere it could hurt him.
He had the financing. The lawyers. The infrastructure. What JJ didn’t have in official titles, he had in Rafe. A full-scale backend weapon.
This was their farm now. Quietly. Strategically. Public paperwork trailing the truth by about six weeks.
And Rafe was already thinking five years ahead.
And beneath it all—just under the surface—was the scene he’d been engineering in his mind all day.
JJ, mouthy and smug, handsy in public lately, pushing his luck.
Rafe wanted him punished. Tied up in the back office. One light on overhead. A zip tie around his wrists. Overalls yanked down to his knees. The words he’d whisper in that moment came unbidden:
“You wanted to act like you ran the place. Now look at you. Bent over my desk. No power at all.”
The image curled hot in Rafe’s gut.
He shook himself back to the present. Saved the spreadsheet. Opened a new window. Searched for reinforced ceiling mounts—quietly.
JJ:
Walt said if I start naming strains after you, we’ll get sued for obscenity
Rafe:
He’s not wrong
JJ:
Rafe Cameron: CEO, silent partner, full-time menace. Professional dom, reluctant boyfriend, expert brooder
Rafe:
You forgot possessive bastard
JJ:
That’s in your job description. Along with “chokes lovingly”
Rafe:
Say one more thing like that and I’m coming home early
JJ:
You say that like it’s a threat
They lay together that night, JJ already half-asleep, sprawled warm across Rafe’s chest. The ceiling fan hummed. The house was quiet.
But Rafe’s mind wasn’t.
He was thinking about the scene.
He’d promised JJ something darker. He’d delivered last time—but now he wanted more. A progression. Something riskier. Physically brutal, but emotionally close. A scene where JJ begged. Where Rafe said things he used to hate himself for fantasizing.
He wanted to use a belt this time.
Wanted JJ facedown, gasping, hair pulled so tight he saw stars. Wanted to call him every filthy thing that made Rafe spiral in rehab. He’d hold him safe, inspect him after, whisper that he was perfect.
But during? During, he wanted to be the monster.
JJ shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. His leg draped over Rafe’s, instinctive and possessive.
Rafe kissed his hair and whispered, “Soon.”
Then he closed his eyes.
And let the scene play again behind his lids. Over and over. Until sleep took him too.
Chapter 41
Notes:
CNC scene is fully negotiated and safe within the story’s context.
This chapter is pure filth and full of feelings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The door was shut. The room was small. Bare, quiet, claustrophobic.
Rafe had installed the lock himself.
JJ stood barefoot on the cool floor in his overalls, arms loose at his sides, chest rising and falling as he watched Rafe loop his belt with a slow, deliberate motion.
No safeword check was needed. They’d done it hours ago, over dinner. A mutual nod. Rafe had looked him dead in the eye and asked, “You still want this?”
And JJ—mouth full of stir fry—had just smirked, cocky. “More than anything.”
Now, under dim light, JJ felt his pulse echoing behind his eyes. He’d made Rafe promise to go all the way this time. No soft holding back. No guilt mid-scene. Just the monster. Just what they both knew had lived inside Rafe for years.
Rafe stared at him, breath calm, belt dangling from one hand.
“You ready to beg?” he asked, voice low.
JJ didn’t answer. Just stared back, mouth twitching.
That earned him a sudden crack—leather against thigh, fast and sharp. JJ gasped and stumbled back, one arm shooting down. Rafe stalked forward and grabbed his face.
“You don’t get to pretend you're not scared,” he snarled. “I want to see it.”
JJ exhaled shakily. “You’re fucking terrifying.”
“Good.”
Rafe pushed him to his knees. Unzipped. Pulled himself out.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
JJ did—but slowly. Rafe grabbed a fistful of blond hair and forced him to take it deeper, rough and unrelenting. JJ choked. Tried to pull back. Didn’t get far.
“You’re here to service me,” Rafe growled. “That’s what you’re good for, right? Pretty little mouth. Dumb little hole.”
JJ gagged again. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.
When Rafe pulled out, JJ gasped for air. Tried to wipe his mouth.
Another belt strike—this time across the shoulder.
“You’re not here to feel good,” Rafe hissed. “You’re here to learn who you belong to.”
JJ tried to stand, breath ragged, but Rafe shoved him into the wall.
“Nuh uh. Don’t even fucking think about it.”
JJ turned his face, trying to speak. Rafe slapped his cheek.
“You wanna cry for help?” he asked, deadly soft. “Try it. I’ll gag you and make the whole block listen to you sob.”
JJ’s knees buckled. Rafe caught him by the overalls, slammed him face-first into the wall, pulled all it the way down to his ankles.
The belt came down again. And again. Across his ass, striping his thighs, another one across his shoulder.
Each strike a reminder. Each word a cut.
“Cocksucking Pogue—”
“My tight little blonde bitch—”
“You think anyone else would want you like this?”
“I’d kill anyone who touched you. You hear me?!”
“You’re lucky I saw you first.”
“You’re lucky I let you live.”
Rafe’s voice broke on the last one. Just a little. A flicker of truth too close to home.
His cock was hard against JJ’s ass now, and JJ was shaking, head low, cheek pressed to the wall, eyes squeezed shut.
“You done pretending you’re not mine?”
JJ didn’t speak.
Rafe yanked him backward by the hair. “Answer me.”
“Yours,” JJ choked out. “Fucking yours.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“Please, Rafe—fuck me—”
“Beg better than that.”
JJ twisted, face wrecked with need and pain. “Please fuck me, Rafe. Hurt me. Take me. I want it—I want all of it—”
That broke something in Rafe.
He shoved JJ forward again. Spat on his hand. Pressed in rough, relentless, no lube, no pause. JJ screamed, but Rafe’s hand was over his mouth in seconds. His other arm wrapped around JJ’s chest, holding him tight as he began to thrust.
“Take it,” Rafe hissed. “Take your punishment like a good little cell wife.”
JJ’s fingers clawed at the wall.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Rafe groaned. “Like you were made for this. Made to cry on my cock. Made to be broken open.”
He reached around and grabbed JJ’s dick, not to stroke—just to grip, hard.
JJ whimpered.
“You’re not in charge here,” Rafe snarled. “You’re just a fucktoy. A scared little slut who got tossed in the wrong cell and now you’re mine.”
JJ cried out. It sounded like surrender.
Rafe pulled back and shoved in harder. Bent him lower. Grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head up as he fucked him, mean and fast.
JJ was shaking, wrecked, tears streaking his face.
“You still breathing?” Rafe panted.
JJ nodded, sobbing.
“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”
They collapsed on the floor together, tangled in sweat and silence. Rafe lay behind him, still fully clothed, holding JJ with one arm locked across his chest. He didn’t speak. JJ was limp in his arms, fucked out, chest rising in shallow pants, his cheek smudged red where it had been against the wall.
For a moment, it was over.
But only for a moment.
Rafe’s breath changed. Slower. Focused. Hunger curling back in his gut like a tide that never really went out.
JJ stirred.
Then froze.
Because Rafe was already hard again. Already inside him.
Already moving.
His hand came over JJ’s mouth before the first thrust landed.
And the sound that came from JJ’s throat was half scream, half prayer.
“Mmph—!”
“You thought it was done?” Rafe rasped into his ear. “You thought you were safe now?”
JJ’s hands scrabbled at the floor. The room was dark. There was no light, no warning, no countdown.
Just Rafe.
Fucking him like a psycho. A thing without mercy. A weight pressing him down and open.
“You don’t get a break,” Rafe growled. “You don’t get peace. You get me. Again. And again. Until your hole won’t close around my cock.”
He pulled JJ’s head back by the hair, but softer now—just enough to hear him sob.
“You beg so fucking pretty,” he whispered. “But now I don’t want begging. Now I want silence. Submission. Stillness.”
JJ made a broken sound against Rafe’s hand. His body was wrecked—already sore, already trembling.
And Rafe knew.
Which was why this second round was faster. Meaner. More violent in rhythm, but precise in movement. He didn’t let up. Didn’t stop to ask. Didn’t soften.
He used JJ.
Until JJ convulsed under him, crying and gripping at his own thigh to ground himself.
And only then—only after he had emptied himself again, collapsed fully over JJ’s back, panting like a wolf—did he let go.
The silence after was unbearable.
Rafe sat up slowly.
Then moved to JJ’s side. Rolled him gently onto his back. Shushed him as JJ blinked up at him, dazed and quiet, lips bruised from his own teeth.
“Hey,” Rafe whispered. “Hey, baby. Look at me.”
JJ did.
Eyes wide. Vulnerable. Lit by the hallway light filtering through the cracked door.
“You with me?”
JJ nodded. “Yeah.”
“Safe?”
“Yeah,” JJ whispered. Then, voice hoarse, “You didn’t… hold back.”
Rafe swallowed hard. “You told me not to.”
JJ gave the ghost of a smirk. “Guess I should’ve been more specific.”
They both laughed, breathless.
Then Rafe kissed him—forehead, cheek, jaw, mouth.
“I need to check you,” he murmured. “Okay?”
JJ nodded. Let himself be touched, examined, turned over and inspected.
The welts across his thighs were angry and red. The skin at his hips flushed from impact. His wrists had marks from the floor.
But Rafe was gentle now. Reverent. Worshipful.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered. “I don’t know how you do this. How you let me be this with you.”
JJ blinked. Still hazy. But his voice was steady.
“Because it’s you.”
Rafe closed his eyes. Let it sink in. Let it settle in the hollow space that used to hold nothing but shame.
Then he rose, cleaned them both with warm towels, wrapped JJ in the softest blanket they had, and carried him to bed.
Later, when JJ was asleep, Rafe lay beside him and whispered into the dark:
“I used to dream about doing this to you.”
He didn’t mean the scene. Not just the scene.
He meant the care. The love. The after.
He reached for his phone. Scrolled through the secret album.
Chose one of the photos JJ had taken the week before—Rafe, sprawled shirtless in bed, his thighs still red from being fucked.
Rafe:
this one’s my favorite. because I still can’t believe I let you do this to me.
because I loved every second of it.
because I’d do it again.
because I’m yours. always.
He hesitated. Then sent it.
A minute later, JJ stirred beside him. Phone buzzed once. Then another.
Rafe turned to him.
JJ was smiling in his sleep.
………
JJ hadn’t meant to sleep that late.
But when he finally cracked his eyes open, the bedroom was warm and shadowy, slats of sunlight angling through the blinds. He was naked under the sheets, sore in the kind of way that made him bite back a groan. Every inch of his body felt used, claimed, and brutalized in the exact way he’d begged for.
And god, it had been so much.
He turned his head. Rafe was still there—shirtless, hair a mess, sprawled half on his stomach and half wrapped around JJ like even in unconsciousness he couldn’t let go.
JJ reached for him. Groaned. Flopped back.
“Okay,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Maybe I need a minute.”
Rafe stirred. “You good?”
JJ laughed, rough and low. “Define good.”
That earned him a lazy smirk. Rafe stretched, kissed JJ’s temple. “Wrecked?”
“Fucking destroyed.” He blinked up at the ceiling. “Think I need to call in dead.”
“Already did.”
JJ looked at him.
Rafe reached over and dropped JJ’s phone on his chest. “You’re off the hook.”
A pause. “You faked a sick day for me?”
“I faked sick days for both of us. You can barely walk.”
“That’s not—”
“It is,” Rafe said firmly. “You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine.”
JJ’s chest felt hot. He closed his eyes and took a breath, then opened them again and glanced toward the nightstand. “I need something.”
“I got you.” Rafe rolled out of bed, opened the drawer, and returned with water, ibuprofen, and the oxy bottle. “Half each, or whole?”
“Half for me. With the Advil. You?”
“Whole,” Rafe said calmly, passing him what he needed and swallowing his own with a mouthful of water.
They lay there for a while after, side by side, catching up to their bodies. The silence was companionable. Safe.
And then Rafe broke it.
“About last night.”
JJ turned his head.
“I need to ask,” Rafe said softly. “Was it too much?”
JJ studied him. Rafe was staring at the ceiling now, jaw tight, voice low and measured in that way he used when he was trying not to betray just how unsteady he felt.
“It wasn’t too much,” JJ said, reaching for his hand. “It was a lot, yeah. Like, next-level intense. But I wanted it. I still feel safe.”
Rafe swallowed. “I was somewhere else. When I was saying those things—when I had the belt—I felt like…” He paused, trying to find the words. “Like I was channeling every part of myself I used to try and bury. I used to hate those fantasies. Thought they made me broken. Evil. It was all I thought about in rehab.”
JJ squeezed his hand. “You’re not broken.”
“I was vicious.”
“You were honest.” JJ rolled onto his side, facing him. “And I knew. I know. That you’d stop. I could’ve said the word and you’d have dropped everything.”
“I would have,” Rafe said instantly. “In a second.”
JJ smiled, eyes a little glassy. “That’s why I let you go so far.”
Silence for a beat. Then Rafe pulled JJ into his chest, wrapped his arms around him tightly, and buried his face in his hair.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, psycho.”
They stayed like that for a long time.
The kitchen was a haze of late afternoon sunlight, smoke, and low laughter. Rafe was barefoot in sweats, JJ shirtless in boxers, both leaning against the counter with half-drunk whiskey sodas and the remnants of a spliff smouldering in the ashtray.
“So I’m just saying,” JJ slurred, pointing for emphasis, “if we call it Prisoner’s Panic, we’ll sell out by summer.”
“I am not putting your sex trauma on the label,” Rafe said flatly.
“It’s not trauma if it made me come six times.”
“Four.”
JJ grinned. “Six in my soul.”
Rafe shook his head, but he was smiling too. “Fine. What about Late Checkout?”
“Ohhh,” JJ said, eyes lighting up. “Because you keep fucking me in hotel beds.”
“And you sleep like you paid for extra hours.”
“Okay. Okay. We’re getting somewhere.” JJ took a sip. “I still think Possessive Daddy OG has legs.”
“I will burn this house down.”
JJ snorted and leaned into him. “You love me.”
“I do,” Rafe murmured, kissing the side of his head. “So much it terrifies me.”
JJ quieted for a second. Just pressed their foreheads together and breathed him in.
“Hey,” he said softly. “We should do this more.”
“What, name imaginary strains while stoned and half-naked?”
“Talk. Like this. After big scenes. Even when it’s dark.”
Rafe nodded. “Yeah. We should.”
They kissed again. Soft and lazy and deep.
And somewhere in the haze of weed, whiskey, and love, they scribbled half a dozen more strain names on a napkin: Overgrown Obsession, Two-Up Boys, Cameron Curse, Sweet Surrender, Pogue Gold, JJ’s Revenge, and Mine, Always.
Only one of them made it into the final branding doc.
But both of them knew what the last one meant.
….
JJ woke up feeling like he’d been thrown off a moving truck and then politely asked if he wanted to do it again.
Which, knowing himself, he probably would’ve said yes.
The bed was empty. Rafe had already left for work, which JJ knew, intellectually, was a normal adult thing. But emotionally, he wanted to pout and pull the covers back over his head. His whole ass felt…worn. His thighs hurt. His hips ached. There were scratches on his ribs and handprints ghosted into his skin. He felt marked, and for a guy who used to flinch at being touched at all, that was saying something.
He stretched—slow, sore, sweet—and grinned at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m definitely a little freak.”
Texted Rafe:
JJ: My whole body hurts
JJ: Not a complaint
JJ: Also you owe me like 40 back rubs
JJ: Also I love you, psycho
Rafe responded thirty seconds later:
Rafe: You're the one who begged for it
Rafe: Take your ibuprofen. Hydrate. Eat
Rafe: I’ll rub you later. Maybe while planning your next scene
Rafe: I love you too, little freak
JJ snorted so loud he dropped the kettle.
He rolled up to the op in his favorite hoodie, hair wild, wearing sunglasses like a weed wizard messiah. Cassie raised her iced coffee in greeting, and Walt handed him a clipboard like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.
“Boss,” Walt said solemnly.
“Co-boss,” JJ corrected. “Junior co-boss, of weed. Knight of nugs. Sultan of sticky.”
Cassie muttered “Jesus Christ.”
Walt demured “No, I like it. Sultan Maybank. Has a vibe.”
JJ cackled and pointed at the shed door. “Open her up, my stoned knights. The reign of Magical HQ begins today.”
Which was when they saw it. Two signs had arrived via courier, leaning up against the tool bench.
One read:
MAYBANK AND CAMERON HOLDINGS
— Etched metal. Clean. Black and silver. Bold.
The other:
MAGICAL HQ (Authorized Weed Wizards Only)
— Neon green. Ridiculous. Beautiful.
JJ stared at them like they were children.
“Rafe ordered that?” Walt asked.
JJ puffed up. “Rafe ordered the boring one. I demanded the masterpiece.”
Cassie choked on her drink. “So he knows?”
JJ grinned. “He knows. He disapproves. He’s in love.”
By lunch, they were all on the floor in the breakroom with a dry erase board and a disturbing amount of weed paraphernalia.
JJ was cross-legged, writing down ideas with a marker and a flourish.
“Op’s officially legal again, signage is up, we’re sexy and thriving. We need a party,” he announced. “Like, grow op-only. Staff and friends. Nothing too big. Good weed, decent music, Cassie’s slutty cupcakes, maybe a joint-rolling competition judged by a very serious Walt in a tiara.”
Cassie smirked, “You’re not serious.”
“I’m always serious. Especially about slutty cupcakes.”
Walt questioned “Can I be the judge and the DJ?”
“Obviously. I’m not a dictator.”
Cassie laughed “You’re exactly a dictator.”
“I’m a benevolent dictator with edible glitter. Big difference.”
He texted Rafe:
JJ: We’re planning a grow op party
JJ: Chill. Just the crew and friends
JJ: You can be security if it helps your paranoia
JJ: Or stay home and glower from a distance
Rafe’s reply was almost immediate:
Rafe: I don’t want anyone near you
Rafe: Or the op
Rafe: Or the house
Rafe: Or our lives
JJ: Babe
JJ: It’s a party. Not a war
JJ: We need a win
JJ: Let me give us one
After a long pause:
Rafe: Not at the house
Rafe: Local only
Rafe: I pick the security
Rafe: No press. No public posts
JJ: Done
JJ: Love you, grow op tyrant
Rafe: Love you, reckless goblin
Later that afternoon, JJ stood alone in the main shed under the warm buzz of the grow lights, looking up at the “Magical HQ” sign he’d just mounted himself.
It felt good.
It felt like home.
He touched the edge of the sign, then turned back to the rows of seedlings, all thriving. All his responsibility now.
He was a survivor. A freak. A fighter. A boyfriend. A business owner. A weed wizard.
And he had a man at his back who would kill for him—and sometimes let him take charge and wreck him for a night.
JJ smiled to himself, then pulled out his phone.
JJ: Party’s happening Friday. Cassie’s cupcakes. Walt’s DJing
JJ: You coming in leathers or undercover as a hot FBI agent?
Rafe: I’m coming in with a loaded clip and a hand on your lower back
Rafe: That’s how I keep you safe
Rafe: And I want a cupcake
JJ: You’ll get two
JJ: One for you
JJ: One to smear on me when we get home
Rafe didn’t reply. But JJ knew he was smiling.
…..
Rafe didn’t like it. JJ made him relent on having the party at the grow op. He didn’t like the word party, didn’t like the idea of people swarming the space he’d spent months securing and protecting. Didn’t like the possibility of eyes—too many eyes—on JJ. Or Cassie. Or Walt. Or the fresh signs that had arrived like a declaration of war and victory in one breath:
Maybank and Cameron Holdings.
Magical HQ.
It wasn’t just branding. It was a mark. A claim. A challenge to anyone still watching.
And people were always watching.
Rafe paced near the back of the property, arms crossed, sunglasses on, jaw tight enough to ache. JJ and Cassie were stringing up lights, giggling about what kind of snacks to buy. Walt was high on a ladder, somehow securing a disco ball to the rafters of the main grow shed.
“This is the worst fucking idea,” Rafe muttered under his breath.
Cassie, without even turning around, chirped, “We’re having one party, not inviting the Feds, Rafe.”
“She’s not wrong,” JJ added, ducking under one of the low-hanging rows. “We deserve this. We survived everything.”
“You say that like it’s over,” Rafe said.
JJ walked up, wrapped his arms around Rafe’s waist from behind, kissed the back of his neck. “You already checked every camera, every sensor, every background on every plus one. You even checked the guy who delivers the pizza.”
“He had priors,” Rafe growled.
JJ grinned. “And you loved that.”
Cassie popped a gummy into her mouth and sighed dramatically. “Okay, lovebirds, can we go over the drink list without any more foreplay?”
Walt chimed in from the ladder. “I brought a cooler of infused kombucha and a case of PBR. That covers all demographics.”
Rafe rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. But his hand found JJ’s. Gripped it tightly.
They stood in front of the new sign just before sundown. Black matte finish. White carved lettering. Stark. Final. JJ’s eyes shone as he traced the edge of the plaque with his thumb.
“I never thought I’d see my name on something like this,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”
Rafe watched him. “I did.”
JJ glanced at him. “You’re such a liar.”
JJ smirked hard. “You know ‘Holdings’ makes it sound like we’re a financial crime syndicate.”
“That’s the best part,” Rafe said with a rare smile. “We are.”
JJ laughed, shoved him lightly. “We hold something. That’s what this is. You and me.”
Rafe stepped closer, lowered his voice. “We hold everything.”
JJ leaned his forehead against Rafe’s, kissed him softly. “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” Rafe said, rough and reverent. “No matter who walks in that gate tonight.”
The lights were soft, strung between redwood poles and the eaves of the shed.
The new “Magical HQ” sign glowed faintly beneath a spotlight JJ had zip-tied to a tomato cage.
There were folding tables covered in weed-themed snacks, homemade brownies, chips, dips, candy, a selection of pre-rolls Cassie had curated like a weed sommelier.
JJ wore his best tank top, ripped at the collar and stained with sap. He looked like a sunlit prince of the forest. Rafe couldn’t stop watching him.
Walt had swapped out the ambient music for something groovy and weird. Phish. Obviously. It worked.
Cassie held court near the dab station, making up strain names as she went.
“This one’s called Midnight Divorce. Tastes like regret and pine.”
“Try this one,” she handed a joint to JJ. “It’s Blonde Psycho Boyfriend. Kinda citrusy. Punches you in the throat.”
Rafe looked over. “Was that about me?”
Cassie winked. “If the boot fits, Cinderella.”
JJ snorted, exhaled a long plume of smoke, and whispered to Rafe, “I think we’ve officially opened Magical HQ.”
Rafe didn’t respond with words. He just nodded once and took JJ’s hand, squeezing hard.
The party was small, tight, controlled. No randos. Just a few locals, some friendly growers, a couple old contacts of Walt’s from the Humboldt scene who brought excellent hash and better stories. There were laughter and glow lights, and Walt gave a dramatic speech about how weed saved his marriage, his sanity, and possibly his liver.
Cassie called him a cryptid. Rafe didn’t argue.
JJ kissed Rafe once behind the grow shed, slow and hard. “You okay?”
Rafe looked at him. The lights, the laughter, the name etched in steel behind them.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”
JJ smiled. “Good. Because I’m gonna make a toast and embarrass you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
JJ grabbed a paper cup, cleared his throat, and jumped on the nearest stump. “Ladies and gentlemen, stoners and sinners, can I get your attention?”
Cassie yelled, “No!”
JJ ignored her. “This place was born from blood, sweat, trauma, and a lot of illegal decisions. But it’s ours now. Magical HQ. Maybank and Cameron Holdings. We did this. And no one’s taking it.”
There were cheers. Rafe didn’t cheer. But his chest ached.
JJ looked right at him.
“And I wouldn’t have made it without the psycho who followed me from North Carolina.”
Rafe flipped him off.
JJ beamed.
Later, when the lights were down and the last joint was passed and the laughter had faded, JJ and Rafe lay on the floor of the grow shed beneath a sleeping bag. Just them. The quiet buzz of the night.
JJ whispered, “We’re really doing this, huh?”
Rafe turned toward him, wrapped an arm over his chest. “We’ve been doing it.”
They kissed again.
No drama. No violence. No new threats.
Just love. And weed. And a dream that, somehow, had survived everything.
Notes:
Hey readers. I am not sure there is enough interest here to continue the story. I get the pairing and the sex and the drugs aren't for everyone. Maybe even comments or kudos aren't worth some kind of risk for registered readers. I might take a break and see if this is worth pursuing. If you feel like saying commenting I'd really appreciate it. Otherwise, thank you for giving this fic a go.
Chapter Text
The morning after the Magical HQ party is warm and quiet, the kind of morning that settles low and heavy over two people who spent half the night wrapped around each other.
JJ wakes first, though only barely surfacing slowly, sensing Rafe’s body under him before he even opens his eyes. His face is pressed against the curve of Rafe’s throat, breath slow, warm, safe. Rafe sleeps best like this, when JJ is some part of him, draped over him, tethered to him by instinct and exhaustion and whatever cosmic shit ties them together now.
But even before JJ lifts his head, he feels the change. Rafe isn’t fully asleep. He’s too still. His breathing’s too measured, like he’s buried deep in thought and trying not to let it show. JJ makes a small sound, something between a hum and a complaint, and presses his forehead into Rafe’s skin. “Don’t,” he mutters against Rafe’s throat. “Whatever you’re planning. At least let me get coffee first.”
Rafe shifts under him, subtle but not subtle enough. Determination radiates off him like heat. JJ sighs, finally blinking awake enough to look at him. Rafe’s eyes are open, staring at the ceiling with that expression that means his mind has been going full speed since sunrise. “I’m buying you a new bike,” Rafe says simply.
JJ groans. “Babe. You’re supposed to pretend to discuss things with me before spending six thousand dollars.” Rafe turns his head a little, jaw hard. “It wasn’t a cheap bike. It was custom. I picked every part myself. And he torched it.” His voice drops, darker. “I should’ve killed him for that alone.”
JJ nudges him gently, not dismissing the anger, just redirecting it. “Baby. We’re done with Wes. He’s gone. Handled. Cassie practically threw a party the second she knew he wasn’t coming back. You don’t have to keep fighting a ghost.” Rafe looks back at him, and his expression softens in that quiet way it only ever does for JJ. “I need you safe,” he murmurs. “And I need you on a bike.”
And JJ knows, knows in his bones, that Rafe has already made the decision. The purchase is probably pending. The delivery probably scheduled. He’s not going to win this one. Not this time.
A few hours later, JJ is standing in the driveway wearing nothing but shorts and a slight scowl, staring at the new motorcycle: matte black, low-slung, mean, fast as hell. Exactly his style. Exactly his body’s language. Exactly what he would’ve built for himself.
Rafe stands next to him with his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, trying to look unbothered, but JJ can see through it. He’s vibrating with need for JJ’s approval. “You can say something,” Rafe mutters. JJ turns, grabs Rafe by the front of his hoodie, and kisses him slow, deep, claiming. Rafe sighs into it, shoulders dropping an inch.
“That’s something,” JJ says against his lips. “Now come inside. We need to talk.”
Rafe freezes. Not in fear, but readiness. He knows exactly what conversation is coming. But he follows JJ into the house without question, closing the door behind them with that careful gentleness he reserves for JJ and almost nothing else.
JJ sits on the couch first. Rafe stays standing, big and tense and bracing for impact. JJ pats the cushion beside him. “C’mere.” Rafe sits.
“Last time,” JJ begins softly, “the prison scene… it was good. Really good. One of the best we’ve done. For both of us.”
Rafe swallows, throat working visibly. “But you slapped me,” JJ says, not unkindly. “Not hard. But in the face.” Rafe stops breathing. “And we didn’t negotiate that.”
Silence folds around them like a weighted blanket. Rafe’s jaw clenches once, just once, then he forces himself still. “I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know. I hated myself the second I did it.”
JJ reaches out and takes his wrist, tugging until Rafe slides closer. JJ climbs into his lap with practiced familiarity, legs bracketing Rafe’s, and settles there. Rafe looks up at him like someone waiting for a verdict that could end him. “Look at me,” JJ says gently. Rafe does.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” JJ tells him. “You didn’t break me. You didn’t lose me.” Rafe exhales sharply, almost shaking with relief he won’t let show anywhere but in JJ’s hands. “But that’s a limit,” JJ continues. “A real one. I love being roughed up. I love the way you handle me. I love hair-pulling, being thrown around, being pinned. But not my face. Not like that.”
Rafe nods immediately- fast, desperate, like if he agrees quickly enough JJ will keep sitting on him. “Never again,” Rafe says. “JJ, I… I swear on everything in me, everything you own, I won’t touch your face like that in a scene ever again.”
JJ slides his hands to Rafe’s shoulders, thumbs dragging lightly up the sides of his throat. “I know you didn’t mean to. You were flying. We both were. But it crossed a line for me. And now you know.” Rafe nods again, grounding himself with both hands on JJ’s hips. “I’ll be good,” he murmurs. “I’ll be better.”
“You already are,” JJ says. “Just… not the face.” Rafe breathes out a small, shaky laugh. JJ kisses him softly, brushing their foreheads together until Rafe’s heartbeat steadies beneath him. There’s a pause. A charged, quiet beat before JJ shifts a little, fingers sliding up into Rafe’s hair.
“So,” JJ murmurs, “your birthday’s coming up.”
Rafe goes still again, but not from dread. From caution. JJ can feel it in him. “I don’t want a party,” Rafe says. “I know,” JJ replies. “So we’re not doing one.” Rafe blinks. JJ’s tone is steady, warm, sure. He lifts a hand and traces Rafe’s jawline with the back of his knuckles. “I’m planning something for just us,” JJ says. “Private. Quiet. Good.” Rafe’s pupils dilate instantly. “JJ…”
“Shh,” JJ murmurs. “Listen.” He leans in, lips brushing the shell of Rafe’s ear, and speaks so softly it’s almost a kiss. “No roles. No roughness. No punishment. No fear. Just you and me.” Rafe shudders under him. “I want you to take something with me,” JJ whispers. “Something that makes you soft. Something that opens you up. Something that lets you see yourself the way I see you.” Rafe’s breath catches.
JJ presses closer, body flush to his. “Ecstasy.”
Rafe makes a broken, quiet sound, like JJ has cracked something deep. “Just us,” JJ continues. “Naked. Slow. In bed. No shame. No darkness. And I want you to watch yourself when I take you. In a mirror. So you can finally see what I see.” Rafe drops his forehead to JJ’s collarbone, arms wrapping around JJ’s waist and hauling him impossibly close, holding on like he’s scared his chest might split open.
“JJ…” he murmurs, voice thick and unguarded. “I… I’ll do anything.”
“I know,” JJ whispers, kissing the side of his head. “And I want to give you something good. Something that makes you feel loved, not dangerous.” Rafe holds him tighter, eyes closed, breathing JJ in like oxygen.
“That’s your birthday,” JJ murmurs. “Me taking you slow. Soft. Loving. Letting you feel how wanted you are.” Rafe swallows hard. “Okay.”
“Okay?” JJ echoes, smiling into his hair. “Yeah,” Rafe says, voice barely there. “Okay. Yes. I want that.” JJ kisses him, soft and slow, sealing the promise. Rafe melts under it, the kind of collapse he only allows JJ to see.
For the first time in a long time, JJ feels Rafe relax beneath him. Not all the way, never all the way, but enough that JJ knows the worst is behind them. Wes is gone. Ward is done. The grow is theirs. And now, finally, they get to choose what comes next. Rafe squeezes JJ once more, arms firm around his waist. JJ curls in closer, humming low. “Good,” he breathes. “Because I’m going to make this the best birthday you’ve ever had.”
Rafe’s answer is quiet, vulnerable, full of truth. “You already have.”
Rafe doesn’t bother pretending he’s forgotten his own birthday.
JJ knows him too well by now; the way he moves around the date like it’s a landmine, the way his shoulders sit too tight the week leading up to it, the way he deflects whenever Cassie jokes about throwing him a party and Walt starts listing strains they could name after him.
So when the day itself comes, it’s quiet by design. Cassie texts him a simple “happy birthday, bossman” and threatens violence if he replies with anything self-deprecating. Walt sends a photo of the new “Dark Lover” strain curing in jars, complete with a caption about “blessings upon your perverted union.” JJ rolls his eyes at both, kisses Rafe’s cheek in the kitchen, and says, “You’re all mine tonight.”
Rafe doesn’t argue.
They work a short day, just enough to check the rooms, run through a couple of numbers, reassure themselves that Magical HQ isn’t secretly burning down in any metaphorical way, and then JJ drags him home, fingers looped loosely in one of Rafe’s belt loops like he’s steering a much larger, more dangerous animal who happens to let him.
Rafe realizes something is different the moment they step into the bedroom.
JJ’s been here. Preparing. Intentionally. The lamps are turned low, bathing the room in warm gold. The sheets are smooth and pulled tight. Their usual clutter has disappeared. And beside Rafe’s side of the bed, angled just so, stands the mirror. Not facing the foot of the bed. Not somewhere abstract. But at Rafe’s left, tilted so he will see himself only if he turns his head.
JJ wanted it that way. He didn’t want the mirror to overwhelm him. He wanted it to invite him.
On the bedside table sits water. And a folded piece of paper with two small tablets. Rafe’s breath catches. JJ steps in behind him, chest pressed to Rafe’s back. “Happy birthday.”
Rafe turns slightly. “You want to do it tonight.” JJ nods, sliding a hand up Rafe’s spine. “If you still want it.” Rafe swallows. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure.” JJ kisses under his jaw, slow. “I want us to have something that’s just soft. Slow. Loving. Not a scene. Not a fantasy. Just us. And I want you to see what you look like when I have you.” He tips Rafe’s chin toward the side of the bed. Toward the mirror angled at the pillows. Rafe is quiet for a long beat. Then: “Okay,” he whispers. “Yes.” JJ smiles like that answer was the whole point.
He brings Rafe to sit on the bed, then hands him one tablet. They take them together, washing them down with cool water. JJ guides Rafe to sit back against the pillows, still dressed, warming into the softness of the moment. The drug sweeps in slowly, warmth first, then ease, then a quiet glow under Rafe’s skin like something inside him is finally unclenching. His thoughts are still his, but gentler. His body is less guarded. Everything feels a little more possible.
JJ lies beside him, their fingers laced on the sheets between them. “Hi,” JJ says, smiling. Rafe huffs a soft laugh. “Hi.”
“How you feeling?”
“Warm,” Rafe admits. “Good. Light.” JJ rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow so he can look down at him. “Look at me.” Rafe does, and something softens in him so deeply he feels it in his chest.
“Tonight,” JJ murmurs, “you’re not going to see the worst things you think about yourself. You’re only going to see what I see.” Rafe swallows hard. “I want that.”
JJ leans down to kiss him. It’s slow at first. Unhurried. Like he’s exploring each part of Rafe’s mouth, memorizing the shapes, letting the drug soften them both into something fluid. Rafe kisses back the same way, fingers finding JJ’s cheek, thumb brushing his jaw. The drug makes every touch feel like it leaves a trail. Warm, glowing, electric.
Clothes come off lazily. A shirt here. Jeans pushed down there. JJ laughs when Rafe gets briefly tangled trying to kick his pants off, landing a kiss on his hip as they get free again. Rafe blushes, actually blushes and JJ grins like he’s just been given a rare treasure. Soon they’re both naked and under the sheets, limbs lightly tangled, breathing each other in.
JJ shifts, climbing over Rafe, straddling him. But he’s careful not to block Rafe’s view to the side. Rafe can see the mirror out of the corner of his eye, just the edge of it. A quiet promise waiting for him when he’s ready.
JJ strokes Rafe’s cheek. “You still okay?”
“Yeah,” Rafe breathes. “I’m really okay.” JJ kisses him again, deep and slow.
“Hey,” JJ whispers. “Look at me.” Rafe does. JJ is gorgeous like this. Flushed. Focused. Eyes soft and dark. The sight alone almost undoes him. “Still good?” JJ asks.
“Better than good,” Rafe whispers.
JJ begins to move, slow rolls of his hips, unhurried. Rafe’s breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. JJ leans forward, kissing him through the soft grinding, letting him feel all of it without fear. The drug makes every stroke of JJ’s hands feel like it’s leaving glowing trails behind. Rafe’s skin is a live wire from neck to toes, humming with contact. JJ seems to know exactly how hard to press, how lightly to graze. He moves with a slowness that could drive someone else crazy; for Rafe, it feels like being worshipped.
“Can you turn your head?” JJ murmurs. “Just a little. Left side.” Rafe’s first instinct is to look anywhere but there. The second instinct- the one amplified by the warmth in his veins, by JJ’s steady hands and voice wins.
He looks. The man in the mirror is big. He knows that in the abstract, but seeing it like this is different. His shoulders look wider somehow, his chest solid, the muscles in his arms defined where he’s got his hands resting on JJ’s thighs. He looks… grounded. Rooted. Less like a threat and more like a foundation.
JJ follows his gaze and smiles at their reflection. “See?” JJ murmurs. “Not a monster.”
Rafe’s throat works. “You make me look better than I am.” JJ leans down until their noses almost touch. “No, baby,” he says. “I help you look how you really are.”
He kisses him then, and the mirror becomes another angle on the same intimacy. Rafe is watching, almost in disbelief, as JJ’s mouth moves over his, as JJ’s hands travel his chest, his sides, his stomach with unashamed appreciation. There’s hunger there, sure, but it’s threaded with awe.
When he finally moves, reaching for the drawer, Rafe watches him: the easy confidence, the steady hands, the softness in his movements. JJ prepares him with a kind of reverence that goes straight to Rafe’s bones. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just sure. When JJ finally settles over him, Rafe feels it in a slow wave; pressure, heat, fullness, connection. His breath stutters. JJ’s hand immediately comes to his chest.
The mirror is there. Reflecting them in profile:
JJ sliding into him in long, fluid motions.
Rafe’s chest rising and falling.
JJ’s hand splayed over Rafe’s heart.
Rafe’s fingers gripping JJ’s waist.
Two bodies moving like they were built to fit.
Rafe freezes for a moment, breath caught. JJ runs his fingers through Rafe’s hair, grounding him. “What do you see?” Rafe swallows. It takes him a long moment to find the words.
“I look…” He blinks once, twice. “I look like someone who loves you.”
JJ’s expression breaks wide open, emotion flooding through him. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You do.” Rafe turns back upward, meeting JJ’s eyes again, and the shift between the two angles. JJ above him, JJ beside him in the mirror, makes something inside him glow.
He alternates. Up into JJ’s eyes. Left into the mirror. Up. Left. JJ. Them.
The drug makes everything feel connected, each glance reinforcing the other, weaving the emotions into something whole.
JJ’s movements stay slow, deep, controlled. He watches Rafe’s face the entire time, adjusting whenever Rafe’s breath catches or his fingers tighten. The mirror shows the flex of Rafe’s muscles, the way JJ’s body curves over his, the unmistakable adoration on JJ’s face when he looks down.
Rafe feels the heat coiling through him, slow and overwhelming. He keeps looking left. Keeps seeing how gentle he looks, how surrendered, how loved. The realization fills him with something that almost hurts.
JJ feels his breath hitch and slows even more. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Just let it happen.” Rafe turns back to JJ, hands sliding up to hold his waist, then his shoulders, then the back of his neck.
He loses the ability to speak properly after that. The pleasure builds too big, too warm, too everywhere at once. He turns left one more time and sees himself- flushed, undone, mouth open, eyes soft with something he’s never recognized before. He looks loved. The realization breaks him open.
He comes with a soft, helpless noise, the kind he would’ve bitten back in the past, but tonight he lets it out. JJ holds him through it, murmuring against his lips, and follows soon after, dropping down to press their foreheads together as they breathe through the aftershocks.
When the room finally settles, JJ collapses onto Rafe’s chest, still breathing hard. Rafe wraps his arms around him, pulling him close, face buried in JJ’s hair.
After a long, quiet minute, JJ lifts his head and presses a kiss to Rafe’s jaw. “What do you see now?” he whispers, glancing toward the mirror. Rafe turns his head. Two bodies tangled under warm sheets. JJ’s head resting on his chest. Rafe’s arms wrapped around him protectively. Their faces soft and exhausted and peaceful.
“I see us,” Rafe says quietly. “And it doesn’t look wrong.” JJ’s breath catches. He kisses Rafe’s chest, over his heart. “That’s all I wanted,” he whispers. “Happy birthday.”
Rafe closes his eyes, holding him tighter. “It is,” he murmurs. “It really is.”
And for the first time in years, he falls asleep easily…with JJ wrapped around him and his own reflection no longer his enemy.
Chapter Text
They don’t sleep right away.
The high settles into something slow and syrupy instead of sharp, their bodies humming where they’re pressed together. JJ sprawls half on top of Rafe, leg thrown over his hip, cheek resting on the rise of Rafe’s chest. Rafe’s fingers move lazily up and down JJ’s spine, like he’s tracing out words he doesn’t know how to say out loud.
The room is dim and warm, the playlist murmuring somewhere in the background. The mirror at Rafe’s side now only shows a soft tangle of limbs and sheets, two heads close together, breathing in sync.
For a long time they just lie there, letting their heartbeats slow, letting the rush subside into a glow.
JJ is the first one to speak.
“You know,” he says, voice a little slow around the edges, “I was trying to play it cool in case you hated all of that. But I had a really, really good time.”
Rafe huffs a quiet laugh, his chest moving under JJ’s cheek. “You think I didn’t notice?”
“You were a little busy having a life-changing revelation in the mirror, babe,” JJ says, smiling into his skin.
Rafe’s hand pauses on JJ’s back, squeezes once, then keeps moving. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Well. I kind of did.”
JJ tilts his head just enough to look up at him. “You alright?”
Rafe is quiet for a moment, searching for the right word.
“I feel…” He frowns slightly, not his usual harsh line, just puzzled. “Soft. But in a good way. Not weak. Just… like I’m not holding a fourteen-ton weight on my chest for once.”
JJ’s expression melts. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”
He shifts, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can see Rafe more clearly. Rafe looks back at him, eyes still blown wide but clearer now, the high settling.
“Can I ask you something?” JJ says.
Rafe’s hand moves to JJ’s hip, thumb rubbing slow circles. “You can ask me anything.”
“When you saw yourself,” JJ says, glancing toward the mirror and back, “what was the first thought? Not the one you edited for me. The very first.”
Rafe’s gaze goes unfocused for a second, replaying the image in his mind, the side view, JJ’s body over his, his own face open and unguarded.
He flushes faintly. “Honestly?”
JJ nods. “Honestly.”
“I thought…” Rafe hesitates, then forces it out. “I thought, ‘He looks like he belongs to someone.’”
JJ’s breath catches. “You do,” he says immediately. “You belong to me.”
Rafe’s mouth curves, crooked and small, but real. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I do.”
“And I belong to you,” JJ adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “This isn’t a one-way thing. You’re not some stray I adopted. You’re my Big Terrifying Guy and I’m your Chaos Goblin. We’re stuck with each other.”
Rafe stares at him like he’s trying to memorize every word as it lands. “I like being stuck with you.”
“Good,” JJ says. “Because the pills wear off eventually, but I’m still gonna be here, and you’re still going to be the man I looked at in that mirror, okay? That’s not a drug thing. That’s just you.”
Rafe swallows hard. His fingers flex on JJ’s hip, tugging him a little closer.
“I’m scared I won’t remember it right,” he admits. “That I’ll wake up and it’ll feel fake. Like some trick I played on myself and… and I’ll go back to thinking I’m…”
“A monster,” JJ finishes quietly. “A fuck-up. A waste of oxygen. A walking disaster. I’ve heard the list, baby.”
Rafe gives a weak, guilty smile. “Yeah. That one.”
JJ taps two fingers against his chest, just over his heart. “Then we make it harder to forget. Alright? We remind you.”
“How?” Rafe asks.
JJ doesn’t answer right away. He just leans down and kisses him, slow and firm, like an anchor. When he pulls back, he meets Rafe’s eyes and speaks softly, like he’s laying out a plan.
“Tomorrow,” JJ says, “when you drag yourself out of bed and you’re grumpy and a little hung over and you want to brood, I’m going to tell you exactly what I saw tonight. And you’re going to argue with me, and I’m going to win, because I’m very pretty and you’re weak for me.”
Rafe snorts. “That’s not how logic works.”
“It is in this house,” JJ says. “And then? Every time you start doing the ‘I’m poison, I ruin everything I touch’ speech, I’m going to make you stop and tell me one good thing you saw in that mirror tonight.”
Rafe groans. “You’re turning my breakdown into homework.”
“Yeah,” JJ says cheerfully. “Consider it cognitive behavioural therapy for hot idiots.”
Rafe laughs, full and helpless, the sound lighting something in JJ’s face.
“There he is,” JJ says softly. “That’s the one I saw. That’s my guy.”
He settles back down, curling into Rafe’s side again, arm draped across his stomach. Rafe wraps him up with both arms this time, no hesitation, pressing his face into JJ’s hair.
They lie there, drifting, talking in low, half-finished sentences about nothing and everything, stupid little memories, the way Walt danced at the staff party, Cassie’s attempts at a heartfelt toast that dissolved into swearing, the look on JJ’s face when he first walked into the grow op and realized it was really theirs.
At some point, JJ says, “Birthday rating: how do we feel?”
Rafe hums. “Ten out of ten. No notes. Except maybe my heart hurts a little.”
JJ lifts his head. “Bad hurt?”
Rafe shakes his head. “Too-full hurt. Like stretching something that’s been cramped.”
“Good,” JJ murmurs, kissing his jaw. “We’ll keep stretching it.”
Eventually they run out of words and just breathe together, the high easing into a soft, floaty drowsiness. Rafe feels himself start to sink, JJ’s weight anchoring him to the bed, to the moment, to the proof that he is loved.
Just before sleep takes him, JJ mumbles, “Hey, Rafe?”
“Mm?”
“I love you big guy”
They go under together.
Morning is less glamorous.
Rafe wakes to sunlight and a mouth like cotton, head heavy but not pounding, body pleasantly sore in ways that make his face heat when the memories float back. JJ is sprawled half across him, hair in his eyes, drooling faintly on Rafe’s shoulder.
Rafe stares at the ceiling for a long moment, checking in with himself, waiting for the self-hatred to kick in. The familiar nausea. The disgust.
It doesn’t come.
He feels… tired. A little fragile. But not dirty. Not ruined. The memory of the mirror is still sharp and technicolour, not some blurred dream he can dismiss. He remembers the way his face looked, the way JJ’s hand rested over his heart, the way he realized he didn’t look dangerous. He looked devoted.
It hits all over again, a little smaller this time but just as sincere.
JJ stirs, making a small noise and burrowing closer. “Turn the sun off,” he mumbles. “Too bright.”
“That’s not how physics works,” Rafe says, voice rough from sleep.
“That’s not how anything works,” JJ counters, eyes still closed. “You’re rich, figure it out.”
Rafe huffs a laugh despite himself. “Good morning.”
JJ peels one eye open, squinting up at him. Then he smiles, slow and lazy.
“Well, hey there, birthday boy-plus-one,” he says. “How’s your brain?”
“Fuzzy,” Rafe admits. “But… okay. Surprisingly okay.”
“No panic? No regret?” JJ asks gently.
Rafe thinks about it, really checks. Then shakes his head. “No. Just… I keep seeing it. The way we looked.”
“Yeah?” JJ’s smile softens. “What part?”
Rafe glances to the side out of habit. The mirror is still there, still angled toward his side of the bed. Right now it shows two men thoroughly wrecked by sleep instead of sex, hair flattened, sheets tangled, faces soft.
“The way you looked at me,” he says. “In the mirror. Like I was… worth being seen.”
JJ’s expression goes rueful and fond. “Yeah, that’s probably going to keep happening,” he says. “I’m very annoying about loving you.”
Rafe rolls his eyes, then reaches up to push JJ’s hair out of his face. “You promised homework,” he says. “One good thing I saw.”
JJ brightens. “Oh, we’re doing that already? Sick. Hit me.”
Rafe hesitates for a heartbeat, then says quietly, “I looked strong. Not, like, threatening. Just… solid. Like you could lean on me and I wouldn’t break.”
JJ’s throat works. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick. “That’s because it’s true.”
Rafe swallows the reflexive dismissal and lets it sit between them instead.
“Your turn,” he says. “What did you see?”
“Honestly?” JJ props his chin on Rafe’s chest. “I saw the man I’m in love with finally believe me for two seconds. I saw my whole plan working.”
Rafe snorts. “You’re taking credit for my character development?”
“Absolutely,” JJ says. “I did the homework. You just showed up and were hot.”
Rafe can’t argue with that logic, not in his current state. He reaches down, squeezes JJ’s hip, pulling him closer.
“What time is it?” he asks.
JJ squints toward the bedside clock and winces. “Too early for our age. But late for the grow op.”
Rafe’s eyes widen a fraction. “We’re late?”
“Relax, Commander” JJ groans. “Cassie’s opening. Walt’s probably there already, talking to the plants about the meaning of life. We are allowed one post-birthday late start.”
Rafe considers this. His scheduling brain twitches, but the part of him still glowing from last night wins.
“Half-day,” he compromises. “We go in this afternoon. Check everything over. No heavy lifting.”
JJ kisses his sternum in reward. “See? Look at you. Balance.”
When they finally drag themselves out of bed, showered and dressed and moving like two men whose bones are full of warm honey, JJ heads straight for the front door with a grin that Rafe can’t read at first.
Then JJ grabs the motorcycle keys.
His motorcycle keys.
The new ones.
Rafe pauses mid-step. “You’re riding today?”
JJ twirls the keys on one finger, smug as hell. “Uh, yeah. It’s my first ride on her. I’m not wasting that on a trip to the grocery store. We’re going to Magical HQ in style.”
Rafe’s stomach does something strange pulsing with pride, fear, desire, all tangled.
JJ sees it and softens. “I’ll go slow,” he says gently. “Promise.”
Rafe nods once, then grabs his own helmet.
Outside, the bikes wait in the driveway like two predators lounging in the sun. JJ’s brand-new matte-black machine and Rafe’s sleek, powerful twin. JJ runs a reverent hand along his tank before swinging a leg over, settling onto the seat with the kind of relaxed ease that always makes Rafe’s heart beat a little too fast.
JJ glances over at him, helmet halfway on. “Ready to ride with me, big guy?”
“Always,” Rafe says, and means it.
The engines ignite, rumbling low and satisfying through their chests. JJ revs lightly testing, teasing and shoots Rafe a look that’s half challenge, half celebration.
Then they pull out.
Rafe rides just behind him at first, keeping close enough that he can reach JJ in under a second if anything goes wrong. But JJ is smooth and confident, his posture easy, the bike fitting him like an extension of his own body. The way he leans into turns is a slow, sensual roll of muscle and trust.
Rafe watches every movement.
He can’t help it.
JJ looks like he was born to ride this machine the way he sits loose in the hips, the easy sway of his body, the sunlight catching on his blond hair where it escapes the helmet.
When they hit the long stretch of road leading out of town, JJ glances in his side mirror. Rafe can’t see JJ’s mouth, but he can feel the grin through every inch of road between them.
JJ opens the throttle just a little. Not showing off. Showing Rafe he’s okay.
Rafe’s chest warms, tension easing in a way it hasn’t since the old bike burned.
They ride side-by-side after that. Two black bikes. Two men. Clean road ahead.
By the time Magical HQ comes into view, JJ is glowing, flushed, exhilarated, alive in the way he only gets from speed and wind and freedom. Rafe is right beside him, matching his pace, matching his joy, riding just close enough that their knees almost brush as they roll into the gravel lot.
JJ kills the engine and turns to Rafe, pulling off his helmet with a grin that hits like a punch of sun. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “She rides like a dream.”
Rafe gets off his bike slowly, the full-body warmth of relief flooding him. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but full. “You look good on her.”
JJ steps closer, bumping his shoulder. “I look good on you.” Rafe tries not to melt on the spot.
JJ smacks his arm lightly. “C’mon. We’re late, lover.”
The building looks the same as it did yesterday, the cheerful, slightly ridiculous “Magical HQ” sign JJ insisted on hanging out front catching the light. Rafe’s own, more respectable “Maybank & Cameron Holdings” sign sits primly beside it, like it’s pretending not to be related to its chaotic little sibling.
Inside, the air smells like earth and green things and very good weed. Cassie is at the front desk with a clipboard, glasses perched on top of her head, scrolling on her phone with her thumb. She looks up when they come in and immediately squints at them.
“Well, well, well,” she says. “Look who decided to join the living.”
“Hi to you too, Cass,” JJ says, sliding behind the counter to kiss her cheek. “We’re not that late.”
“You are exactly that late,” she says, but she’s already softening. “You get a pass because it was your boyfriend’s birthday, and because Walt bribed me with coffee. But only this once.”
Rafe arches a brow. “You’ve been here since seven.”
“Somebody has to make sure the ship doesn’t run aground while the captains are off having whatever weird sex-and-accounting combo you two get up to,” Cassie says sweetly. Then she looks more closely at Rafe. “You alright?”
Rafe blinks. “I’m fine. Why?”
“You look…” She pauses, hunting for the word. “‘Less haunted’ is the phrase coming to mind.” JJ chokes on a laugh. Rafe glares at him, then looks back at Cassie.
“Thanks?” he says, unsure.
Cassie shrugs and goes back to her clipboard. “It’s a compliment. Don’t make it weird.”
Walt appears from one of the grow rooms a second later, wearing his usual ancient band tee and cargo shorts, hands stained faintly with soil. He gives them both a broad, beatific grin.
“Ah,” he says. “The birthday boy and his radiant consort.”
“I am nobody’s consort,” JJ says automatically. “I am a partner in this illegally legal enterprise.”
“Legally legal,” Rafe corrects, by reflex.
“Semantics,” Walt says. He steps in and hugs Rafe, completely unapologetic about it. “Happy day-after, man. You look… aligned.”
Rafe blinks rapidly, caught off guard by the casual affection. He hugs back, a little awkward but sincere. “Thanks.”
Walt pats his back, then turns to JJ. “Dark Lover’s curing beautifully, by the way. The universe approves of your naming conventions.” JJ beams, smug. “Told you.”
They spend the afternoon doing exactly what Rafe promised, nothing too strenuous. They walk the rooms, check on plants, make sure the automation systems are behaving. Rafe reviews a couple of invoices with Cassie and doesn’t feel the urge to spiral about the numbers. JJ argues playfully with Walt about the playlist rotation for the grow rooms (“No, you cannot play only Phish, this isn’t a cult”), then comes to lean against the office doorframe while Rafe works, just to be near.
At one point, JJ sidles into the office and drops into the visitor’s chair, spinning it once.
“So,” he says. “Homework check-in.” Rafe sighs, but there’s no heat in it. “Now?”
“Yup,” JJ says. “Tell me one thing you like about yourself today. Extra credit if it’s something you saw last night.” Rafe stares at him. “I’m not doing your self-esteem worksheets.”
JJ widens his eyes dramatically. “Rafe Cameron, are you refusing a growth opportunity?”
Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?”
“Because you love me,” JJ says. “And because if I let you, you’ll forget that you were soft and happy about yourself for a whole night. So? One thing.” Rafe leans back in his chair, looking at the ceiling, then at JJ, then at his own hands.
“My hands,” he says. JJ blinks. “Your hands?”
Rafe nods, a little embarrassed. “They looked… good. In the mirror. On you. Strong. Careful.” JJ’s grin starts small and grows. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “They did.”
He pushes himself up from the chair, walks around the desk, and takes those hands in his, turning them over, kissing each knuckle like he’s sealing the thought in.
“Okay,” JJ says quietly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Rafe looks at him for a long, full moment, something vulnerable and grateful flickering in his eyes.
“Your turn,” he says. JJ raises a brow. “Oh, we’re making it reciprocal now?”
“If I have to do your stupid homework, so do you,” Rafe says. “One thing you like about yourself.” JJ falters, just a fraction. “Um,” he says. “My… uh…”
He stops, clearly reaching the edge of his own comfort zone. Rafe recognizes the look instantly; it’s the same one he used to have, and still does, just about different things.
“Your laugh,” Rafe says gently, letting him off the hook. “I like your laugh. A lot.”
JJ’s eyes go soft. “That’s cheating,” he says, but he’s smiling. “Yeah,” Rafe says. “But it’s my birthday week. I get to cheat.”
They stand there for a moment, hands tangled, all the noise of the grow op humming quietly beyond the office walls- fans, distant music, the muted murmur of Cassie and Walt arguing in good humour about something trivial. It feels… normal. Mundane, even.
Rafe never thought he’d want mundane this badly. Never thought he’d be any good at it.
But with JJ across from him, looking at him like he’s worth the effort, the mirror memory still bright in his mind, it feels like something he could maybe, actually do.
JJ squeezes his hands once more and then said “ let’s go, “backing toward the door.
“C’mon, bossman,” he says. “The plants need your intimidating presence. I told one of the new trimmers you’d glower at them if they mishandled a cola.” Rafe raises a brow. “I’m not glowering at staff.”
“Not even a little?” JJ wheedles. “She was so excited. Said, ‘Is he really that scary in person?’” Rafe sighs and gets to his feet. “You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me,” JJ says, grinning as he leads the way out. “My name is on the door.”
Rafe follows him out into the grow rooms, the scent of green and earth wrapping around them, the sound of Cassie’s laughter floating down the hall, Walt humming along to some ancient rock song as he waters a row.
He thinks about last night. About the mirror, about JJ’s hands on him, about the way he looked when he let himself believe he wasn’t a monster.
He thinks about this afternoon. About Cassie’s “less haunted,” Walt’s hug, JJ’s relentless, ridiculous homework.
For the first time in a long time, the days don’t feel like separate lives he’s faking his way through. They feel connected. Like part of the same story. Like he really might get to keep this. All of it.
JJ looks back over his shoulder as they walk between the rows of plants, eyes crinkling, mouth curving into that soft, private smile he saves just for Rafe. “Hey,” JJ says. “You with me?”
Rafe nods, something settling solid and warm in his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m with you.”
And for once, he doesn’t mean just in the hallway, or just in the grow op, or just for as long as the high lasts. He means all of it.
They don’t bother with dinner right away.
JJ barely gets his boots off before Rafe is on him, not rough, not frantic, just deliberate. The kind of deliberate that makes JJ’s breath hitch and his back meet the wall of the hallway with a soft thud.
Rafe’s mouth finds the side of his neck. Not biting. Not marking. Just kissing. Slow, warm presses of lips that somehow tell JJ every thought Rafe can’t say yet.
JJ melts under it instantly. “Hey,” JJ murmurs, teasing, “there’s no mirror this time. You can relax.”
“Not trying to perform,” Rafe mutters against his skin. “Just want you.” The honesty in it hits JJ low and warm. He lifts Rafe’s chin with two fingers, making him meet his eyes. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I want you too.”
That’s all Rafe needs.
He scoops JJ up easily. JJ lets out a startled little breath and laughs against Rafe’s shoulder as he carries him down the hall. No performance, no rush, just smooth, confident strength. JJ hooks an arm around Rafe’s neck, enjoying how effortlessly he’s held.
Rafe sets him on the bed and comes over him slowly, like he’s taking in every inch. JJ feels his heart hammering in the best way. “Last night was yours,” Rafe murmurs. “Tonight’s mine.”
JJ grins, wicked and soft at the same time. “Take it, then.” Rafe does.
Not with brutality but with reverence. With weight and warmth and that quiet, consuming hunger he only lets out when he feels safe. He moves over JJ like it’s instinct, like he knows exactly how to claim him without pushing him too far. JJ arches up into him, their bodies fitting as if the mattress was made for this exact shape.
Rafe’s hands are everywhere on JJ’s hips, his ribs, his jaw, his hair, grounding them both. JJ kisses him back hard enough to make Rafe groan, dragging him closer, legs sliding around Rafe’s waist until there’s no space left at all.
They move together slowly at first, then deeper, then with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat shared. The room fills with the sound of breath and quiet murmured words. Rafe calls JJ “beautiful,” JJ whispers “more, baby, c’mere,” both of them losing language and finding it again.
It’s not a scene. It’s not a fantasy. It’s just them.
By the end JJ is clinging to him, shaking, mouth pressed to Rafe’s shoulder, the both of them breathless and loose-limbed as they collapse into each other. Rafe pulls JJ against his chest immediately, holding him while JJ catches his breath, stroking circles on his back like he’s smoothing out static.
JJ doesn’t bother moving. He just sighs into Rafe’s throat. “Damn,” JJ murmurs. “You’re good at that.” Rafe laughs, low and warm in his chest. “Yeah?” he says softly. “Still got it?” JJ kisses his jaw. “You always do.”
Rafe shifts until they’re tangled up comfortably, JJ half on top like a warm blanket. The room is dim, the sheets warm, their bodies settling into that afterglow heaviness.
JJ is the one who breaks the quiet first. “You seemed happy today,” he says gently, tracing a line down Rafe’s chest. “At the grow op.”
“I was,” Rafe says. “It feels… good. Like we built something. Like it’s real now.”
JJ hums, pleased. “And teaching? You still liking the instructor gig?” Rafe pauses.
He hesitates long enough that JJ tilts his head to look at him. “Babe?”
“I like it,” Rafe admits. “I like the work. I like the riding. I even like the students. But…”
JJ waits. “It’s far,” Rafe says finally. “Too far. The commute’s almost an hour each way. I don’t want to spend my life on the highway anymore. Not when I could be home. With you. With the grow.”
JJ nods slowly like this is exactly what he expected. “I was thinking about that,” he says.
Rafe glances down. “Yeah?” JJ tries for casual and fails, the spark of mischief gives him away. “Yeah. Because it’s weird, you know…”
“What is?” JJ shrugs lightly. “Just… weird there’s no local motorcycle training facility around here.”
Rafe freezes. “…what?”
“Like, none,” JJ continues, pretending to be innocent. “Not one. People around here drive like maniacs. You’d think somebody would’ve opened one. Good business idea. Very community-friendly. Great for job satisfaction. Keeps talented instructors from commuting an hour each way…”
Rafe stares at him, realization dawning slow and luminous. “You’re not subtle,” Rafe says softly. JJ grins. “Wasn’t trying to be.”
“You think I could run something like that?” Rafe asks, voice quieter than he intends.
JJ cups his jaw, makes him meet his eyes. “Baby, I think you could run anything you want. And I think you’d be incredible at it. And I think you should be closer to home. With me. With the grow. With the life we’re building here.”
Rafe swallows hard. “You want me here,” he says. JJ kisses him slow. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I want you home.”
Rafe doesn’t answer right away. He just pulls JJ closer, burying his face in JJ’s hair, thinking in stunned, quiet silence.
JJ smiles against his chest and closes his eyes, knowing exactly what he’s done: He planted a seed.
And Rafe Cameron is going to water the hell out of it.
Chapter 44
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rafe spends the next three days like a man possessed.
It starts small: a few tabs open on his laptop, a casual browse of local commercial listings but by the second night the dining table has become a fully-fledged war room. JJ comes out at 2 a.m. to pee and finds Rafe shirtless, leaning over zoning maps and state motorcycle-safety licensing requirements with the intensity of someone preparing for a legal battle.
JJ watches him silently for a moment, leaning against the doorway, smiling into his fist.
Rafe looks up, bleary-eyed but glowing with purpose. “I could absolutely do this,” he says, pointing at a spreadsheet. “This is viable.”
JJ pads toward him, kisses the top of his head, and murmurs, “I know, baby.”
The third night, Cassie stomps into the living room with her tablet and declares, “Okay, I’m helping you idiots. If you’re gonna run a community motorcycle training facility, we’re doing this properly. No crying in front of zoning officials.”
Rafe narrows his eyes. “I don’t cry.” JJ snorts. “Baby… you absolutely cry. It’s beautiful.” Rafe flips him off. JJ blows him a kiss.
Walt overhears the conversation and offers his contribution: “Call it Two Wheels & Trauma.” Rafe stares. “No.” “Two Wheels & Freedom?” Walt offers. “No,” Rafe repeats. “Wheel Daddy?”
JJ laughs so hard he nearly chokes.
But by week’s end, Rafe has made real progress: market analysis, cost projections, a short-list of three possible locations, first-draft designs for training ranges, a meeting booked with the local small-business development office.
And then the obstacle hits. Cassie returns from the zoning department with an unimpressed look.
“Alright,” she says, dropping papers onto the table. “City council updated the zoning limits last year. You can build a motorcycle training facility, but only if you get a conditional-use permit. Which is… a process.”
Rafe blinks. “A process?” “A long one,” Cassie says. “Forms. Inspections. Environmental impact reports. Neighbours giving opinions.”
“Neighbours?” Rafe repeats, horrified. JJ pats his thigh. “We’ll get through it, baby. You’ve got charm.”
“I have money,” Rafe corrects. “And rage.” JJ grins. “Yeah, and I love both.”
Rafe sighs dramatically and rubs his face. “This is going to be hell.”
JJ stands, climbs into Rafe’s lap, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and murmurs against his ear: “But it’s a hell you chose. And a hell that gets you home to me every night.”
Rafe swallows hard. He’s in.
JJ sees it on the ride home.
Just a flash in the corner of his helmet visor — a busted old surfboard sticking out of a pile of roadside hard rubbish. Sun-bleached, dinged to hell, unrideable.
But the colour? The stripe down the side? He knows that board. Or rather — he knows who he was when he used one just like it. JJ’s heart kicks.
He doesn’t stop; he can’t strap that thing to the bike. But he looks. Hard.
Long enough that Rafe calls out behind him, “Everything okay?”
JJ nods quickly and rides on. But the idea is already blooming. Already glowing. Already dangerous.
He waits until Rafe’s out. JJ walks back. Alone. Hoodie on. Head down. He pulls the broken board out of the rubbish pile and slings it under his arm.
It’s ruined. Soft spots everywhere. Nose crushed. It’s perfect.
He carries it all the way home.
Then he sets the trap.
First: He finds the old photo on his phone, a grainy shot of himself at sixteen or seventeen, barefoot on Kildare’s sand, holding a board just like this one. Hair wild. Sunburnt shoulders. Board shorts low on his hips. A shark tooth necklace.
The same one he still has. The same one Rafe stared at a thousand times without ever looking away.
JJ sends Rafe the photo with no text at all. Just send.
He does not answer when Rafe immediately messages back: ???
JJ?
Where are you?
Why did you..
JJ ignores every one of them. Because the picture isn’t the point.
The point is the porch.
He props the ruined surfboard against the railing. Strips down to board shorts and the shark tooth necklace. Nothing else. Not even shoes.
He rolls a joint, lights it, and leans back against the board exactly like the picture. Older now, stronger now, but unmistakably the same boy Rafe used to watch with something like hunger and shame tangled together.
He waits.
Rafe’s motorcycle pulls into the driveway ten minutes later.
JJ doesn’t move. He just smokes, lazy, half-lidded, barefoot on the old wood, necklace catching the gold light.
Rafe gets off the bike.
JJ doesn’t even look at him when he speaks, slipping straight into Kildare attitude. The kind Rafe first fell for from a distance.
“No kooks allowed around here,” JJ drawls, flicking ash. “Fuck off, Rafe.”
Rafe’s helmet hits the ground before JJ finishes the sentence. Just drops. Hard.
Rafe goes absolutely still.
The board. The necklace. The shorts. The bare feet. The joint. The posture. The photo still burning in his brain.
JJ tilts his head just slightly and finally looks at him. Defiant. Ferocious. Beautiful in a way that belongs to the sand and the salt and the memory of a boy Rafe used to covet in secret.
JJ takes a drag from a joint, casual as breathing, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, the portrait of a reckless, beautiful Pogue boy Rafe once stalked from the shadows.
And Rafe is instantly transported.
Back to being twenty. Back to watching JJ paddle out, sun catching his hair.
Back to the ache in his lungs when JJ laughed. Back to wanting him so badly it felt like violence.
Rafe’s chest rises once. “JJ…” he whispers. “What are you doing?”
JJ shrugs like it’s nothing. “Standing on my porch. Pogue territory. Didn’t invite any rich boy kooks.” Rafe’s pupils blow wide.
JJ smirks, takes another drag, and looks away like Rafe is beneath his attention.
That’s what breaks Rafe.
Not the board. Not the necklace. Not even the nostalgia.
It’s JJ dismissing him.
Rafe steps forward once, voice low and wrecked: “You’re too mouthy for a Pogue.”
JJ turns slow, eyes sharp. “Yeah? What you gonna do about it, kook?”
Rafe actually growls. And then he moves. Fast.
He crosses the distance in three strides, grabs JJ around the waist, and flips him over his shoulder before JJ can blink. JJ yelps, half laugh, half shocked inhale, the joint flying from his fingers.
“Rafe!”
“You wanted this,” Rafe snarls, throwing JJ over his shoulder as he carries him inside. “You set this up. You dug up ghosts.” JJ wriggles, laughing breathlessly. “Put me down!”
“No,” Rafe snaps, smacking JJ’s ass once- a sharp, clean slap that echoes down the hall. “Mouthy Pogues get carried.” Another smack.
JJ goes still with a choked sound against Rafe’s back. Rafe’s voice drops lower, darker, into something he never used to let himself feel: “And disciplined.”
JJ shivers.
Rafe strides into the living room and throws JJ down onto the couch. Not rough enough to hurt, just enough to prove a point, enough to make JJ gasp and scramble to hands and knees.
Rafe plants a hand in the middle of JJ’s back and bends him over the armrest.
“Look at you,” Rafe breathes behind him, stunned, reverent, furious, turned on in a way he can’t hide. “You look exactly like you did the first time I wanted you.”
JJ’s breath shakes. “Good.”
Rafe bites out a low, dangerous laugh. “You have no idea what you just started.”
He smacks him again, lower this time, firmer. JJ’s fingers curl tight in the couch fabric. Another smack. JJ lets out a sound that would make an angel blush.
Rafe leans over him, breath hot against the back of JJ’s neck, voice nothing but gravel and hunger. “You tell me to fuck off again, Pogue,” he whispers. “And see what happens.”
JJ looks back over his shoulder, eyes blown, mouth open. “Fuck. Off,” JJ whispers.
Rafe loses the last thread of restraint.
He drags JJ fully over the couch, hands everywhere, gripping, controlling, claiming. He grips JJ’s hair from behind and makes him arch his back into Rafe’s chest, his other arm holding him tightly to him as he bites his neck and grinds against his ass. He is panting and growling and overwhelmed as slips into a headspace that he occupied so many years ago.
He pushes JJ back down over the couch arm and spanks him again before pulling his board shorts down and reaching around to touch his dick. He imagines this is the first time and his chest tightens and he starts shaking a little. He looks down at JJ’s pink cheeks and runs a finger down his crack, softly probing his hole.
He is literally about to come in his pants from how deep the fantasy runs and the words and sounds coming from JJ. “Ugh, get off me kook! Get your hand off my dick and stay away from my ass!! Fuck!”
Rafe roughly fingers JJ as he protests and tugs his cock roughly before pulling his own dick out and slipping into JJ. He lasts about two minutes and then it’s over. It was too much. The original fantasy come to life. He sound he makes when he comes and the frantic tugging send JJ over the edge a minute later.
For a long moment after, the house is silent except for breath fast, ragged, tangled between them.
JJ is face-down on the couch cushions, hair ruined, necklace hanging crooked, board shorts twisted around his hips. He’s grinning into the fabric like a man who just won a war he started on purpose.
Rafe is kneeling behind the couch, hands planted on either side of JJ’s waist like he hasn’t figured out how to stand up yet. Neither moves. Neither speaks.
Finally JJ turns his head, cheek pressed to the cushion, and whispers, still breathless:
“…so you liked the photo?” Rafe drops his forehead to the back of JJ’s thigh with a groan. “Don’t start.” JJ snorts. “You okay there, big guy?”
Rafe tries to answer, but the memory hits him again; the exact photo JJ sent, the exact posture on the porch, the exact boy he used to watch with hunger he didn’t even have the vocabulary for back then. He sucks in a breath. “You blindsided me.”
JJ smiles lazily. “That was the point.”
Rafe lifts his head, eyes blazing in a way JJ loves. “You’re going to explain yourself.”
JJ wiggles a little, settling deeper into the couch. “Explain what?”
“Why you texted me a picture of the first person I ever wanted in my entire life,” Rafe says, voice rough, “and then transformed yourself into a perfect goddamn replica of that boy.”
JJ grins wider. “Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that,” Rafe growls.
JJ rolls onto his side, stretching slowly, shark tooth necklace glinting against his chest. “Because you looked stressed this morning. Because zoning meetings suck. Because you’ve been working so hard on that motorcycle school idea. And because—” he lifts the necklace and lets it fall back onto his chest. “I wanted to remind you where all of this started.”
Rafe freezes. “Where what started?” he asks quietly.
JJ’s expression softens- not playful, not teasing, but devastating in its sincerity.
“You,” JJ says. “And me. Before the grow op. Before the house. Before all the shit. Before you even knew what you were feeling was allowed.”
Rafe exhales sharply.
JJ sits up, moving slowly, climbing onto Rafe’s lap without asking. Rafe lets him, hands sliding to hold JJ’s thighs automatically, like muscle memory. JJ cups Rafe’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I wanted you to remember who you were when you first looked at me.”
Rafe swallows hard. “I remember too well.”
“Good,” JJ whispers. “Because you spent years watching me like you wanted to tear me apart and worship me at the same time. And I wanted you to know…”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to Rafe’s.
“…you still can.”
Rafe closes his eyes like the words hurt. JJ laces their fingers together. “And I wanted to see if the old stuff still gets to you.”
Rafe opens his eyes, dark and stunned. “It does.”
“Yeah,” JJ says softly. “I noticed.” Rafe lets out a low, shaky laugh. “You planned every detail.” JJ kisses his chin. “You noticed the details.”
“The necklace,” Rafe says. “Always the necklace.”
“The shorts.”
“Yours.”
“The way you looked at me,” Rafe says, voice dropping. “Like you wanted me to fail at not wanting you.”
JJ smiles against his mouth. “Because you always failed at that.”
Rafe grabs his waist and pulls him closer, forehead pressed into JJ’s collarbone. “Fuck, JJ.” JJ threads his fingers through Rafe’s hair, holding him there, grounding him. “You okay?”
Rafe nods slowly against his chest. “Yeah. Just… you hit something deep. Something old. I didn’t expect it.” JJ rests his cheek on Rafe’s hair. “Hey,” he says softly. “That stuff…you don’t need to be scared of it anymore.”
Rafe’s voice is muffled. “I’m not scared.”
“You sure?” Rafe lifts his head, meets JJ’s eyes, and something like fire and devotion lights there. “I’m not scared,” he says. “I’m starving.” JJ’s breath catches.
Rafe kisses him slow, deep, grateful, hungry but JJ pulls back after a moment, breathless, grinning. “Okay,” JJ pants, “before you pull me back under for round two..” Rafe growls.
“..you need to know something.” Rafe raises a brow.
JJ taps his phone, waking the screen. “The photo? The one I texted you?” Rafe nods.
JJ turns the phone around. It’s a side-by-side. Left: JJ at seventeen, holding a surfboard, dripping water, smiling like the sun. Right: JJ today, wearing the same necklace, same posture, same smirk.
Rafe’s throat goes tight. “I did my research,” JJ says proudly. “Even got the lighting right.”
Rafe tries to speak but can’t. Rafe just stares at him, overwhelmed and undone.
JJ settles back down in his lap, draping his arms over Rafe’s shoulders.
“So, big guy,” JJ says, voice dropping to a low hum, “what now?”
Rafe answers without hesitation. “We go again.” JJ laughs softly. “Thought so.”
He kisses Rafe once, deeply. And then someone knocks on the front door. They both freeze.
“…did you order something?” JJ whispers. “No,” Rafe hisses.
The knock comes again. “Rafe?” Cassie calls through the door. “I have the updated cost estimates for your motorcycle facility but-” Pause.
“Why is JJ’s joint on the porch? And why is there a… surfboard??”
JJ looks at Rafe. Rafe looks at JJ. JJ mouths: Run. Rafe grabs JJ’s wrist and they tumble off the couch together, scrambling to the hallway like two teenagers caught doing something unholy.
Cassie opens the door. “Hello?” she calls. “Why does it smell like.. what the hell are you two doing?”
JJ whispers against Rafe’s ear: “Next round after she leaves.” Rafe whispers back: “Locked doors this time.”
JJ smirks.
Cassie stands in the open doorway holding a manila folder, squinting suspiciously into the living room like she’s walking into a crime scene.
JJ and Rafe are pressed against the hallway wall like two idiots in a farce, JJ still in only the board shorts and shark tooth necklace, Rafe shirtless and trying to flatten himself into JJ to hide him.
It is not working. At all.
Cassie takes one sniff. One look at the porch. One glance at the abandoned joint.
One eye-squint at the surfboard leaning like evidence.
“Alright,” she announces. “What the hell is going on?”
Rafe whispers, panicked: “Go put clothes on.” JJ whispers back: “You go put clothes on!”
“You’re the one half-naked!” “You’re the one behind me like you’re hiding a murder!”
Cassie cups a hand around her mouth. “Boys? Did you hear me?”
JJ and Rafe freeze like startled teenagers.
Cassie steps fully inside, scanning the room with the slow confidence of someone who has already put together 90% of the puzzle and is now just looking for accessories.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s do roll call.” She points at the porch. “That is a dead surfboard.”
Points at the floor. “That is a joint.”
Points at the couch. “That is a JJ-sized dent.”
Points at the faint thud mark on the wall. “That’s… concerning.”
Then she sees the edge of JJ’s shark tooth necklace sticking out from behind Rafe’s arm in the hallway. She blinks. “Are you… hiding him?”
Rafe swallows. “No.” JJ chirps, “Yes.” Rafe glares at him. JJ shrugs.
Cassie walks forward with the confidence of a woman who has absolutely no boundaries and never will.
“Move,” she tells Rafe, waving at him like she’s shooing a child blocking the TV.
Rafe tightens his arms around JJ. “No.” “Babe,” JJ whispers, “she’s gonna find me.”
Cassie sighs loudly. “I already found you. I can literally see your hair. And your legs. And your abs. And.-” She squints.
Cassie throws her head back in exasperation. “I swear to GOD, JJ, every time I come over here you two are role-playing some Lifetime movie with extra steps.”
Rafe hisses, “We were not role-playing.” JJ whispers, “We were absolutely role-playing.”
Cassie holds up the manila folder like a peace flag. “I brought the updated cost estimates for your motorcycle school, but I guess you’re both too busy doing… whatever the hell this is.”
She gestures vaguely to JJ’s state of undress and the surfboard.
JJ grins proudly. “Historical reenactment.” Cassie deadpans, “Of what? The sexual revolution?” Rafe covers his face with both hands. “Please leave.”
“No,” Cassie says firmly. “We have business.”
“Oh God. She knows something.”
Cassie slams the packet down beside him. “I found the loophole.”
JJ straightens. “Oh shit. The loophole-loophole?” Cassie pushes her glasses up her nose, nodding sharply. “The very same.”
She points at the packet. “Read.” JJ opens it and immediately winces. “Cass. This is, like… a biblical scroll of bureaucratic nightmare.”
“That,” Cassie says, “is the zoning ordinance that stands between Rafe and his local motorcycle school. Except-” she taps a finger to a paragraph “the city added an amendment two years ago after the skate park debacle.”
JJ blinks. “The… skate park debacle?”
Cassie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Long story short: Walt organized a protest when the city wanted to ban youth skateboarding. He pretended to be a ‘community wellness specialist.’ They didn’t verify.”
JJ’s face lights up. “Perfect. Continue.”
“The amendment says,” Cassie goes on, flipping to another page, “‘Any conditional-use permit may be expedited without public hearing if the proposed facility can demonstrate direct community wellness, education, or mental health benefit.’”
JJ squints. “…so we lie.”
“It’s not lying.” Cassie glares. “It’s… strategic truth emphasis. We pitch Rafe’s training facility as a safety and mental health resource for young riders.”
“Yeah, that’s a lie,” JJ deadpans.
“Do you want Rafe home or not?” JJ’s grin spreads wickedly. “Continue.”
Cassie points below the paragraph. “We need three community advocates to sign the petition for expedited approval.” JJ blinks. “Okay, so… me, Walt, and…?”
Cassie smirks. “I’ve already enlisted Walt. And I found someone else.”
“Who?” “Mrs. Papadopoulos.”
JJ almost drops his coffee. “THE Mrs. Papadopoulos?! The 74-year-old retired Greek-Australian footy coach who yelled at the local council for fifteen minutes when they tried to cut weekend bus routes?”
Cassie beams. “The very same.”
Rafe freezes. “…the woman who said I needed ‘more vegetables and less frowning’ that one time at the bakery?”
“She loves you,” JJ says. “She calls you the tall Greek-adjacent one.”
“I’m not Greek,” Rafe mutters.
“She doesn’t care,” Cassie replies. “She believes in your bone structure.”
Rafe blinks. “What?”
JJ pats his arm. “Baby, it means she’ll sign the form.”
JJ shakes his head in awe. “Cassie, you’re scary.” Cassie shrugs proudly. “I know.”
The next morning, the four of them arrive at the council office.
Walt is dressed in the most absurd “community advocate” outfit imaginable: faded tie-dye shirt tucked into crisp beige slacks, a belt made entirely of woven hemp, sandals, and a clipboard he stole from JJ’s truck.
Mrs. Papadopoulos is wearing a collared shirt covered in tiny embroidered flowers and carrying a thermos full of Greek coffee so strong it could dissolve a nail.
Cassie looks like an annoyed attorney. JJ looks like JJ. Rafe looks like a man preparing for either war or a barbecue.
They approach the reception desk. The council clerk blinks at them. “…are you here for a group appointment?”
Cassie steps forward confidently. “We’re here to file for an expedited conditional-use permit under ordinance 14.9(b) amended 2023.” The clerk stares.
Then stares harder. Finally: “Oh. You’re those people.”
JJ adjusts his sunglasses dramatically. “We prefer the term ‘community innovators.’”
Walt raises his clipboard. “We’re here to help the children.”
“No,” Rafe blurts. “No, we’re not. We’re here for a motorcycle-” Cassie elbows him sharply. Rafe shuts up.
Mrs. Papadopoulos slams the permit petition on the counter with the force of someone who has yelled at council meetings for twenty years. “I vouch,” she says. “This man teaches safety. He teaches discipline. He teaches my grandson not to be an idiot. Approve his business so he can do it for everyone.”
The clerk stares at the 74-year-old force of nature. “…yes, ma’am.”
Just like that. Paperwork is stamped. Forms are filed. The requirement for a public hearing is waived. They walk out into the sun in stunned silence.
JJ grins first. “What did I tell you, baby?” he murmurs, tugging Rafe close by the jacket. “You’re built for this.” Rafe is still shell-shocked. “We… we actually got approved?”
Cassie smirks. “Conditional approval. You still need location inspection. But you’re officially in the pipeline.”
Walt throws an arm around him. “Congratulations, Wheel Daddy.” Rafe glares. JJ laughs so hard he doubles over.
That night, they go home exhausted. Cassie sends celebratory emojis. Walt sends a photo of himself with a houseplant on his head.
Mrs. Papadopoulos texts JJ: “TELL THE TALL ONE I EXPECT FREE HELMET FOR GRANDSON.”
Rafe is halfway through responding when JJ takes his phone, tosses it onto the couch, and steps into him, warm and close. “You proud of yourself yet?” JJ murmurs.
Rafe exhales. “A little.” JJ kisses him slow. “Good. Because tomorrow? We celebrate properly.”
Notes:
How did this chapter land for you? Let me know in the comments or with the kudos button.
Chapter Text
Rafe wakes before JJ.
Not because he slept well. He didn’t. Because his brain is already buzzing with every unresolved logistical nightmare the world has decided to dump on him.
The surfboard still sits on the porch like a smug omen. JJ is starfished across the bed, hair a mess, necklace still on, one arm thrown over Rafe’s waist like he claimed him in his sleep. Rafe untangles himself gently. JJ mumbles something and keeps sleeping.
Rafe pauses, staring at him with the kind of affection that could melt glaciers, then forces himself up.
By 10:15 AM, Rafe is ready to commit homicide.
He’s on the phone with the local council office, trying to confirm whether a motorcycle instruction facility counts as “light commercial,” “specialized mechanical,” or “recreational training.”
Each option changes the zoning requirements. Each option requires a different application.
And apparently no one in this town has ever heard of a dirt-track and motorcycle skills training centre owned by a reformed Kook psychopath who just wants to ride bikes with his boyfriend.
Rafe finally snaps: “Look, ma’am, I am literally begging you to tell me which form I need so I can give you money and obey the rules.”
A pause. A passive-aggressive clearing of the throat. “Well, sir, that depends on whether you plan to include a wet-weather training hall, a workshop, or a community education component.”
Rafe pinches his nose bridge. “I plan to teach people to ride motorcycles.”
“Well, that’s not listed as an option.”
Rafe’s eye twitches. He hangs up.
At 11:30, the commercial real estate agent shows up late, wearing a tie that screams inherited property wealth.
He greets Rafe with: “You must be Rafe Cameron”
The agent nods politely while clearly thinking rich dad’s bankroll.
Rafe’s jaw hurts.
The agent shows him three potential sites: one too small, one too close to a childcare centre, one zoned agricultural because someone keeps llamas on it
Rafe stares at the last site in disbelief. “Are the llamas part of the sale?”
“No, they just wander.”
“Wander,” Rafe repeats, dead-eyed.
“Yeah,” the agent says cheerfully. “You could build fencing, but that would affect your zoning.”
Rafe’s brain short-circuits.
JJ texts him:
hey babe how’s the bureaucratic death march?
need me 2 come kiss u better or punch a councillor?
Rafe replies:
Llamas.
There are llamas.
JJ’s reply comes instantly:
hot
Rafe actually laughs briefly before the agent starts explaining “drainage easements” so vaguely that Rafe wants to walk straight into traffic.
By 3 PM, Rafe’s shoulders are tight as stone.
By 5 PM, he hasn’t eaten.
By 6 PM, he wants to destroy something expensive.
JJ finds him pacing in the kitchen like a wolf in too-tight skin.
JJ doesn’t speak at first. He just watches Rafe pace.
Back and forth. Jaw tight. Hands clenching.
JJ steps closer, slow and careful, as if approaching a wounded predator.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
Rafe stops. Barely. JJ tilts his head. “Too much?”
Rafe doesn’t answer, he just breathes out sharply, like something is clawing its way up his spine. JJ steps in closer, presses a hand to Rafe’s chest.
“Baby,” JJ murmurs, voice dropping. “You need to get out of here.” Rafe looks down at him, eyes wild. “I need-”
“I know what you need,” JJ says gently. “Not here. Not in the house. Not with paperwork and zoning bullshit chewing you up.”
Rafe’s breathing hitches. JJ trails a finger along his sternum. “We’re going to take a night. Just us. Out there.”
“Out where?” Rafe asks, voice hoarse.
JJ smiles slowly, a spark of trouble in his eyes. “Camping.”
Rafe blinks. JJ continues, voice turning low, deliberate:
“You remember the last time we went into the forest, right?”
Rafe inhales sharply. Oh, he remembers.
The chase. The pursuit. JJ vanishing into the trees. Rafe tracking him like prey.
JJ waiting for him with a smirk and a challenge. Rafe tackling him into the leaves and pinning him by the wrists.
JJ tightens his grip on Rafe’s shirt. “Thought maybe we could run that back.”
Rafe’s pulse is audible. “You want… that?”
JJ’s smile turns wicked. “I want another ambush.”
Rafe swallows hard, something dark and eager lighting behind his eyes.
JJ leans in, mouth brushing Rafe’s jaw. “And I want you to have an outlet for all this tension before you implode.”
Rafe grabs JJ’s hips, voice almost cracking: “You’re doing this on purpose.” JJ kisses the corner of his mouth. “Obviously.”
Rafe pulls him in hard, kissing him with the sharp edge of someone who has spent twelve hours being tested by paperwork, zoning restrictions, llamas, and fate.
JJ gasps into it, grinning against Rafe’s lips. “You’re dying to drag me into the woods,” JJ whispers. “Aren’t you?”
Rafe’s voice is very, very low. “Yes.”
“Good,” JJ says. “Then pack a bag.”
Rafe freezes. “When?”
JJ pulls away, takes two backward steps, smirking like he knows exactly how hard Rafe’s heart is beating. “Tonight.”
Rafe: “We’re leaving tonight?”
JJ: “Yep.”
Rafe: “We’re going into the woods tonight.”
JJ: “Baby, you nearly killed an innocent real estate agent today. You need this.”
Rafe presses both palms to the counter like he's bracing himself. JJ walks past him, dragging a hand slowly across Rafe’s back.
“No rules,” JJ murmurs. “No scripts. Just us. Just instincts.”
Rafe’s throat works. “And Rafe?” JJ adds, turning at the doorway.
Rafe looks up. JJ’s voice drops into something dark and promising: “Catch me if you can.”
Rafe goes motionless. JJ disappears down the hall to pack.
And Rafe finally, finally exhales a slow, dark, hungry breath.
The camping trip is on.
The woods are already dark when they get there.
JJ rides ahead, weaving through the narrow fire road like it’s muscle memory, like he grew up in trees just like these. Rafe follows on his own bike, the headlight cutting thin slices through the dusk, the engine rumbling low and hungry under him.
They park in a small clearing. One tent. One lantern. A fire pit half-assembled. And JJ already shedding layers. “Go set up the tent,” JJ says, tossing Rafe the poles. “I’m gonna grab firewood.” Rafe frowns at the tone—too light, too casual, too innocent.
Then JJ turns and disappears into the line of trees without another word.
Rafe watches the direction he vanished, chest tightening with something that is not worry. This is a setup. Of course it is.
He breathes once, slow and deliberate, the way JJ taught him to do when he’s too keyed up. Then he builds the tent with military efficiency.
Thirty minutes later, the lantern glows warm. The fire crackles low. The clearing is golden and soft, like a pocket world sealed off from everything that tries to chew Rafe alive.
But JJ still hasn’t come back.
Rafe waits. One minute. Five. Ten. He smiles.
So that’s how JJ wants to play.
Rafe steps into the tree line, lantern glow fading behind him, swallowed by leaves and bark and the hum of night insects.
There is no path. JJ didn’t take one. Of course he didn’t.
Rafe moves slowly at first—listening, grounding, letting the forest give itself away. The pine needles soften his steps. The air is cold enough to tighten the back of his neck.
He stops. There. A snapped twig somewhere ahead. Rafe turns toward the sound. Silence.
Then a faint laugh. Soft. High. Sharp enough to run the length of his spine like a blade. JJ.
Rafe’s breath leaves him in one long exhale. “Run while you can,” Rafe calls into the dark, voice steady, low, and dangerous. “It won’t help.”
Leaves rustle farther left this time. Barely audible. JJ is moving. And he’s fast.
Rafe picks up speed.
The forest thickens around him, branches scratching lightly at his jacket, roots grabbing at the ground beneath his boots. He doesn’t call again. Doesn’t warn. Doesn’t threaten.
He hunts.
He tracks the warmth of JJ’s breath fogging faintly in the night air. The flicker of movement between trunks. The bare skin he catches a flash of bare arms, maybe a shoulder, maybe nothing at all except imagination.
Rafe’s heart is pounding in his throat. God, he needs this.
Rafe rounds a cluster of trees. And JJ is there. Briefly. Shirt half-off. Breathless grin. Eyes bright with fallen-angel mischief.
He leans back against a tree, chest rising and falling, necklace glinting. “You’re slow tonight,” JJ teases, voice soft, almost intimate. “Bureaucracy got you stiff in the joints, old man?”
Rafe steps forward without thinking. JJ slips sideways like water and vanishes again into the dark. Rafe swears under his breath and follows.
Branches whip against his arms. His boots dig trenches. The woods blur into moving shadows and the smell of pine—until Rafe hears something new: JJ’s breathing. Close. Panting. Excited.
Not afraid.
Rafe rounds another bend. And JJ slams into him from the side, shoulder to chest, knocking him off balance. Rafe hits a tree with a grunt.
JJ’s hand skims down his ribs as he darts away. “Tag.”
Rafe pushes off the trunk, laughing breathlessly. “You think that counts?”
JJ’s voice echoes faintly, “Only if you catch me next.”
Rafe stops playing. Rafe stops tracking. Stops listening. Stops thinking. And simply moves.
He cuts JJ’s path diagonally, faster, surer. JJ hears him too late, turns his head mid-stride and gasps, “Shit!”
Rafe grabs him around the waist, momentum slamming them both into a tangle of leaves. JJ laughs even as he struggles, kicking, twisting, trying to wriggle free.
Rafe doesn’t let go. He hauls JJ upright, pinning his back to a tree with one arm across his chest. JJ’s breath hitches, eyes blown wide in the dark.
“Got you,” Rafe murmurs. JJ swallows, trying to keep the smile off his face and failing. “Yeah. You did.”
“You wanted this,” Rafe says, voice rough. “You needed this.”
JJ’s breathing shakes. “I know.”
Rafe presses in closer, chest to chest, heat to heat. JJ’s hands flatten uselessly against Rafe’s shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling him closer, just there, vibrating with adrenaline and anticipation. The night hums around them.
Rafe dips his head, lips brushing JJ’s jaw. “Tell me how long you’ve been planning this.”
JJ’s voice is a whisper. “All day.” Rafe’s teeth graze JJ’s throat. “Say it right.”
JJ’s breath stutters. “Since this morning.”
“Since I lost my mind at the zoning office,” Rafe says quietly. JJ nods fast, eyes fluttering. “Yes.”
“Since I came home angry enough to break a pencil in half.”
“Yes.”
“Since you realized you wanted to be hunted tonight.” JJ trembles just once but Rafe feels it everywhere.
“Yes,” JJ whispers. “That.”
Rafe’s hand slides up JJ’s throat, not squeezing, just holding him there, thumb under the jaw, head tilted up against the bark. JJ’s exhale is a surrender. A permission. A plea.
“Rafe…”
“Tell me to stop,” Rafe says softly, dangerously. “Or I won’t.” JJ shakes his head hard. “Don’t stop.”
Rafe kisses him—messy, fierce, teeth scraping, breath mixing with the cold night air, JJ grabbing fistfuls of Rafe’s jacket like he’s falling and pulling Rafe down with him.
Rafe spins him, pressing JJ face-first into the tree trunk, one hand pinning JJ’s wrists above his head. JJ gasps, hips arching back instinctively.
Rafe’s voice drops to a growl against JJ’s ear “You’re mine.” JJ moans, ragged, helpless, gone. Rafe’s breath shudders. He presses fully into JJ’s back, body to body, heat to heat, the forest dimming around them in a tunnel of tension so sharp it borders on painful.
Rafe nudges JJ’s feet apart with his boot. JJ inhales sharply. “Rafe…”
“Shh.” Rafe kisses the back of his neck, slow and brutal and tender all at once.
Rafe growls, arms wrapping around his waist and dragging him to the ground. They went down hard, shoulder first into the pine needles, breath knocked from JJ’s lungs. He scrambled, kicked back with his heel, caught Rafe in the shin and twisted free, rolling to his feet.
Rafe rose slowly. “You fight pretty good for a house pet.”
JJ grinned, adrenaline spiking. “You’re slow for a psycho.”
They clashed again. JJ ducked low, shoulder-checked Rafe into a tree, but Rafe grabbed the collar of his hoodie and yanked him backward, dragging him down into the dirt. JJ thrashed hard, wild, elbowing, snarling, kicking and Rafe just absorbed it.
“Safeword check,” Rafe said against JJ’s ear, even as he pinned him face-down with his full weight. His voice was breathless, reverent.
JJ hissed, “Still green, asshole. Try harder.” Rafe growled and shoved JJ’s face into the mossy earth. “Gladly.”
He ripped JJ’s hoodie halfway open, pushed it up to his armpits, exposing pale skin, flushed and heaving. JJ’s jeans were already sliding off his hips from the struggle, and Rafe didn’t slow. He yanked them down rough, taking JJ’s boxers with them, until JJ was bare-assed in the dirt, cock flushed and hard against the ground.
“You’re gonna remember this part,” Rafe muttered, settling between JJ’s thighs. “You’ll be walking funny for a week.”
JJ tried to lift himself, squirm away. Rafe caught him by the hips and dragged him back. The friction of his jeans bunched at his ankles, the leaves and grit under his skin, the ache of wrestling, all of it blurred together. “Check-in,” Rafe rasped again, fingers tight in JJ’s hair.
JJ swallowed hard. “Still green. Don’t stop.” Rafe didn’t.
He fucked him in the dirt, fast, rough, relentless. No teasing, no build. Just the sound of skin on skin, JJ gasping and swearing and finally sobbing out, “Fuck, Rafe, yes-” as his body gave in.
Rafe held him there. Bent forward over JJ’s back, one hand over his mouth again, whispering against his ear, “Mine. Out here, with the animals and the dirt and the fucking stars. Still mine.”
Rafe let the wolf out and savaged JJ where no one could hear him scream. JJ shuddered. Rafe reached under JJ and stroked him roughly. JJ came with a strangled cry, face in the pine needles, fingers clawing at the earth.
Rafe followed, grunting into JJ’s shoulder, body trembling. They collapsed together in the leaves. JJ's cheek was against the moss, eyes unfocused. Rafe's weight draped over him, chest still rising and falling like a storm wasn't quite over.
For a while, there was only breath. The thump of blood in their ears. The hum of night insects, and the distant crackle of the fire back at camp.
Eventually, Rafe rolled off him, kissed JJ’s temple, and whispered, “You okay?”
JJ nodded slowly. “I’m fucking golden.”
Rafe touched his hair, his spine, his thigh. Checking for bruises, splinters, any sign that he’d gone too far.
JJ caught his wrist, pulled his hand to his mouth, and kissed it. “Let’s go home.”
Rafe helped him up, gently pulled his jeans back over his scraped knees. They didn’t speak on the walk back, just held hands, quiet, the firelight drawing them closer.
They came back to the campsite slow, silent except for the crunch of pine needles underfoot and the low crackle of fire ahead. JJ’s legs ached. His thighs burned from impact and friction, jeans rubbing raw where bark and grit had scraped. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away from Rafe’s hand clasped around his own. If anything, he held tighter.
Rafe didn’t let go when they stepped back into the firelight. He tugged JJ in like he was tethered, an instinct, maybe, or something less conscious. His other hand reached for the wool blanket and draped it over JJ’s shoulders without a word. The heat from the fire hit harder once they were still. JJ blinked, sat down slow. His knees wobbled. Rafe crouched in front of him, hands gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who’d just slammed him into the dirt and held him down like a fucking monster.
And JJ had loved every second of it.
“You hurting anywhere bad?” Rafe asked quietly. He was scanning, already reaching for the med kit. “I got wipes. Antiseptic. Ibuprofen. Water.”
JJ gave a crooked, wrecked smile. “You got a time machine in there too? My ass could use a rewind.”
Rafe barked a soft laugh, barely a puff of breath. “No take-backs, Maybank. You begged for it.”
“Not denying it,” JJ muttered, voice still hoarse. “Just… whoa.”
Rafe gently pressed a cool water bottle into JJ’s hands. “Start with that.”
JJ drank. Greedy mouthfuls. His fingers shook just enough for Rafe to notice. He didn’t say anything, just touched JJ’s knee, thumb brushing over the joint, grounding him.
Then he stood, stripped off his own outer layers, jacket, hoodie. Tossed another log on the fire and returned with a camping pot and a handful of protein bars. He moved methodically, calmly, like aftercare was a ritual he took deadly serious. And it was. With Rafe, it always was.
They ate quietly. JJ let Rafe wipe his hands with warm water from the kettle and antiseptic cloths. Let him murmur soft curses over every bruise. He rolled onto his side when Rafe needed to check his back and thighs and tried not to moan when Rafe’s touch turned almost reverent.
“You fucked me like you hated me,” JJ finally said. His voice cracked. “But you touched me after like I’m holy.”
Rafe paused. His hand stilled over JJ’s hip. “I used to hate myself for wanting this,” he said, barely audible over the fire. “I couldn’t separate what I wanted from what I thought it meant.”
JJ turned to look at him. “And now?” he asked. Rafe looked back, eyes too bright in the firelight. “Now you let me become that thing I was scared of, and you still love me after.”
JJ sat and gazed into the flames and the night and this brutal, beautiful man. “I do,” he said. “Even when you’re a psycho in the woods. Maybe especially then.”
Rafe’s voice caught. “I needed that. You. Letting me… be that. But also this.”
“I know.”
They sat side by side, sharing the blanket, Rafe tracing patterns on JJ’s thigh, and JJ leaning into every touch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.
They didn’t talk much more. Just stayed close until the fire burned low and the stars came out full.
Later, in the tent, JJ curled up behind Rafe and whispered, “We should come back next month. Bring better snacks.”
Rafe laughed into his pillow. “And a mattress.”
JJ kissed the nape of his neck. “Don’t need comfort when I’ve got you.”
And they slept. Naked and exhausted, but safe in something only the two of them understood.
They woke early to bird song Rafe cursed for interrupting their peace. He made tea and rustled JJ out of the tent. “Babe, we need to pack up and head back. We have work to do”
JJ groaned but complied because Rafe lured him out with chocolate and tea. Rafe kissed him deeply and then deconstructed the tent and packed up the gear onto their bikes.
The sun was just cresting over the treetops, streaking gold through the morning mist as JJ swung a leg over his bike. His thighs protested, a throbbing ache blooming low in his spine. He winced, laughing under his breath. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Rode hard and put up wet, literally.”
Rafe smirked from his own bike. He was already straddled, engine purring low and steady beneath him like a wildcat in heat. “You good?
JJ grinned and revved. “You’ll know if I fall off” They kicked off together, gravel spitting from under their tires, fire trail winding into forest-shadowed curves. JJ surged ahead on the straightaway, whooping as the wind tore past his cheeks. Rafe stayed back for the first stretch, watching him. Watching the way JJ leaned too deep into corners, dared too close to the trees, and laughed like there were no consequences.
God, he was beautiful. Wild. Dangerous. Glowing. Rafe opened the throttle. The second pass came on a long curve, Rafe gliding by smooth as a blade, his posture effortless. JJ narrowed his eyes and gave chase, biting the inside of his cheek at the twinge in his backside.
His entire ass felt lit up from the night before. Every bump in the road was a reminder. Worth it. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Just traded control back and forth in bursts, JJ pulling ahead, Rafe cutting in close. It wasn’t a race. It was a conversation. It was sex with tyres.
By the time they arrived home JJ was completely exhausted and crashed on the couch, smoked half a joint and fell asleep. Rafe unpacked and opened his laptop, energy restored and ready to tackle the local council again.
Cassie strolled in without knocking again, vaping a concentrate she handed to Rafe as she looked over his tedious online application documents. She deleted one, filled out another, and took the vape back as she completed the final page and submitted it without saying anything.
Rafe silently assessed her with appreciation. She looked like a vegan lesbian farmer but worked like a stealth lawyer and she was loyal as hell. Had no boundaries. Had become their best friend.
Months ago she had asked JJ if Rafe would take her for a bike ride and Rafe created a mental list of people never going on the back of his bike which included everyone but JJ as a result of that request. Today, while JJ slept and Rafes applications were now before the council, he changed his mind. He quietly picked up JJ’s helmet and nodded to her to come outside.
“Where to, Cassie?” he asked. Cassie replied “Rafe, I am really stoned, just take me home. But I would love to do a bigger ride with you and JJ another day. And I want to be in your first cohort once you get the local set up, ok?”
Rafe nodded happily and promised. This is what friendship felt like and he liked it. He helped Cassie to wrap her arms around him safely and rode slower than normal back to Cassie’s shack. He dropped her off and thanked her for help today, last week, last month, since they got into town. Cassie got in a quick kiss to Rafe’s cheek before he could dodge it and said see you at the op, big guy.
Rafe smiled as she ambled into her place, but still wiped his cheek on his shoulder out of instinct.
He headed back home to JJ to join the siesta and breathe.
Chapter Text
Rafe wakes before JJ again.
Not early, just first. The house is dim, blinds still closed, the air warm with leftover campfire smoke tangled in their clothes. JJ is spread out half on Rafe’s chest, hair a mess, one arm flung across him like Rafe is primal territory being claimed unconsciously in sleep.
It hits Rafe in the ribs sometimes how at ease JJ is with him now. How instinctive the closeness has become. And how much of last night is still sitting under Rafe’s skin.
JJ shifts, groans softly, and presses his face against Rafe’s collarbone. “My everything hurts,” he mutters. Rafe huffs a quiet laugh against JJ’s hair. “Don’t start. You engineered that.”
JJ smiles without opening his eyes. “Worth it.”
Rafe brushes a thumb along JJ’s shoulder, checking again reflexively for anything he needs to tend to. Bruise here, scrape there. Nothing unexpected. Nothing JJ didn’t beg for.
Last night’s intensity still hums between them, low and grounding. JJ finally opens his eyes, looks up at him, and says: “You should check your email.”
Rafe groans. “Don’t ruin this moment.”
“It’s from Lori.” Rafe freezes. The real estate agent. JJ sighs and lets his head flop back onto Rafe’s chest. “Told you you’d want to see it.”
Rafe reluctantly reaches for his phone. Lori has indeed emailed, twice. One message flagged urgent. His stomach knots.
JJ watches his reaction without lifting his head. Rafe opens the email. Then swears under his breath.
“What?” JJ asks.
“She says the property owner backed out of leasing the site if the facility includes open practice zones. Claims it’s a noise issue.” JJ sits up on his elbows, frowning. “Noise? It’s in the middle of an industrial strip. The hardware store runs table saws outside.”
“Yeah,” Rafe mutters, scrolling. “Apparently the owner’s nephew races motorcycles and crashed last year. They don’t want to ‘support dangerous hobbies.’”
JJ stares. “Okay, that’s-”
“Insane,” Rafe finishes.
JJ sits up properly. His voice softens. “Hey. You’ll find another site.”
Rafe tosses the phone onto the table with a sharp exhale. “It’s not just the site. It’s the county, the liability requirements, the goddamn insurance people calling it a ‘high-risk recreational venture.’”
JJ moves to sit beside him, leg pressed to Rafe’s. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rafe says, rubbing his jaw. “Every time I get close, something drags it backward.”
JJ watches him closely, really watches him. The subtle grinding of his teeth, the way his eyes unfocus when he’s overwhelmed, how he folds into himself like the weight is physical.
JJ leans forward and kisses Rafe’s temple. “We’ll figure it out.”
Rafe doesn’t answer.
And that tells JJ everything.
JJ stands slowly. “I’m gonna go out for a bit.”
Rafe looks up, brow furrowed. “Where?”
JJ shrugs, grabbing a hoodie off the chair. “Go for a ride, clear my head.”
Rafe tries to work.
He stares at insurance documents without absorbing a word. He tries to draft a budget and ends up writing JJ’s name in the margins. He calls Lori, gets voicemail, leaves a message that sounds calmer than he feels.
When JJ leaves the house, it isn’t with a smirk or a promise or a look that says later. He doesn’t take the hoodie off Rafe’s chair or make a show of stretching his bruised back.
He just leans down, presses a quick, warm kiss to Rafe’s temple, and says softly: “I’ll be back soon.”
Rafe barely looks up from the computer, brow furrowed, jaw tight, already drowning in logistical hell.
JJ sees it. Feels it. And slips out the door without another word.
JJ takes his motorcycle. Rafe’s gift. His pride and joy. The one that still smells faintly of pine needles from the weekend trip.
He rides with purpose. Not fast. Not recklessly. Just determined.
The address Lori emailed is twenty minutes out of town, a little patch of dusty land on the edge of a commercial zone, half-forgotten, with a house on one side and a chain-link fence marking where the “would-have-been” training site sits.
JJ pulls into the long driveway and kills the engine. He takes off his helmet, shakes out his hair, and puts on that easy, warm smile that melts strangers like butter on a skillet.
It works instantly.
The property owner opens the front door, frowning, confused until he sees JJ standing there: blonde, bright-eyed, respectful posture, helmet under one arm, confidence radiating off him like sunlight.
“Sir?” JJ calls out lightly. “Afternoon.”
The man blinks. “You… here about the bike thing?”
“Yes, sir,” JJ says, polite as church. “Name’s JJ. Rafe’s partner.”
Partner. Said clean, proud, uncomplicated.
JJ watches the man’s face shift- surprise first, then something like defensiveness, then resignation.
“Look,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I told that agent… I just can’t lease to something noisy. My nephew got hurt last year. Motorcycle accident. Terrible thing.”
JJ nods immediately. Soft, genuine empathy warming his voice. “I’m real sorry to hear that. Is he okay now?”
The man’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Recovering. But spooked. Won’t touch a bike again.”
JJ steps closer, careful not to crowd. “Did he ever get safety training? I only ask ’cause… well, most of us who ride know the danger best when we learn the right way. Controlled environment. Good instructors.”
There’s a shift , the man’s eyes move from JJ’s face to the motorcycle behind him. He’s thinking.
Then asmall, creaking from inside the house: “Is that your bike, son?”
JJ turns. The man’s elderly mother stands in the doorway, cardigan buttoned crooked, white hair pinned up, eyes bright as a girl’s despite her age.
JJ breaks into a grin. “Yes, ma’am. It is.”
She steps out, ignoring her son’s startled protest. “How fast does it go?”
JJ doesn’t laugh. Not at her. But the warmth sparkles in his eyes.
“Very fast,” he says conspiratorially, lowering his voice like they’re sharing secrets, “but only when conditions are safe. I treat her with respect.”
The mother beams… and JJ knows he has her.
The son looks horrified. “Ma. Mom, no. Don’t even think about-“
But she’s walking right toward JJ’s bike. JJ offers his helmet with both hands, like a knight presenting a crown.
“You ever been on one?” he asks gently. She shakes her head. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
JJ glances at the son. He’s frozen in offended disbelief.
So JJ turns back to her, soft and sincere. “Well… if you’d like, ma’am, I can take you on a slow ride around town. Nice and safe. Only if you’re comfortable.”
She lights up.
JJ helps her up. Steady hands, careful, respectful. Gets her settled on the pillion. He adjusts the helmet straps so it fits snug, checks twice, then three times.
The son is sputtering. “You cannot just.. Ma! Get off that thing!”
JJ nods to him politely. “I’ll bring her back in thirty minutes.”
And before the man can object properly, JJ starts the engine and pulls gently down the driveway.
The old woman laughs. Loud. Free. Thrilled.
JJ laughs with her.
He doesn’t go fast. Not today.
He takes her along the quieter roads, past the bakery, past the mural JJ helped touch up last summer, past the cliffs where the sun hits the water like gold. Locals wave. JJ waves back.
He treats her the way he treats everyone Rafe cares about. Even strangers: like she matters.
When they reach the bluff overlooking the ocean, JJ parks and helps her down.
She stares out at the water, hand over her heart. “Lord,” she whispers. “I forgot how beautiful this town is.”
JJ sits on the railing beside her.
“Ma’am,” he says softly, “Rafe wants to build something for this place. Not for tourists. For the folks who live here. Kids who want to learn without getting hurt. Older folks who want to ride scooters and Vespas but are scared to try. People who need a place that’s structured. Safe.”
She listens intently.
JJ continues, voice gentler. “Rafe’s not reckless. He’s… he’s trying real hard to build a life here. And this school would be part of that.”
The wind picks up. She studies JJ the way mothers do, assessing his soul in ten silent seconds.
“You love him,” she says. JJ swallows. “That obvious?”
She chuckles. “He must be something special.”
JJ’s smile softens into something vulnerable. “He really is.”
JJ drives her home the same way he brought her out; calm, steady, careful. Her arms stay wrapped around his waist the whole ride.
When he pulls into the driveway, the son rushes outside, horrified. “Ma! Are you okay?!”
“I’m wonderful,” she announces, patting JJ’s shoulder as he helps her off.
JJ gives her a dazzling, warm grin and a wink. “Thank you for trusting me, ma’am.”
She pats his cheek like he’s her own grandson. “You come back anytime, JJ.”
Then she turns to her son. “Lease him the land.”
Her son sputters. “What?! Mother”
She raises a trembling but authoritative finger. “You heard me. If that nice boy’s partner wants to teach people how to ride properly, you lease him that land. Lord knows this town needs it.”
JJ says nothing , just smiles politely, puts his helmet back on, and swings a leg over his bike.
“Y’all think on it,” he says lightly. “No pressure.”
He revs once, salutes with two fingers, and rides off down the road, dust kicking up behind him like a signature.
And the son stands there watching him go, already defeated.
Because there is no universe where anyone wins a charm battle against JJ Maybank.
JJ pulls into the driveway slow, quiet, casual. The exact opposite of the triumphant chaos he just caused.
He parks the bike, kills the engine, hangs his helmet on the handlebar like nothing unusual happened, and walks toward the house rolling his shoulders the way he does when he’s holding back a grin.
Inside, Rafe is still at the kitchen table, hunched over a stack of printed zoning guidelines, looking like a man ready to fistfight municipal code.
He doesn't look up when the door opens. “Did you get groceries?” he asks flatly, eyes still locked on the paperwork.
“Nope,” JJ says brightly.
Rafe lifts his head, blinking at him. “You were gone two hours.”
JJ shrugs out of his hoodie and hangs it on the chair. “I got distracted.”
Rafe stares harder now. “Distracted by what?”
JJ doesn’t answer right away. He moves around the kitchen, opening cabinets, looking for something, humming under his breath. Not nervous, just deliberately choosing a rhythm Rafe knows means give me a second before I drop this on you.
Rafe stands. “JJ.”
JJ glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, babe?”
Rafe folds his arms. “What did you do?”
JJ turns fully now, leaning back against the counter, thumbs hooked in his jeans. Relaxed. Innocent. Except his eyes—those are glowing with a very specific kind of mischief. “Okay,” JJ says lightly, “before you get mad-”
Rafe closes his eyes. “Oh my god.”
JJ lifts a hand. “Hear me out.”
“JJ—”
“I said hear me out!”
Rafe opens his eyes again, slowly, bracing himself. “Fine. What happened.”
JJ pushes his hair back and takes a deep breath. “So you know the property owner who doesn’t want to lease to you because of the motorcycle thing?”
Rafe’s stomach drops. “JJ..what did you?”
JJ holds up both palms. “Listen! I was polite.”
“That’s what scares me.”
JJ grins. Shrugs. Rafe groans.
JJ straightens up, pacing a little. “Okay, so I went over there-”
“You WHAT?!”
“RAFE. PLEASE. You hired Lori because you hate talking to people. Let me be useful.”
Rafe drags a hand over his face. “Did you antagonize him?”
“No!” JJ says quickly. Then, sheepishly: “…at first.”
“Oh GOD.”
JJ waves that off. “It doesn’t matter because his mom came out. Older woman, adorable, cardigan. And she was super into the bike. Asked how fast it went.”
Rafe’s jaw drops. “JJ. Please tell me you didn’t-”
“I took her for a ride,” JJ says, shameless. Rafe sits down hard.
JJ starts pacing again, animated now. “She loved it. Like, LOVED it. We went up to the bluff, talked about the town, about safety, about what you want to build here, about teaching people the right way.”
Rafe can’t breathe for a moment.
JJ slows, watching him carefully. “Rafe… she thinks what you’re doing is important.”
Rafe swallows. Something hot hits the back of his eyes.
JJ steps closer. “She held onto me the whole time,” he says softly. “Laughing like she hadn’t had fun in years. And on the way home she told her son, loudly, to lease you that land.”
Rafe just stares at him. Still. Silent. Unmoving.
JJ shifts on his heels. “So… yeah. You might get a call.”
Rafe stands. Walks over. Stops right in front of JJ.
JJ lifts his chin, meeting Rafe’s eyes, trying to gauge whether Rafe is angry or overwhelmed or proud or all of it at once.
Rafe cups his jaw. JJ exhales, relief flickering across his face.
“You weren’t supposed to fix it,” Rafe says quietly.
JJ leans into the touch. “I didn’t fix it. I… bent it.”
Rafe’s thumbs brush JJ’s cheekbones. “You went behind my back.”
JJ nods, unrepentant. “Yup.”
“You charmed an elderly woman into supporting a commercial lease.”
JJ shrugs. “She charmed me first.”
“You took her on your bike.”
JJ grins. “Safely.”
“She hugged you.”
“She squeezed,” JJ corrects proudly.
Rafe’s mouth twitches.
JJ’s smile softens. He reaches up, touching Rafe’s wrist.
“I wasn’t trying to take over,” he says quietly. “I just hate seeing you crushed under stuff that shouldn’t crush you anymore.”
Rafe looks down, his forehead almost touching JJ’s. “You do this… thing,” Rafe murmurs, voice rougher than he means. “Where you go out into the world and people just…trust you. Follow you. Listen.”
JJ raises a brow. “Is that a complaint?”
Rafe shakes his head. “It’s terrifying,” Rafe whispers. “And I’m in awe of it.”
JJ’s expression melts. Open, vulnerable for just a breath. Then he cups Rafe’s jaw right back.
“I do it,” JJ murmurs, “because when you care about something? You deserve help. Even when you don’t know how to ask for it.”
Rafe’s throat tightens.
JJ leans in and kisses him slow, warm, nothing like the woods. Something steadier. Softer. Grounded. A promise instead of a demand.
When JJ pulls back, he studies Rafe’s face. “You okay?” he asks.
Rafe nods once. “Yeah.”
JJ smiles. “Good. Because I haven’t told you the best part.”
Rafe tries not to groan again. “What now?”
JJ steps even closer, voice low.
“You should’ve seen her face when she realized Rafe Cameron’s partner was the one driving. Hero status, babe. You’re basically beloved by the octogenarian community.”
Rafe actually laughs, choked and unexpected. JJ beams. “There he is.”
Rafe pulls him against his chest and holds him there. Tight, grounding, necessary.
JJ presses his face to Rafe’s collarbone. “Told you I’d come back soon.”
Rafe exhales shakily into JJ’s hair.
“You always do.”
The next morning hits slow.
Not lazy slow, aftershock slow; the way the air feels different when something big has quietly shifted under the floorboards of your life.
Rafe wakes before JJ, which is usual. He lies there for a full minute staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of JJ’s body pressed against his side, the warmth of JJ’s thigh thrown over his, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to JJ’s hair from the ride yesterday.
Rafe exhale-laughs softly.
He took an old lady on his bike. He fixed the damn lease. He actually fixed it.
And then, right on cue, JJ nuzzles half-awake into Rafe’s ribs and murmurs:
“Stop thinkin’ so loud.” Rafe smiles despite himself.
JJ lifts his head, eyes half-open, hair a sun-bleached mess.
“Mornin’,” he says, voice raspy in a way that always hits Rafe like a shove between the ribs.
Rafe brushes his thumb across JJ’s cheek. “Morning.”
JJ grins sleepily, then squints. “You’re… smiling. Like, voluntarily. What’s wrong with you?”
Before Rafe can answer, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. JJ groans. “Don’t answer it, babe, you’re naked and I’m naked and it’s morning. Priorities.”
But Rafe sees the caller ID. Lori Chen. His blood jumps.
JJ notices instantly. “Take it,” he says, already sitting up, pushing his hair back and reaching for pants.
Rafe answers. “Hey, Lori.”
She sounds confused and caffeinated. “Rafe? I thought I should give you a heads-up. I just got a voicemail from the property owner.”
Rafe’s heart kicks upward. “Yeah?”
“He says,” Lori pauses, still bewildered, “he’s reconsidered. He wants to discuss lease terms today. Says he thinks your program might be a ‘needed service for the community.’ His words.”
Rafe closes his eyes. Holy shit.
“He also said,” Lori continues, “that his mother is… fond of your partner? I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like a very positive development.”
JJ is standing there shirtless, fastening his jeans, smug grin already blooming as he overhears the tone.
Rafe swallows. “Yeah. I think I know what it means.”
Lori sighs in relief. “Great. I’ll set the meeting. You two just show up.” Rafe thanks her and hangs up.
JJ leans on the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows lifted. “So?” JJ asks, pretending innocence so poorly it’s sinful.
Rafe stares at him.
JJ smirks. “Lemme guess. The lease is magically back on the table?” Rafe throws a pillow at him. JJ dodges, laughing.
“You ever gonna admit you’re glad I handled it?” JJ teases.
Rafe starts to answer, but JJ walks over, cups Rafe’s jaw, and kisses him slow and deep before he can speak.
When JJ pulls back, he whispers: “I like seeing you win, Rafe. I like taking obstacles outta your way. I like giving you room to build shit without the whole world crushing you.”
Rafe’s breath catches.
JJ says things like this sometimes. Not often, not lightly, things that knock the wind out of Rafe’s carefully controlled chest.
JJ steps back, grabbing his cut-off shirt. “Come on,” he says. “We got a lease to sign.”
It starts out formal: papers, zoning maps, Lori doing 90% of the talking, but the second JJ walks into the room, the property owner goes stiff with recognition.
“You,” he says. JJ smiles like a goddamn sunrise. “Mornin’, sir.”
The man's mother pokes her head into the doorway like she was waiting for the exact moment to interrupt.
“Oh good, you are here,” she exclaims to JJ. “I made cookies.” JJ lights up. “Ma’am, you’re gonna spoil me.”
Rafe almost groans aloud. JJ is not flirting. He’s not manipulating. He’s just…JJ. And JJ is lethal.
Lori looks between them, whispering, “What on earth happened yesterday?”
Rafe mutters, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The meeting lasts thirty minutes. The lease is approved. Just like that.
When they step outside into the parking lot, JJ whoops, picking Rafe up around the waist and spinning him once.
Rafe actually laughs, bright and unguarded.
Lori watches them, baffled but endeared. “I honestly don’t know what just happened… but congratulations.”
JJ rides ahead on his bike, Rafe following on his. JJ keeps glancing back in his mirrors, checking on Rafe. Rafe sees it. Feels it.
And it warms something deep inside him. But under the warmth, under the relief, under the pride, another thing has been growing quietly all day: tension. The kind that starts behind Rafe’s ribs and spreads down his spine like a slow, dark current. It’s not anger. It’s not jealousy. It’s pressure.
Responsibility. Desire. Possessiveness. Relief so strong it curves inward and becomes something hungrier.
By the time they pull into the driveway, Rafe’s nerves are strung tight as wire.
JJ parks, hops off the bike, pulls off his helmet, hair sticking up wild. He walks toward Rafe with that same bright, triumphant smile and stops.
His eyes narrow. He tilts his head. “Oh,” JJ says softly. “It’s one of those days.”
Rafe swallows. Hard.
JJ steps closer, voice dropping. “You been holdin’ back since this morning.”
Rafe stays silent.
JJ touches Rafe’s chest with two fingers, dragging down slowly. “You wanna let off steam,” JJ murmurs. “Yeah?”
Rafe finally exhales.
JJ smirks—gentle, not mocking. “I got you,” he says. “But not here.”
Rafe blinks. “Where?”
“Okay,” JJ whispers. “But not in the house. Walls are thin, Cassie pops by whenever the spirit moves her, and we promised her no more accidental sex sightings.”
Rafe almost smiles despite himself.
JJ steps back and nods toward the yard.
“I know where.”
Behind their rental house is a small equipment shed. Half-rotted wood, a metal door, dust thick on the windows. They’ve never used it. Never even opened it. JJ pushes the door open with the heel of his boot.
Inside: Old crates. A broken lawn chair. A workbench covered in cobwebs. Perfect.
JJ flicks on the single bulb dangling from the ceiling. It swings, lighting the room in slow, uneven arcs.
He turns to Rafe. “This work?” JJ asks softly.
Rafe steps inside like gravity is dragging him. He nods once. Sharp. Hungry.
JJ closes the door behind them. The click of the latch echoes.
Rafe’s breath changes instantly. JJ sees it. The shift, the crack, the dark bloom of need finally given permission to exist.
So JJ steps backward until his hips hit the workbench.
He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, exposing the line of hip bone Rafe always obsesses over. “Come here,” JJ says.
Rafe does. Hard.
He crowds JJ back, hands braced on either side of his hips, the bulb swinging above them, the air thick with dust and tension.
JJ lifts his chin. “You gonna tell me what got you wound this tight?” Rafe’s voice comes out low and wrecked. “You fixed something for me today. I’m supposed to be the one fixing things.”
JJ’s expression softens but not in pity. In understanding. “Rafe,” he murmurs, “I didn’t take anything from you. I just helped.” Rafe shakes his head like he can’t find the words and instead he grabs JJ’s jaw and kisses him hard enough the workbench shudders.
JJ moans into it, hands already sliding under Rafe’s shirt, dragging him closer. When Rafe breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead on JJ’s.
“I need to take you apart,” he whispers. “Right now.” JJ’s pupils blow wide. “Then do it.”
Rafe sweeps the workbench with his forearm and dust lifts into the air. He absently kicks an empty crate out of the way and crowds JJ towards to bench, arms around him and mouth devouring his. He pushes himself against JJ, hard and grinding, eyes blown out and breath fast.
Does a quick colour check with JJ before dropping to his knees and taking JJ’s cock out. He kneels on the floor and takes JJ into his mouth, trying not to think about the grime and cobwebs and ugh, anything else except his magnificent lover.
God he loves this man. And his beautiful, perfect cock. He worships JJ to the edge, and then pulls off. JJ always comes quickly when Rafe’s mouth is on him and Rafe wants to stretch this out.
He lowers JJ’s pants to his ankles and then kisses up his thighs as he bends him over the workbench. He doesn’t want to spit in his hand and lube JJ like that today, so he does something he has never done before. He uses his mouth, softly, cautiously, sensually.
JJ gasps in surprise and pleasure. When Rafe tentatively dips the tip of his tongue inside, JJ has to grasp the base of his cock hard to stop from blowing. Rafe follows through with a wet finger before slipping his cock into JJ.
JJ still holding his cock trying to prevent the inevitable while Rafe fucks him deep and slow, the bench rocking with each thrust. Their moans and grunts echo off the walls of the small shed and when Rafe balls slap JJ’s from behind during a particularly deep and hard thrust it is all over for JJ. He makes noises Rafe hasn’t heard before. Rafe fucks him through it but comes shortly after with his arms around JJ.
JJ turns around, cups Rafe’s jaw, and whispers: “See? You don’t break when you need something. You just come find me.” Rafe nearly collapses .JJ kisses him again slow, grounding.
“Next time,” JJ murmurs, “just say you’re at pressure capacity. I’ll handle the rest.” Rafe breathes out a trembling laugh.
“I don’t deserve you.”
JJ taps his lips against Rafe’s. “Tough luck. You’re stuck with me.”
Chapter Text
JJ left Cassie’s place stoned, warm, and smiling like an idiot at nothing. The night was cool, a little damp, streetlights soft and hazy around the edges.
He texted Rafe: Walking home. Love you. Don’t wait up.
Rafe texted back immediately: Always wait for you.
JJ laughed and slipped the phone into his back pocket. He walked. He hummed. He thought about Rafe making tea for him when he got home.
He didn’t hear the truck at first. Just the growing rush of wind, the wrong kind of acceleration behind him.
JJ turned.
Headlights. Too fast. Too close.
His breath caught in his throat.
“Oh.Shit. Rafe!” The impact took the rest.
A sickening thud, the world spinning, gravel tearing through denim, bone hitting asphalt. The breath punched out of him. His vision stuttered.
He tried to push himself up but his arm wouldn’t listen. Blood dripped into his eye.
His chest seized. “Help!”
“No..wait..”
The truck didn’t stop. It roared away into the dark, taillights smearing red across JJ’s blurring vision.
“Rafe,” he whispered, barely sound at all. And then his head hit the ground again.
Blackness swallowed everything.
Rafe knew something was wrong the moment JJ didn’t answer his last text. JJ always answered. Always.
Then the phone location stopped moving. Then it flickered. Then it went still.
It wasn’t a normal still. It wasn’t “JJ sat down” still. It was “JJ dropped” still.
Rafe’s pulse exploded.
The blinking dot was ninety seconds from their house. On a back road. Near nothing.
“Don’t. Don’t..Don’t..” Rafe whispered as the map loaded, breath shaking so violently he couldn’t feel his hands.
He grabbed his keys, his helmet, didn’t lock the house, didn’t even breathe right. The bike roared to life with a scream.
He hit 120 km on residential streets and didn’t remember doing it.
When he turned onto the gravel shoulder, he saw a shape in the ditch.
He saw blonde hair. A torn shirt. One sneaker lying meters away.
“JJ!”
He dropped the bike, engine still running, knees hitting the road so hard they bruised instantly as he skidded to JJ’s side.
JJ was on his side, breathing in ragged, irregular pulls. Blood streaked his forehead. His arm was twisted at an angle that made Rafe’s vision blur.
JJ groaned. “Rafe?” It wasn’t really a word. It was pain trying to speak him back into existence.
Rafe’s soul broke open.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, baby, look at me! Look at me!”
JJ blinked once. Then didn’t blink again. Unconscious.
Rafe’s cry wasn’t a sound humans were meant to make.
Rafe called emergency services. He couldn’t remember the words he used. He remembered the shaking. He remembered the taste of metal in his mouth. He remembered begging them to hurry.
When the ambulance arrived, two paramedics ran toward them. Then a fire truck arrived. Rafe didn’t move. He was crouched over JJ like a barricade.
“Sir, we need space-”
“No.” Rafe’s eyes were wild, unfocused, black in a way that made both paramedics freeze. “You touch him wrong and I’ll kill you.”
That was the moment they made the decision.
“Sir,” the older medic said gently, hands raised, “we’re not letting you ride with him. You’re in shock and you’re a danger in the vehicle.”
Rafe lunged, voice cracking like a gunshot. “He needs me! He needs me!”
Two firefighters grabbed him by the arms and held him back as JJ was lifted onto a stretcher, neck stabilized, mask pressed to his face.
“Let me go- LET ME-”
JJ disappeared into the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed. The siren wailed.
Rafe collapsed to his knees on the gravel, hands clawing the earth like he could tear gravity apart and drag the vehicle back.
He wasn’t even breathing.
He sucked one shuddering breath in and made the only call that could stop him from murdering someone tonight.
Cassie. She answered on the first ring. “Rafe?”
“He’s hurt.” His voice was shaking, shredded, feral. “He’s.. he’s bleeding- someone hit him. He’s unconscious. They won’t let me-Cassie, they won’t-”
“Where are you?” Her tone flipped instantly—sharp, decisive, grounding. “Tell me right now.”
Rafe gave her the location. She swore once. Hard.
“I’m going to the hospital. I will intercept the staff. You get there without getting arrested or dying, do you understand me?”
Rafe didn’t answer. “Rafe. Do. You. Understand.”
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.
He got back on his bike. He didn’t remember the next ten minutes.
Only the anger. Only the promise.
Only the image of JJ lying there, breathing like it hurt him to stay alive.
Cassie was already outside when Rafe arrived. She ran to him and grabbed his jacket before he went storming through sliding doors like a loaded weapon.
“Stop,” she snapped.
Rafe shook, whole-body tremors, grief and fury vibrating in him like static. “I need him.”
“You’ll get him,” she said, gripping his face in both hands, forcing his eyes to hers, “but if you go in like that, Rafe, they will restrain you or throw you out. Is that what JJ needs?”
His breath broke. His shoulders sagged. His knees almost buckled.
Cassie caught him. Dragged him against her chest. Held him harder than she’d ever held anyone.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Now let them save him.”
Rafe swallowed a sob and nodded. She led him inside.
And Rafe Cameron began planning the hunt.
Because someone hit JJ. Someone ran. Someone left him in the road like trash.
And that someone wasn’t going to make it out of this.
JJ surfaced slowly.
Pain came first. A throb behind his left eye, sharp and hot. Then a burn in his ribs when he tried to breathe deeper.
Then the sterile hospital smell, the one that lived somewhere between bleach and fear.
His eyes cracked open. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. Soft beeping. He blinked again. His mouth felt full of sand.
“…Rafe?” It came out cracked and small and terrified.
A nurse leaned over him. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re awake. Don’t try to move yet. You’ve got a concussion and some bruised ribs.”
JJ swallowed, throat tight. But his eyes darted everywhere.
“Where—where is he?” His voice shook. “Where’s Rafe?”
The nurse’s expression flickered—just enough for JJ to understand:
He’s here. But he’s not okay.
Rafe had been pacing the hallway for two hours.
Pacing wasn’t even the right word.
He was grinding trenches into the floor, jaw clenched so tight it clicked, hands flexing and unflexing like there was no version of events where they didn’t end up around someone’s throat.
Cassie sat in the vinyl chair beside him, elbows on knees, THC pen tucked into her palm like a prayer.
She’d been doing damage control with the staff all night: telling them Rafe wasn’t violent, just traumatised.
Assuring them she’d stay as his handler. Reminding them that restraining him would only escalate things
Rafe didn’t speak. Didn’t sit. Didn’t blink long enough for his eyes to rest. He only stared at JJ’s closed door.
Every few minutes, he whispered, “Please be okay,” under his breath like a mantra.
Cassie watched him with soft pity. “You’re scaring the nurses,” she murmured.
Rafe didn’t look at her. “They can be scared. I don’t care.”
“You should,” she said gently. “JJ would want you to.”
That hit him. A crack across his ribs.
“I can’t-” His breath hitched.
Cassie stood and placed a hand on his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“You love him,” she said quietly. “Of course you’re losing your mind.”
Rafe swallowed, jaw trembling. “He called my name.” His voice shredded. “I wasn’t there.”
Cassie’s expression softened even further. “You came as fast as you could.”
“Not fast enough,” Rafe rasped. “Not enough. I should’ve- I should’ve-”
“Rafe.” Cassie squeezed his arm. “Stop.”
But Rafe didn’t. His breathing sped. His hands shook violently. Every muscle in his body twitched with the urge to run, to attack, to find the driver, to end someone.
Cassie saw it in real time-the spiral. The break. “Look at me,” she ordered. He didn’t.
“Rafe. Look at me.”
He snapped his head toward her like he’d been yanked by an invisible leash. Her voice dropped.
“He’s awake.”
Rafe froze.
Everything inside him stopped. His breath. His thoughts. His rage.
Just one word remained.
JJ.
J woke up like he was swimming upward through tar. For a few terrifying seconds, he didn’t know where he was.
Then the pain hit. Not sharp at first- dull, deep, everywhere. Like someone had carved him open and rearranged his bones.
He tried to move. He screamed. Or he tried to. It came out as a broken, breathless gasp.
His right side. His right side wasn’t working. His arm strapped and immobilized. His leg elevated, casted. His ribs ache turned knife-edge every time he breathed.
His face felt swollen, stiff. The world rang in his left ear like someone had shoved a bell inside it. He blinked. Hard. The room came into focus in pieces.
White ceiling. Machines. Beeping. He smelled antiseptic and plastic and his own blood.
Then he noticed something warm and plastic under his fingers. A button.
"Morphine," he whispered to no one, half-laughing, half-crying, and pressed it. Warmth slid through his veins. His breathing eased. His body didn’t.
He turned his head a little—just enough for agony to flare bright behind his eye.
“R…Rafe?” His voice was nearly gone. The door didn’t open. It burst open. Rafe came in like the end of the world.
Hair wild. Jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. Eyes raw and bloodshot. Hands shaking.
He saw JJ. His face collapsed. “Oh my God-” He grabbed the side of the bed, knuckles whitening.
“Oh my- JJ!!”
JJ tried to smile but half his face twitched wrong. “Hey, babe.”
Rafe didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
He just stared at the swollen cheek, the purpled eye, the huge wrap of bandages around JJ’s ribs, the monstrous brace keeping his leg straight, the cast up to his shoulder, the crusted blood in his hair.
“Sit,” JJ breathed, eyelids fluttering. “Look like you’re gonna fall.”
Rafe didn’t sit. He folded.
Collapsed into the chair like his body stopped belonging to him, elbows on his knees, hands covering his mouth, shaking with silent sobs he refused to let out.
JJ blinked heavily. His good hand lifted an inch off the blankets. “Come here.”
Rafe jerked like the words physically hit him.
He scooted closer, still shaking, his hands hovering over JJ’s body because he was terrified. Terrified to touch him wrong.
JJ nudged his fingers toward Rafe’s. “Baby,” JJ slurred gently, high as the moon, “you won’t break me more. They already did that part.”
Rafe choked on a sound that wasn’t meant to escape him.
JJ pressed the morphine button again. “There we go,” he sighed, eyes half-lidded. “Now I can talk without passin’ out.”
Rafe finally touched him, fingertips on JJ’s wrist, feather-light.
He looked at the machines like they were written in another language. He looked at JJ’s cast like it was a last sentence. He looked at the bruising on JJ’s jaw like it was a personal failure.
He whispered, “You almost-” His voice cracked.
“You almost died.”
JJ’s eyes softened, unfocused but warm. “M’nah. Just banged up.”
“You can’t move,” Rafe rasped. “You can’t even breathe without pain.”
JJ shrugged, which hurt, which made him inhale sharply, which hurt more.
Rafe’s hand flew toward the nurse button. JJ caught his wrist with his good hand. “Don’t. Rafe. I’m okay. I promise. Just gotta ride the drugs.”
Rafe’s breath shook violently. “Who did this to you?”
JJ blinked slowly. His gaze went glassy.
“Oh. Yeah. I… I saw the truck.”
Rafe’s entire body went still. “What truck.”
JJ swallowed, trying to lick his cracked lips. “Old red pickup. Loud engine. Confederate sticker on the bumper. Asshole flag, y’know?”
Rafe stood up so fast the chair fell backward and hit the wall. His breath left him in a cold rush.
The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to flicker.
Cassie, who had been standing quietly in the doorway to give them space, took one look at Rafe’s face and whispered:
“No. No, Rafe. You cannot-”
But it was too late.
Something old and violent and disciplined woke up behind his ribs. Something he thought he buried years ago. Something that only ever resurrected for JJ.
JJ giggled slightly, morphine-soft. “He hit me. With that truck. I remember now. Right before I… went down.”
Rafe’s jaw clenched. His pupils shrank to pinpoints.
“Good,” he whispered.
Cassie stepped forward sharply. “Rafe. Stop. Don’t say another word-”
JJ blinked at him, confused. “Good?”
Rafe leaned over him, trembling. Not with fear. With purpose.
“I’m going to find him.”
JJ’s brow furrowed. “Babe… I need you here. Please.”
Rafe’s hand cupped JJ’s cheek. Careful, reverent.
“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered. “I’m avenging you.”
Cassie grabbed Rafe’s arm. “Absolutely not-Rafe, you cannot go vigilante, you will get arrested, JJ needs you, I need you to stay grounded-”
JJ mouthed “babe” again, barely conscious.
And Rafe did the worst thing: He softened. Kissed JJ’s forehead. Whispered, “I love you.” Straightened. And his face went blank.
Cassie’s heart stopped. She knew that look.
That was the look of a man who had already committed murder in his mind.
“Rafe,” she said, stepping in front of him, “you walk out that door and the next time we see you might be in a holding cell.”
Rafe’s voice was calm. Too calm.
JJ’s hand reached out weakly. “Don’t… go…”
Rafe swallowed hard, the only sign of hesitation.
But then his eyes drifted to JJ’s cast. His bruised face. The IV line in his arm. The machine tracking every breath.
And the hesitation burned away.
He kissed JJ’s hand. “I’ll be back,” he murmured. “Whole again.”
Then, without looking at anyone, he walked out of the room.
Cassie swore, loud. She grabbed her vape and sprinted after him.
But the elevator doors closed before she reached them.
Rafe was gone.
And somewhere in town, a man with a red pickup and a Confederate bumper sticker had no idea that his life had just ended.
Rafe didn’t remember the walk out of the hospital.
One second he was holding JJ’s broken hand. The next he was outside under the streetlamps, breath ghosting out in white clouds, the world too quiet for the noise in his skull.
JJ’s injuries replayed behind his eyes like a strobe: the cast, the swollen cheek, the stitched forehead, the way his ribs spasmed when he breathed, the morphine button clutched in his good hand.
Every blink sharpened it. Every breath fed it.
Rafe got on his bike and the engine snarled to life with a sound that felt like his own heartbeat. Violent, wrong, pulsing.
He didn’t go home. He didn’t think. He followed instinct.
Because JJ had given him everything he needed: a colour. A truck type. A bumper sticker. A direction.
A hunt.
Rafe rode back to the site of the hit-and-run.
The road was empty now. No emergency lights. No JJ lying in the gravel like something precious thrown away.
Rafe stopped the bike in the exact spot where JJ’s phone tracker had gone still.
He crouched. He touched the broken gravel with his fingertips like a priest touching relics.
Blood. Small dots of it. Already drying.
Rafe’s breath left him in a single shudder.
Then he saw them: Tyre tracks. Deep. Messy. Swerving from the shoulder back into the lane.
Rafe traced the tread with his thumb.
Old tires. Uneven wear. Cheap brand. Probably replaced one at a time instead of as a set.
People who drove trucks like that had patterns. Rafe knew those patterns.
He stood. Helmet back on. Eyes dead calm.
“Found you,” he whispered.
There was only one bar in town trashy enough to allow a truck with a Confederate sticker to sit out front without comment.
Rafe pulled into the gravel lot. Five trucks. Three sedans. One rusted-out Jeep.
He walked toward the first truck—a red Ford with mismatched doors and a cracked mirror. No sticker. Next.
A Chevy. Red. Rust creeping under the wheel wells. Tires bald. And stuck on the bumper. A peeling Confederate flag decal.
Rafe’s heart didn’t spike. It didn’t have to. Stillness settled over him like a sheet of ice.
He circled the truck slowly, memorizing every dent, every scratch, every flaw.
He photographed the license plate.
The bar sat at the edge of town like an old bruise — a place too stubborn to vanish, too faded to matter.
Rafe walked in and the room changed temperature. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t recognition. It was instinct—the way prey goes still when a predator enters the clearing.
The bartender nodded at him. A pair of college kids glanced up from their pool game.
But Rafe didn’t look at them. He saw him immediately.
Middle-aged. Drunk. Redneck uniform: camo hat, stained hoodie, boots gone soft with age.
A man so out of place in this alternative arts-and-growers community that he practically glowed with wrongness. And on his jacket pocket- a peeling patch of the Confederate flag.
Everything inside Rafe went still. That’s him.
He didn’t need JJ’s description. He didn’t need logic. He didn’t need anything.
Predators don’t need reasons. They just recognize the kill.
Rafe didn’t sit. Didn’t order. Didn’t speak.
He looked at the man once, just once, then turned around and walked right back out the door.
He positioned himself in the dark across the gravel lot, leaning against a tree, helmet dangling from his fingers, breath a silent fog in the cold air.
He waited. He didn’t check the time. Predators don’t check clocks.
The bar lights flickered. The final stragglers stumbled out in twos and threes.
But Rafe didn’t move.
He waited until the door creaked open again and the man staggered into the lot, keys jingling, muttering to himself, breath sour with beer. He headed straight for his truck.
Rafe stepped out of the shadows and closed the distance silently. The man lifted his keys.
Rafe grabbed him by the back of the neck, slammed him against the driver-side door, and muffled his scream with a hand over his mouth.
Only then did the man register what was happening. “Wh-who the hell-?!”
He reached into the man’s back pocket, slid out his wallet, and plucked the license free with surgical calm.
He held it up to the dim neon glow, reading the address, the name, the photo. Photographed it. Good.
Rafe didn’t answer. He shoved him forward, one arm locked around the man’s throat, dragging him stumbling out of the parking lot and toward the tree line.
The gravel cut into the man’s boots. Branches slapped his face as they crossed into the woods. The dark swallowed them both.
“Stop! Hey-HEY! What do you want?!”
Rafe didn’t speak. Words were beneath this moment.
He dragged the man deeper until the bar’s neon glow disappeared entirely, replaced by the thick scent of earth and wet bark.
Only then did he release him, just enough for the man to stumble back and suck in air.
“What-what the hell is your problem, man?! I don’t even know you-”
Rafe hit him across the jaw. Not with fury. With precision.
The man dropped to his knees. “Please-please, I don’t-I’m sorry, whatever-”
Rafe crouched slowly, face blank, steady, terrifying.
“You hit him,” Rafe said quietly. JJ’s blood was still on his hands, even though it wasn’t.
The man blinked, confused, scared. “Wh-who?”
Rafe grabbed the man’s left hand, wrist twisting so the man cried out.
“My partner,” Rafe said, voice soft as snow. “The one you left in the road.”
The man’s breath rattled. “Oh God. Look, I didn’t- I didn’t mean-it was dark, he came out of nowhere-”
Rafe squeezed tighter. “So you remember.”
“I-! I-!”
Rafe smiled without warmth. “Good.” He took the man’s index finger in both hands.
The man’s face went pale. “No. No, no, no-please -please, I’ll pay you-”
Rafe bent the finger back slowly, carefully, like he was testing the hinge on a delicate tool.
The man screamed. Rafe kept going. The joint popped with a wet, sharp sound that echoed off the trees.
The scream cut through the night.
Rafe didn’t flinch. He dropped the ruined finger and reached for the next.
“No-NO! PLEASE-”
“You left him,” Rafe whispered, bending the second finger backward, slower this time. “You left him to die.”
Another cry split the woods. Another joint gave way.
Rafe’s breath never changed. He moved to the third.
The man kicked uselessly, sobbing, snot and blood mixing down his chin.
“STOP! OH GOD-STOP!!I’M SORRY-I’M SORRY-”
Rafe paused, head tilting. “Are you?” he asked.
The man nodded frantically, tears streaming.
Rafe nodded back. Then he took the man’s pinky.
The man’s scream hit a pitch that made birds scatter from branches.
Rafe hit him once again. A clean, hard strike to the ribs that knocked the air out of him. Not messy. Not wild.
Measured.
The man twisted on his knees with a choked sound.
“Get up,” Rafe said.
The man tried. Failed. Tried again.
Rafe waited.
When he finally staggered upright, Rafe drove a kick into his thigh-precise, punishing, enough to fold him again.
“No-please-stop-!”
Rafe didn’t. A second kick to the stomach sent the man sprawling. A third to the shoulder stopped him from crawling away.
This wasn’t rage. This was math. A ledger Rafe was balancing.
When it was done, Rafe stood. Looked down at the man.
The man curled into himself, holding his mangled hand, breath coming in wet, shuddering gasps.
Rafe crouched one last time.
“You’re going to the police tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“You’re going to confess you hit someone. You’re going to surrender your license. You’re going to apologize. You’re going to tell them you panicked and ran. And you’re going to mean it.”
The man whimpered.
Rafe leaned in.
“
The man sobbed, nodding quickly, desperately.
“And if you don’t?” Rafe whispered, leaning in.
The man shook his head, terrified.
“I-I will-I swear-”
Rafe’s voice dropped to a calm, terrifying murmur.
“I know where you live now.”
The man froze.
Rafe stood, dusting off his palms, expression blank again.
“You won’t see me coming next time.”
He left the man curled in the dirt like a broken tool someone had thrown away.
He walked out of the forest as quietly as he came, stepped onto his bike, and rode toward the hospital.
Somewhere behind him, the man choked on a sob of pure fear.
Rafe didn’t hear it.
He was already back inside his purpose.
Protect JJ.
Punish the threat.
Repeat
Chapter Text
The wind on the ride back to the hospital barely registered to Rafe.
His helmet visor blurred with the ghost of trees and streetlights, but none of it mattered. He rode like the machine was an extension of his heart—overworked, overheated, screaming silently into the night.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket: Cassie.
He didn’t pick up.
The only thing in his head was the sound JJ made when he first woke in the ER-that small, broken, confused whisper of “Rafe?”
the morphine button clicking under his thumb, the tremor in his hand when Rafe touched him.
Rafe rode faster. He didn’t feel the cold. Didn’t feel the ache in his knuckles from the violence he’d just done. Didn’t feel the guilt, either.
Just JJ’s face. And the red truck. And the sound of fingers snapping like twigs.
The hospital rose into view like a sterile, glowing fortress. Rafe parked crooked, didn’t lock the bike, didn’t take his helmet off until he was halfway through the automatic doors.
The hospital doors parted with a soft electric sigh as Rafe stepped inside again, helmet under one arm, the smell of pine and wet leaves still clinging to him. His knuckles throbbed with each heartbeat, skin split in places that he’d rinsed off in a gas station sink on the ride back.
He didn’t stop at reception.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe right.
Cassie materialized out of a shadowed corner of the waiting room and planted both hands on his chest.
“You’re not walking in there like that.”
Rafe blinked once. “Like what?”
“You look like you just auditioned for a cartel film and didn’t need makeup.” She grabbed his jaw, turning his face to the side. “You’re grey. You’re vibrating. Your pupils are dilated. I don’t even wanna know why your jacket smells like sap and rage.”
He tried to step past her. She shoved a vape pen against his sternum. “Hit it.”
“No.”
Cassie’s voice dropped. “Rafe, if you walk into that room in this state, some nurse is gonna call security. They might call the cops. And JJ needs you here, not escorted out.”
Rafe swallowed. “He was bleeding.”
“I know.”
“They left him alone on the road.”
“I know.”
“He was scared.”
Cassie inhaled once, sharply—because that detail hadn’t been in the medical summary.
Slowly, steadily, she lifted the vape back to his mouth.
“Hit it,” she repeated.
Rafe finally exhaled and let his lips close around the tip. One long pull. Then another. His shoulders sank half an inch. His jaw unclenched. His fingers stopped twitching.
Cassie took the pen back and hooked it into the pocket of her hoodie.
“Good,” she murmured. “Now go see your boy.”
The corridor lights felt too bright, too clean. The beeping machines too calm for the way Rafe’s heart beat like a trapped animal inside his ribs.
He entered quietly.
JJ was out cold, sprawled across the narrow hospital bed in a half-foetal curl enforced by bandages and splints. His entire right side was immobilized—arm in a heavy cast and sling, leg suspended, ribs taped tight. Purple and green bruises crept up the left side of his face in sharp, ugly blooms; his lip split; his ear still gently wrapped from the laceration there.
But his chest rose. And fell. And rose again. Rafe stopped breathing just to match it.
Cassie hovered in the doorway for a moment, watching him, then slipped away silently.
Rafe sat down in the chair beside the bed. The cushioning was old, the plastic cracked, the frame too small for his body, but he didn’t notice a thing except JJ’s hand resting on the blanket. The good one.
He reached out, brushing the fingertips first, afraid of hurting him, then folded it into his palm.
JJ’s fingers curled instinctively, even unconscious.
Rafe’s throat tightened. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now.”
JJ stirred slightly, just a tremor of pain. His face twisted. A small, pained sound caught in his throat. The monitors kept their steady rhythm.
Rafe’s heart did not.
He looked at the morphine PCA pump. He’s allowed to press it whenever he needs it.
JJ let out a quiet, broken whimper. Rafe pressed the button for him.
The relief was subtle but immediate, JJ’s jaw slackening, the crease in his brow easing.
Rafe exhaled shakily. “Good. Sleep.” JJ moaned again minutes later, shifting in discomfort.
Rafe pressed the button again. And again.
Not too often. He watched the lockout timer like a hawk. He was careful, measured, precise.
But he didn’t let JJ hurt if he could help it.
Hours passed like that.
The overhead lights dimmed. Nurses came in and out, checking vitals, adjusting drips, replacing ice packs. Rafe barely moved except to get out of their way and return to JJ’s side.
He never let go of JJ’s hand.
At one point, a nurse put a warm blanket over Rafe’s shoulders without asking, murmuring, “You must be freezing.” She didn’t comment on his haunted eyes or the way he sat like a man ready to kill again if prompted.
2:47 AM
Cassie returned, a coffee in one hand and her vape in the other. She set the coffee beside Rafe and pulled up a second chair. She didn’t speak for a while.
JJ murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, brow tightening. Rafe pressed the morphine button. It was second nature now.
Cassie finally broke the silence. “You did what you had to do.”
Rafe didn’t respond.
She studied him. “You staying all night?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll be in the lounge if you need backup.” Rafe turned slightly. His voice was low but firm. “Cassie.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re acting head of Magical HQ until JJ’s back on his feet.”
Cassie blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
There were a dozen reasons to argue. Cassie loved chaos, was allergic to paperwork, and had the professional boundaries of a golden retriever.
But Rafe met her eyes, and something in his expression made her straighten. “I’ll keep everything running,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
Cassie squeezed his shoulder once and slipped out.
5:12 AM
JJ twitched, pain tearing through whatever sedation he was under. His breath hitched. The monitor beeped a warning.
Rafe leaned forward immediately. “Hey. Hey, I’m right here.”
JJ’s eyelids fluttered, a sliver of blue showing. He wasn’t awake, just surfacing enough to feel the pain in his bones.
Rafe pressed the morphine button again, his thumb steady. JJ settled slowly, breaths evening out.
Rafe bowed his head. “I should have walked you home,” he whispered into the dark. “I should have been there.”
His voice cracked, not in weakness, but in something far more dangerous. A vow.
“They’ll never touch you again.”
His grip tightened around JJ’s hand.
“Never.”
He sat like that until dawn bled through the blinds. Awake, vigilant, the blanket slipping off his shoulders and pooling around his elbows.
When JJ moaned, Rafe pressed the button.
When JJ shivered, Rafe adjusted the blanket.
When JJ breathed, Rafe breathed with him.
7:03 AM
A nurse brought breakfast trays. One for patients, one spare left beside Rafe “just in case.”
Cassie slid back in with a granola bar in her mouth and two coffees in hand. She tossed one to Rafe.
“Triage update,” she said, sitting. “There’s no way you’re leaving town today, so I’ll start the morning run at HQ. Walt said he can handle the clones and irrigation if I supervise the rest.”
Rafe nodded. “Good.”
“And I texted the state inspector to push the follow-up visit a week. Blamed ‘unforeseen medical issues in management.’ They were weirdly understanding.”
“Thank you,” Rafe murmured.
Cassie leaned back, stretching. “You’re a nightmare to work for, but you’re a good man.”
Rafe didn’t answer. Compliments slid off him right now. His eyes stayed on JJ.
Unmoving. Unblinking. Unwavering.
Cassie softened. “He’s alive, Rafe.”
Rafe finally inhaled a deep, shaky breath. “I know.”
“Because of you.”
“No,” Rafe said quietly. “Because he fought. I just found him.”
Cassie didn’t argue. She stood, squeezed his shoulder, and left to run JJ’s entire empire like a woman possessed.
Rafe stayed. JJ slept on.
And the world outside the hospital kept turning, unaware that it had come inches from losing one man…
…and unleashing something irreparable in another.
Morning light seeped into the hospital room in thin, watery stripes, touching JJ’s face first. Rafe had been watching those blinds for hours, barely moving except to wipe JJ’s forehead when he sweated or press the morphine button when his body twisted in pain.
He hadn’t slept. Not even blinked properly. His entire nervous system hovered on the edge of flight and kill.
At 8:16 AM, JJ stirred.
A real stir, not a drugged twitch. His lashes fluttered. His breathing changed. His fingers flexed against Rafe’s.
Rafe sat up straighter. “JJ?”
JJ’s eyes opened slowly, painfully, as though dragged upward by invisible hooks. They were glazed, unfocused, confused by light and pain and too many machines.
One second passed. Two. Then JJ’s gaze found Rafe. Everything inside Rafe collapsed and resurrected in the same breath.
“Hey,” JJ whispered, voice sandpapered. “You look like death, babe.”
Rafe let out a broken exhale that wasn’t laughter but wanted to be. “I’m fine.”
JJ blinked slowly. “Hurts.”
“I know. I’ve got you.” Rafe leaned in and took JJ’s good hand in both of his. “They said you’d be hurting for a bit. Don’t move your right side.”
JJ tried anyway. His face twisted, a stifled cry escaping. Rafe pressed the morphine button instantly, his thumb trembling. JJ relaxed by millimetres.
Finally he whispered, “Did… the nurses tell you everything?”
“They told me enough.” Rafe’s voice was too even, too sharp-edged. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just breathe.”
JJ swallowed. “Did you… find the truck? The guy?”
Rafe’s jaw ticked. Barely. “Yes.”
JJ’s eyes searched his face. “What’d you do?”
Before Rafe could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
Two officers entered. One older, one younger. Both wearing the strained expression of people stepping into a room where emotions are running uncomfortably hot.
“Morning,” the older one said softly. “JJ Maybank?”
JJ blinked, disoriented. “That’s me.”
Rafe rose from his chair so fast the officers took half-steps back on instinct. "We’re here to take a statement.”
JJ tried to sit up; the pain made him gasp. Rafe moved instantly, adjusting pillows, untangling cords, easing JJ back until he wasn’t grimacing.
The officers waited.
Finally JJ rasped, “What d’you wanna know?”
The older officer stepped forward gently. “We’ve arrested the driver. He came in early this morning. Said he’d been drinking. Said he panicked after he hit you. He’s cooperating fully.”
Rafe’s hand on JJ’s blanket clenched.
JJ stared at the officers through the lingering fog of medication. “Did he say why he ran?”
“He claims he was afraid of being jailed for intoxicated driving,” the officer said. “He also admitted he recognized you… said he’d seen you at the marijuana farm sometimes, didn’t want trouble.”
That was a lie. Rafe knew it. JJ knew it, too. The man hadn’t said anything; he’d been semi-conscious for half of Rafe’s work and screaming for the other half.
But the officer continued. “We just need your confirmation of the vehicle. Was it a red pickup? Rust on the passenger door? Confederate sticker?”
JJ inhaled sharply, pain radiating through his ribs. Rafe moved closer instinctively, hand hovering near the morphine button.
JJ nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Good. Thank you. We won’t keep you. I know you’re in a lot of pain.”
They turned to leave. But the younger officer hesitated.
His eyes flicked from JJ… to Rafe… and something clicked in his expression. Recognition? Fear? Understanding?
“You… uh… have a lot of people in town pulling for you,” he said awkwardly. “Never seen so many folks call in about one person.”
JJ blinked. “About me?”
“Yeah. Just wanting to make sure we didn’t sweep anything under the rug. This community… they watch out for their own.”
He left quickly, embarrassed. The door closed.
Rafe lowered himself back into the chair with silent precision, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like he was trying to contain a storm. JJ stared at him.
Rafe didn’t look away from JJ.
JJ swallowed. “Rafe.”
Rafe’s eyes lifted sharp, alert, too bright. Animal-bright.
“Look at me,” JJ whispered. Rafe did.
JJ held his gaze, even through pain and drugs and exhaustion. “What did you do to him?”
Rafe didn’t speak. JJ pressed. “Rafe… I need to know.”
Rafe inhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. “He confessed.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Rafe’s hands curled into fists again, tremors running up the tendons. His knuckles were still swollen, the skin still split.
JJ noticed. Of course he did. He dragged his good hand from under the blanket and held it out. “Come here.”
Rafe hesitated then placed his hand into JJ’s palm. JJ’s thumb brushed the raw skin over Rafe’s knuckles. “You didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
“But you hurt him.”
Silence.
JJ’s throat bobbed.
Rafe finally said, “He left you in the road.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened with something dangerous and unrepentant. “I did what needed to be done.”
JJ closed his eyes briefly, pained, not physically, but emotionally. “Rafe…”
“Don’t,” Rafe said softly. “Don’t ask me to feel bad about protecting you.”
“I’m not,” JJ whispered. “I’m asking how far you went.”
Rafe flinched, the smallest, sharpest movement, like he’d been cut.
JJ squeezed his hand. “I’m not scared of you. But I need the truth.”
Rafe’s voice was barely audible. “He won’t be using his hands for a while.”
JJ’s breath caught.
Rafe continued, quieter: “He knows I can find him again if he lies to the police. He knows I can find him anywhere.”
A shiver ran down JJ’s spine. Not fear. Something darker. Something older. Familiar.
“Rafe,” he murmured, voice cracking, “come here.”
“I might hurt you-”
“You won’t.”
Rafe leaned forward. Very carefully, JJ cupped Rafe’s jaw with his good hand guiding him down until their foreheads touched.
JJ whispered, “You don’t get to break yourself over this. I’m alive. And he didn’t die. So don’t you dare spin out on me.”
Rafe shuddered. “I can’t lose you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
JJ’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. “Look at me.”
Rafe lifted his eyes.
“You did what you did because you love me,” JJ said softly. “And I’m not condemning you for that.”
Rafe let out a breath that stung, like air through a cut.
JJ added, voice failing on the edges, “I’ll heal. You don’t need to punish yourself now.”
Rafe looked at him as though he’d been handed absolution he didn’t believe he deserved.
Later, when JJ slept again and Cassie returned with updates from the grow operation, she also brought something else:
A list. Small. Handwritten. Addresses and names. Rafe frowned. “What’s this?”
Cassie shrugged. “People stopping by Magical HQ today. Leaving food. Flowers. Handmade cards. Mostly old ladies. Some bikers. One cop. They wanted JJ to know they’re behind him.”
Rafe read the list slowly. “Why give me this?”
“Because,” Cassie said simply, “they all asked if you were okay too.”
Rafe blinked.
“Word travels fast here,” she continued. “And people notice loyalty. They notice who protects their own.”
Rafe folded the list carefully and slid it into his jacket pocket.
For the first time since the accident, some tiny fraction of tension left his shoulders.
JJ was alive. The town stood with them. The driver was broken but breathing.
And Rafe… Rafe wasn’t alone.
The first proper day of being awake hurt more than the accident.
That was JJ’s conclusion by mid-afternoon.
The shock was gone. The morphine stream was lower. His brain was clearer, which had the unfortunate side effect of letting him notice exactly how much of his body had turned into one long, throbbing complaint.
His right side felt like a demolition site. His head rang when he moved too fast. His ear buzzed. His ribs lit up if he breathed too deep. His leg barked at him every time a nurse shifted the brace so they could check circulation.
The only thing that felt solid was Rafe’s hand around his.
Rafe had not left the room since the police visit. Cassie brought him coffee, food, a clean hoodie. At one point she shoved a toothbrush and a travel sized tube of toothpaste into his palm and pointed at the bathroom. He obeyed without comment, then came straight back and took his place by the bed again, as if the room had its own gravity and the bed was the centre.
By midday JJ managed to stay awake more than ten minutes at a time. He watched Rafe.
The man was calmer than last night but it was a strained calm, like a rope pulled tight. His hair was a mess. His eyes were ringed with tired shadows. The bruises forming over his knuckles were more obvious now. JJ kept glancing at them and then looking away, not because they scared him, but because they made something inside him ache in a way morphine did not touch.
A nurse had just finished checking his blood pressure when JJ caught Rafe staring at the monitor with flat focus.
"Stop doing that," JJ muttered.
Rafe looked at him. "Doing what."
"Trying to will the numbers better with your mind."
Rafe did not smile, but some of the tension in his jaw eased. "You are lecturing me from a medical bed."
"Yeah." JJ shifted slightly and winced. "I am full of authority now. Should get a clipboard."
Rafe sat back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Doctor Maybank. What is my prescription."
JJ squinted at him. "You sleep. You eat. You do not go to jail. And you do not hover so close that the nurse cannot adjust my sheets."
Rafe glanced at the door, then the nurse, then reluctantly slid his chair back four inches.
JJ watched him. "You look like a dog being told to sit."
Rafe let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.
The laugh died quickly, but JJ had heard it. That was enough.
For now.
Two officers came back briefly in the afternoon. They were polite, careful, full of phrases like "ongoing investigation" and "cooperating fully" and "thank you for your help."
Rafe stood in the corner, arms folded, saying nothing.
JJ confirmed the details again. Red truck. Stickers. The sense of speed. The way his body had thrown sideways. The sound of gravel scraping his skin and the way he had thought Rafe's name right as the world went out.
He left out everything else. They did not ask about Rafe.
JJ saw the younger officer look at Rafe's knuckles and the set of his shoulders and decide, consciously, not to ask any questions he did not want the answers to.
When they left, the room felt heavier.
JJ let his head fall back. "I hate cops," he muttered. "No offense to that one guy, but I hate cops."
Rafe moved closer again, reaching for his hand without thinking. "They did their job today."
"Yeah, because someone scared the shit out of him," JJ said pointedly.
Rafe looked away. "We do not have to talk about that."
JJ squeezed his fingers. "Yeah, we do. Just not right this second."
He could see how tight Rafe was wound. JJ had learned over time that pushing too hard when Rafe was on the edge did not make him honest, it made him silent and mean to himself.
So he shifted the topic.
"How is Magical HQ?"
Rafe blinked at the change of direction. "Cassie has taken control. I deputised her."
JJ snorted and then winced as his ribs protested. "Oh no. How many spreadsheets did you give her."
"Three," Rafe said. "To start."
JJ regarded him with mock horror. "You are going to come back to a commune. There will be bean bags."
"There already are bean bags," Rafe said. "She bought them last month and told me they were for my nervous system."
JJ grinned, despite the pain. "She is not wrong."
Rafe rolled his eyes and reached for the plastic cup on the tray. "Drink."
JJ let him tip the straw to his mouth. Water tasted like heaven against his dry tongue.
He swallowed, then squinted. "Did you tell her she is acting head."
"Yes."
"How did she take it."
Rafe hesitated. "She almost cried. Then she made a joke about staging a coup. Then she left to go work sixteen hours in your name."
"Good," JJ said. "That is my girl."
Rafe fell quiet again, watching JJ with that same intense focus.
"What," JJ said.
Rafe shook his head slightly. "Nothing."
"Liar. Rafe's mouth twisted. "You are very bad at being broken. You keep making jokes."
JJ shrugged with his left shoulder. The right one was a no go. "What else am I supposed to do. I cannot move most of me. I cannot even pee without hitting a button and asking permission. It is humiliating."
Rafe's eyes softened. "You are alive."
JJ went quiet.
"Yeah," he said. "That too."
Word got out faster than either of them expected.
First came Walt. He showed up in the doorway in his usual battered cap and grease stained shirt, holding a brown paper bag that smelled like fresh bread and something garlicky.
"I heard somebody tried to take out my favourite troublemaker," he said, voice rough.
JJ blinked at him. "Hey, old man."
Rafe stood when Walt came over to the bed. They did not hug. Walt just put a hand on JJ's ankle, the one that was not in traction.
"You look like shit," Walt said.
"I feel like it," JJ said cheerfully.
Walt set the bag on the side table. "Brought you soup. Cassie made it. And bread. That was me."
"Thank you," Rafe said quietly.
Walt regarded him for a long second. Then he nodded once. That was all.
After Walt left, two of the trimmers stopped by with a card signed by half the crew. One of the older women from town came in just to leave a small bundle of wildflowers on the sill, muttering something about "a boy that kind does not deserve to go down like that."
Rafe watched each visit like a hawk, ready to intercept anything that looked like pity or invasive curiosity. What he saw instead was a slow forming shield of concern around JJ, woven by people who had taken him in as one of their own.
It did something strange to his chest. Slowed something. Loosened something. Hurt, in a good way.
JJ seemed dazed by it.
"They like me," he said after the third visitor left, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Of course they like you," Rafe said.
"Yeah, but. Like. Enough to bring things."
"Yes."
JJ frowned at the ceiling, trying to absorb that.
"You have been important to them for a long time," Rafe added. "You didn't notice."
JJ made a thoughtful noise. "I thought they just tolerated me because I can trim fast and make the new kids laugh."
Rafe shook his head.
He did not push the point. He could see JJ was too fried to take in a lecture about his own value.
Still, from the corner, Cassie caught his eye once when she came in to check on them and mouthed, See. He is not going anywhere. We will drag him back to normal if we have to.
Rafe almost smiled.
Almost.
That night was worse.
The first night had been adrenaline and shock, and JJ mostly unconscious. The second night had fewer drugs and more awareness, which turned out to be a bad combination.
Around two in the morning JJ woke up full of pain and fog and panic all swirling together. He tried to sit up too fast. The lightning bolt through his leg made him cry out and the cage of his ribs gave him a hard, punishing answer.
He could not catch his breath.
He heard his own heart pounding in his ears and for a wild second he was back at the side of the road, gravel in his mouth, lights in his eyes, the sound of the engine fading.
He clutched for the guard rail of the bed with his left hand, fingers slipping.
"Hey. Hey. JJ, look at me."
Rafe. Close, immediate, solid.
JJ tried to swallow but his throat closed.
"I can't breathe," he gasped. "Rafe, I can't. It hurts. I can't."
"You are breathing," Rafe said gently. "It just feels wrong. Slow down."
JJ shook his head, panic rising. His eyes were too wide. Pain narrowed his world to nothing but the throb in his side and the memory of being thrown.
Rafe pressed the call button with one hand and caught JJ's hand with the other.
"Look at me," he said. "Not the ceiling. Me."
JJ dragged his gaze to him.
Rafe's eyes were calm. Intense, but calm. He had switched into the voice he used when JJ was too high or too angry at himself. Low. Firm. Careful.
"Breathe in," Rafe said. "Just a little. Enough to get air past your teeth."
JJ did. It hurt. He flinched.
"Good," Rafe said. "Now let it go. Don:t hold onto it."
JJ exhaled in a shudder.
"Again," Rafe said.
By the time the nurse came in to check vitals, JJ was still in pain but no longer drowning in it. Rafe stepped back to let her adjust medication. When she left, he slid the chair closer again.
JJ slumped back, exhausted.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then said hoarsely, "I hate this."
"I know," Rafe said.
"I hate needing help to breathe."
"I know," Rafe repeated.
"I hate that you saw me like that."
Rafe frowned. "Like what."
"Scared," JJ whispered.
Rafe squeezed his hand. "I've seen you scared before."
"Yeah, but not like that."
"It doesn't make you less," Rafe said. "It makes you human."
JJ turned his head, studying him. "What about you."
"What about me."
"You're not scared."
Rafe held his gaze. "I am terrified."
JJ blinked. "You don't look it."
Rafe smiled without humour. "That is years of practice."
JJ sighed. "I don't want you to feel like you have to go cold to handle this."
Rafe leaned in a little, elbows on his knees. "If I go soft right now I am going to cry like a child and you're going to try to sit up so you can hold me and then we'll both be in trouble."
JJ snorted, then swore as his ribs jabbed him. "You make a fair point."
"Rest," Rafe said. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"You promise."
"Yes."
JJ believed him without question. That alone made something tight in Rafe's chest ease.
The next few days settled into a rhythm that made no sense and all the sense in the world.
Morning brought nurses and doctors and discussions about surgeries and timelines and physio. JJ learned he would need pins in his leg long term and that his arm fracture was messy but fixable. He learned that he was, as one doctor put it, "inconvenienced rather than permanently damaged."
He clung to that.
Afternoons brought Cassie with updates about Magical HQ. She sat cross legged in the visitor chair, rattling off numbers and plans and gossip until JJ's eyebrows climbed high enough that Rafe physically had to make her leave so he could make JJ rest.
Evenings brought locals.
Walt again, with more soup.
Two older bikers, who nodded at Rafe and told JJ quietly that anyone who hit a man and ran did not belong on two wheels and that they "we're glad he had people who handled things."
A young mother from town that JJ vaguely recognized from the bakery, bringing banana bread and saying her cousin had been hit by a drunk driver once and she had never forgotten how alone it felt.
Rafe watched each interaction and catalogued every face.
They were not intruding. They were surrounding. Fortifying.
JJ absorbed it in bits and pieces, working past the shock that people cared that much about him.
One night, after a group of trimmers had left a milk crate of tangerines by the bed and slipped out again, JJ said softly, "I didn't know I had this many people."
Rafe looked at him. "You always did."
JJ shook his head a little. "I thought it was just me and Cassie and you. And Walt, when he is not pretending he hates everyone."
"They all look to you," Rafe said. "You hold more than you think."
JJ studied him for a long moment. "You're better at seeing what I am to other people than I ever have been."
"That's my job," Rafe said.
"What, being my PR manager."
Rafe huffed. "Something like that."
JJ's gaze dropped to his hand, still trapped in the cast and sling. "I don't like being the weak one."
"You are not weak," Rafe said sharply.
"You know what I mean."
Rafe took a breath. "You'll be back on your feet. Until then, let people lift you for once."
JJ made a face. "I hate it."
"I know."
"You don't."
Rafe paused. "No."
JJ squinted. "You like this."
"I don't like that you are hurt," Rafe said. "I like that I get to take care of you without you running off to fix someone else's problem instead."
JJ thought about that, then nodded. "Fair."
He watched Rafe for a moment longer.
"Hey," he said. "You have to promise me something."
Rafe nodded. "Tell me."
"When I am better, we are going to talk properly about what you did to that man."
Rafe's shoulders stiffened.
JJ continued, quiet but firm. "Not to punish you. To understand what it did to you. I do not want any part of you getting stuck there."
Rafe looked away. "He hurt you."
"I know," JJ said. "And I am glad you didn't kill him. But I need you alive and free and not eaten alive from the inside by it."
Rafe swallowed. "You are asking for a lot."
JJ smiled crookedly. "I'm worth it."
Something like pride flickered in Rafe's eyes.
"Yes," he said. "You are."
He reached over and brushed a thumb very gently over the uninjured side of JJ's jaw.
"Sleep," he said again.
JJ let his eyes close.
He drifted off to the sound of monitors, the weight of Rafe's hand around his, and the knowledge that somewhere beyond these white walls, a whole scrappy, strange community was holding space for him to come back.
Rafe sat there, watching his face, memorising every slow breath.
He was already thinking about ramps and chairs and how to modify the house so JJ would not have to struggle more than he had to.
He was thinking about staffing at Magical HQ and how to keep everything afloat without letting JJ feel replaced. He was thinking about the driver, and the way his face had looked in the woods, and the tiny lingering question in his own mind about what else might be out there that could hurt them.
He was thinking of all of it at once. Underneath it all was one simple truth. JJ was alive.
Which meant Rafe would burn through bureaucracy and physical therapy and sleepless nights and the memory of cracking joints as many times as it took, just to see him walking again.
He just sat, and held on, and waited for the next breath.
Chapter Text
JJ had survived the hit. The concussion. The panic attack. The bruises blooming everywhere. The constant pain that made him feel like half his body didn’t belong to him anymore.
But surgery was different. Surgery meant letting go. Surgery meant being unconscious. Surgery meant Rafe couldn’t go with him.
That alone had JJ fighting tears he didn’t have the courage or oxygen to shed.
The anaesthesiologist explained the whole procedure with a calm, practiced voice. JJ wanted to tell him to shut up. His good hand twisted the blanket so hard his knuckles went white.
Rafe sat next to him, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, trying not to show how close he was to losing it too.
JJ stared at the ceiling. “I don’t wanna do this.”
“You have to,” Rafe said.
“What if something goes wrong.”
“Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”
“You don’t know that.”
Rafe scooted closer. “You’ll wake up, you’ll complain, you’ll call the surgeon a nerd, and then you’ll mash the morphine button until the nurses threaten to hide it from you.”
JJ let out a shaky half-laugh that turned into a grimace. “I’m not gonna be able to walk.”
“For a little while,” Rafe said.
“I can’t use crutches because my arm’s broken.”
“Then you’ll have a wheelchair.”
JJ turned his head, wincing. “I’m gonna be useless.”
“No,” Rafe said. “You’re gonna be temporarily inconvenient. Big difference.”
“You stole that from the doctor.”
“I made it better,” Rafe said.
JJ blinked at him fast, trying to keep his breathing even. Rafe took his good hand. “Look at me.”
JJ did.
“You’re JJ Maybank. You survived half your childhood by bullshitting whoever needed bullshitting. And you survived this. All you gotta do right now is go take a nap and let a surgeon put some metal in your leg.”
JJ squeezed his hand back. “I don’t want you leaving.”
“I’m not leaving. They’re taking you. I’m staying.”
JJ swallowed. He looked small in the bed for a second. “This sucks.”
“I know.”
“I hate feeling weak.”
“You’re not weak.”
“I hate that you’re gonna sit out here alone while I’m under.”
Rafe shook his head. “I won’t be alone. Cassie and Walt are already on their way.”
JJ blinked. “Walt is coming?”
“Yes.”
JJ snorted, then winced. “Ow. I’m too injured for surprises.”
The nurse arrived with the surgical checklist. JJ looked at Rafe like he was about to be marched to his execution.
Rafe kissed JJ’s forehead, soft and steady. “Go. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
JJ clung to his hand until the doors pulled him away.
When they closed, Rafe froze in place, like the ground had tilted beneath him.
The minute JJ was out of sight, one of the nurses pulled up a screen to confirm consent.
“We already have his insurance information,” she said.
Rafe frowned. “He’s not on my plan.”
She turned the monitor so he could see. His own name was listed right above JJ’s.
“It says you added him almost two years ago,” she said.
Rafe stared at the date. Two years ago. The same month he bought JJ his first bike.
He’d done it automatically. Quietly. Without telling JJ. Just in case. Just to make sure that if anything ever happened, JJ would never see a medical bill as long as Rafe was alive to prevent it.
He’d forgotten. JJ never knew.
Cassie and Walt arrived to find him staring at the paper like it was some kind of confession.
Cassie snatched it from his hand. “Oh my god.”
Walt leaned in. “You put the boy on your health insurance?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Rafe muttered.
Cassie put a hand over her heart. “You absolute wife.”
Rafe blinked at her. “What?”
“Come on,” she said. “Outside. You’re vibrating.”
“I need to stay close.”
“You’ll be ten feet away,” Cassie said. “You can glare at the doors if it helps.”
Walt grunted. “Walk.”
Rafe followed them out like someone had unplugged his brain. Cassie pressed her vape pen into his hand. “Hit it.”
“No.”
“Rafe,” she warned.
He inhaled. Again. Again. Finally his shoulders sagged, just a little.
Walt shoved a sandwich into his lap. “Eat.”
“No.”
“Eat before I get Cassie to spoon feed you.”
Rafe took a bite.
Cassie sat next to him on the steps. Walt sat on the other side like a grumpy, supportive gargoyle.
“Rafe,” Cassie said gently, “you can cry now. Nobody’s looking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
Rafe pushed the heel of his palm against his eyes.
The second breath he took hitched. The third came out shaky. The fourth finally cracked enough for Cassie to wrap an arm around him and whisper, “He’s gonna be okay.”
Rafe’s voice was barely there. “I can’t lose him.”
“You won’t,” Cassie said.
Two hours felt like twenty.
Finally, the surgeon returned. “He’s doing great. The fracture was complicated but we stabilized everything. He’s in recovery now. You can see him in a few minutes.”
Rafe barely breathed.
Cassie fist pumped into her hoodie sleeve so the surgeon wouldn’t see.
Walt muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “thank Christ.”
Rafe followed them to recovery.
JJ looked awful. And alive. And high. So, basically JJ.
His hair was a mess. His face was swollen on one side. His arm was still in the cast and sling. His leg was braced again with fresh wrappings and an IV line dripping something that made JJ look blissfully stupid.
Rafe sat beside him. JJ’s eyelids fluttered. “Rafe.”
“I’m here.”
JJ blinked around the room like a confused baby deer. Then he found the morphine button and pressed it with the enthusiasm of a man who had rediscovered his religion.
“Hoooooly shit,” JJ sighed. “That’s nice.”
Cassie laughed. Walt hid a smile behind his hand.
JJ looked at Rafe like he’d just returned from war. “Did I die?”
“No.”
“Damn. Thought I’d see my mom or something.”
Rafe choked on a laugh.
JJ smirked at him, a little woozy. “You look less stabby. They drug you too?”
“No,” Rafe said.
“He ate a sandwich,” Cassie announced. “We’re very proud.”
JJ blinked slowly. “Sandwich.”
Walt nodded. “He ate half.”
JJ gave Rafe a dramatic thumbs up. “You’re doing great, babe.”
Rafe snorted. JJ reached for him with his left hand. Rafe caught it immediately.
“Hey,” JJ whispered. “Whoever invented morphine is my hero.”
“I’ll send them flowers,” Rafe said.
JJ stared at him for a long moment, sleepy and content. “I love you.”
Rafe froze for half a heartbeat. Then: “I love you too.”
Cassie made a soft gagging sound. Walt pretended he didn’t hear anything.
JJ yawned, eyelids drooping again. “Wake me up later. I have jokes.”
Rafe brushed his hair back gently. “I’ll be right here.”
JJ grinned dopily. “You better be.”
And he drifted off again, still smiling.
Rafe sat back, finally letting his lungs work the way they were supposed to.
JJ was okay. The surgery went well. He’d joke again. Complain again. Heal. Live. Come home.
Rafe took the printed insurance form out of his pocket and stared at it again. He wondered how mad JJ was going to be.
He wondered how touched he might be. He wondered if he’d ever hear the end of it.
He honestly didn’t care.
JJ was alive.
That was enough.
JJ woke up the next morning feeling like a hungover crash-test dummy.
Everything hurt. Everything was wrapped. Everything beeped.
His leg was encased. His arm was immobilized. His ribs complained with every breath.
But the morphine button still worked, which meant life was technically worth living. He pressed it with confidence.
A moment later, a nurse wheeled in a brand-new, shiny black wheelchair like it was a game show prize.
JJ blinked. “Oh my god. Did I win something?”
Rafe stood from the chair next to his bed, eyes red like he hadn’t slept. “This is your mobility device.”
“Mobility device,” JJ repeated. “Fancy.”
“It’s a wheelchair.”
“So I can do mad tricks?”
Rafe rubbed his forehead. “No.”
Cassie walked in carrying two coffees. “Yes.”
Rafe shot her a look. “Cass.”
“Let the boy have dreams,” she said.
JJ reached for her coffee like a child stealing candy. She handed it to him. Rafe tried to protest but Cassie slapped his shoulder.
“He’s fine,” she said. “He’s high.”
“Yeah,” JJ confirmed. “I’m high.”
Walt walked in next with a to-go bag. “I brought bacon.”
JJ made grabby hands. “My hero.”
Rafe crossed his arms. “He’s not allowed to eat solids yet.”
JJ froze. “Rafe. Babe. Love of my life. Don’t do this.”
Cassie gasped. “Did you just—?”
JJ nodded solemnly. “He’s about to wife me to death.”
Walt took a seat. “Can’t wait.”
The nurse locked the wheelchair next to the bed.
“Okay, JJ,” she said, cheerful in a way that made JJ immediately suspect her of unpaid emotional labour. “Let’s try sitting you up.”
JJ moved his legs and immediately regretted it. Pain crackled up his side. Rafe was there instantly. “Slow. Slow. I’ve got you.”
JJ grunted. “You’re so bossy.”
“You’re so fragile,” Rafe shot back.
Cassie whispered to Walt, “He’s nesting.”
Walt nodded like he was observing wildlife.
After a very undignified series of yelps, adjustments, and one moment where JJ thought he was definitely going to die of embarrassment, they got him seated at the edge of the bed.
The leg brace stuck out stiffly. The cast made his left arm useless. His ribs explained their existence with every breath.
Rafe supported him from behind, big hands steady at JJ’s waist. JJ whispered, “Not the sexy way I imagined you doing this.”
Rafe actually choked on air. Cassie cackled.
JJ slid into the wheelchair with a groan that could only be described as “old man noises.”
He threw his functioning arm in the air triumphantly. “Behold! I have become Wheel Boy!”
Cassie bowed. Walt applauded. The nurse pretended not to laugh.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m never letting you near ramps,” he muttered.
“You can’t stop me,” JJ said with unearned confidence.
Later, when the nurse stepped out, JJ saw the crumpled insurance form on the side table.
He pointed. “What’s that?” Rafe froze. Cassie and Walt exchanged looks like, oh god, here we go.
Rafe cleared his throat. “Nothing important.”
JJ narrowed his eyes. “Rafe Cameron. Show me the paper.” Rafe picked it up reluctantly.
JJ held out his good hand. “Give.”
“It’s not—”
“Give.”
Rafe sighed and handed it over like he was surrendering state secrets. JJ scanned it. Paused. Read it again. Looked at Rafe.
“You put me on your health plan.”
Rafe shrugged without looking up. “Not a big deal.”
JJ stared. “Two years ago?” Rafe said nothing.
Cassie whispered to Walt, “Here it comes.”
JJ blinked fast, overwhelmed. “Two years ago you… you just… quietly made sure I’d never go bankrupt if I wiped out on a bike you bought me?”
Rafe swallowed. “Yeah.”
JJ’s voice cracked in a way he hated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to feel weird,” Rafe muttered. “Or think it meant something you weren’t ready for.”
JJ’s throat tightened. “Rafe, I was living in that shitty rental with the broken heater. I couldn’t afford a dentist. And you—”
Rafe cut in. “I just didn’t want you scared.” JJ’s eyes shone. He was too high to hide anything.
“Hey,” Rafe said immediately, kneeling beside the wheelchair. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” JJ said, crying. Cassie covered her mouth. Walt shook his head like this was honestly too much tenderness for a Wednesday.
JJ sniffed. “You absolute—husband.”
Rafe froze. JJ froze. Cassie gasped so dramatically she almost fell over.
Walt murmured, “Well, shit.”
JJ corrected quickly, “I mean—like. Vibes. Husband vibes. Not, like—legally.”
Rafe, very softly: “Okay.”
JJ wiped his face clumsily. “You’re so annoying.”
Rafe leaned in and kissed his hairline. “Love you too.”
Cassie clapped twice. “Alright, break it up, we’re doing operations now.”
JJ sniffed. “What operations?”
“Feeding Rafe,” Cassie said.
“He ate half a sandwich,” Walt added. “Man’s basically starving.”
JJ pointed at Rafe. “Eat. Now.”
Rafe looked betrayed. JJ looked determined. Cassie looked smug.
Walt pulled out a container. “Chicken and rice.”
JJ gasped. “My favourite.”
“You’re not allowed solids,” Rafe reminded him.
JJ glared. “You ate half a sandwich, hypocrite.”
Cassie pointed at Rafe. “Sit.”
Rafe sat.
Walt handed him a fork.
JJ whispered loudly to Cassie, “We’ve broken him.”
Later that afternoon, JJ started to drift again. The mix of pain, drugs, exhaustion, and emotional overwhelm had worn him down.
Rafe noticed every twitch, every flinch, every soft whine of discomfort, and hit JJ’s morphine button instantly.
JJ blinked awake. “Did you just—dose me?”
“You whimpered,” Rafe said.
“I whimper when I’m hungry too.”
“That’s different.”
JJ pointed weakly. “Morphine fairy.” Cassie snorted a laugh.
Walt said, “He’s gonna milk this for months.”
JJ nodded. “Oh yeah. I’m getting so many snacks.”
He drifted off again, head tipped to the side, Rafe adjusting the blankets so nothing pulled or tugged.
Cassie watched him. “You’re not leaving this hospital at all, are you.”
“No,” Rafe said.
“You know Walt and I can run Magical HQ.”
“I said no.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then deputize me.”
“You’re already deputized.”
“Double deputize me.”
Rafe sighed. “You’re impossible.”
Cassie smirked. “I know.”
JJ slept. Rafe kept vigil. Cassie and Walt held the outside world at bay.
The chaos settled into something soft and survivable.
Slowly, painfully, with ridiculous humour and over-the-top caretaking…
…JJ was going to be okay.
And Rafe? Rafe was already spiraling toward whatever dark, furious justice came next.
But for tonight?
He held JJ’s good hand gently, breathed with him, and stayed awake to make sure the man he loved kept breathing too.
While JJ drifted for a bit, Cassie and Walt stepped out to grab tea. Rafe sat there in the dim room, phone in hand, the night finally catching up to him. He scrolled aimlessly… until he saw the headline.
HIT-AND-RUN SUSPECT ARRAIGNED — NO BAIL.
His chest tightened. He clicked. There it was: A grainy courtroom photo of the man who hit JJ.
Rafe’s jaw locked instantly. But then he looked closer.
…that wasn’t all him.
The guy had a black eye Rafe definitely didn’t give him. And a split eyebrow Rafe also didn’t give him. And a cheek swollen in a way that didn’t match the angle of Rafe’s boot.
Rafe blinked. Then scrolled.
And saw the line: “Police report officers detained the suspect after he attempted to resist processing.”
Rafe stared at that sentence. “That’s bullshit,” he muttered.
JJ stirred, half-asleep. “What’s bullshit?”
“Nothing,” Rafe said too quickly.
JJ cracked one eye open, groggy. “Babe… what’d you do.”
Rafe shook his head. “Not me.”
JJ frowned confusedly. “Then what?”
Rafe turned the phone so JJ could see the photo.
JJ squinted. “Huh. You… didn’t do that.”
“No.”
JJ blinked slower. “Cops beat him too?”
“Looks like it.”
JJ blinked again.
Then a tiny, high little laugh escaped him.
Rafe glared. “JJ.”
“I’m not-” JJ tried to stop giggling and failed. “I’m not saying it’s good. I’m saying… you know… karma’s a bitch.”
Rafe sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
JJ pointed weakly at the screen. “They messed him up worse than you did.”
“Not by much,” Rafe muttered.
JJ patted his arm with the limp aim of a drugged baby deer. “Good job, babe.”
Rafe shook his head, pocketed the phone, and tucked the blanket around JJ’s legs again.
JJ grinned sleepily. “We’re terrible.”
Rafe whispered, “Sleep.”
JJ did.
And the photo stayed burned into Rafe’s mind, not because the man deserved sympathy…
but because even the cops had looked at him and thought: yeah, this one earned it.
JJ got discharged way too early, according to Rafe, who had argued loudly enough that two nurses threatened to sedate him instead.
But they assured Rafe multiple times: “He’ll recover better at home. No, he can’t stay another night. Yes, you can sleep in the chair again—just not here.”
JJ, high as Jupiter, waved from the wheelchair. “Babe, it’s okay. They said I can go. I’m… ambulanced enough.”
“You’re not ambulanced enough,” Rafe said, which wasn’t a phrase but radiated deep sincerity.
Cassie finally stepped in, hands on both hips.
“Rafe. Sweetie. Honey. The man boy you love needs his bed, not fluorescent lights and your anxiety hovering. We are leaving.”
JJ saluted. Missed. Saluted again.
The hospital orderly wheeled JJ to the exit while Rafe hovered with a look that might actually vaporize passing civilians. JJ waved cheerfully.
The orderly: “Sir, I’ll take him to the curb.”
Rafe: “I’ll take YOU to the curb.”
Cassie: “RAFE.”
He stepped back exactly two inches.
Walt had already installed JJ’s brand-new rental wheelchair ramp at the house while they were gone. It was crooked and wobbled but it existed. When they pulled up, Walt beamed proudly.
Rafe stared. “…It’s slanted.”
“It’s accessible,” Walt corrected.
“It’s a death slide,” Rafe countered.
JJ whispered to Cassie, “I wanna try the slide.”
“You absolutely do not,” she hissed.
Walt, offended: “We’ll fix it later. Magic is a process.”
JJ squinted. “Is that why the corner is made of… milk crates?”
Walt nodded enthusiastically. “Temporary.”
JJ: “That’s what they say about herpes.”
Cassie screamed laughing. Walt nearly dropped his vape.
Rafe was losing years of his life. Rafe stared at it with horror.
“It’s temporary,” Walt insisted.
“It’s unsafe,” Rafe countered.
“It has CHARACTER,” Walt argued.
Rafe muttered, “I am not rolling him down that thing.”
JJ whispered, “Please roll me down that thing.”
“No.”
“PLEASE.”
“No.”
“This is oppression.”
Rafe ignored him, lifted JJ from the car like a broken, beloved doll, and carried him over the ramp entirely while Walt looked personally offended.
JJ was tucked into bed, propped up by fifteen pillows because Rafe had tried something.
JJ stared at the ceiling. “Everything hurts.”
“I know,” Rafe whispered.
“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“You literally did.”
“Oh yeah.”
Rafe pulled out a small bottle. “Okay. This is your five-milligram oxy. ONE every six hours. And you have to eat first.”
He shook another bottle. “And this is your ibuprofen. Two every six hours.”
JJ blinked at him. “Why you sound like a kindergarten teacher counting crayons?”
“Because you’re a menace to your own survival,” Rafe snapped softly.
JJ smiled crookedly. “You love me, though.”
Rafe pressed his lips together. “Unfortunately.”
Cassie shouted from the kitchen, “HE SAID UNFORTUNATELY BUT HE MEANS TRAGICALLY.”
Rafe threw a protein bar at the doorway.
JJ insisted on cleaning up before bed. Rafe insisted on doing it himself.
JJ: “This is undignified.”
Rafe: “You saying that to ME?”
JJ: “Baby I can’t feel my dignity. I think they removed it during surgery.”
Rafe dipped a warm cloth into the bowl, wrung it out, and began wiping JJ’s face, neck, chest, arms — the places not bound in plaster or stitches. JJ’s head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.
“Damn,” JJ mumbled. “If I’d known getting wrecked by a car got me spa treatments, I’d-”
“Finish that sentence and I will sedate you,” Rafe said.
“You can’t sedate me.”
Rafe held up the bottle of prescribed opiates.
“…okay you CAN sedate me.”
Cassie yelled down the hall, “I’M SETTING UP A SPREADSHEET FOR HIS DOSING SO YOU DON’T ACCIDENTALLY LOVE HIM TO DEATH.”
Rafe yelled back, “I’m not an IDIOT.”
Cassie yelled, “NOT TAKING CHANCES.”
JJ whispered, “She loves you.”
Rafe curled a hand around the back of JJ’s neck. “I know.”
Later that night after the sponge bath, the meds, the food, the awkward wheelchair shuffle, the hundredth time Rafe adjusted the pillows.
JJ stared at the ceiling again, silent.
Rafe looked up from his chair. “What’s wrong?”
JJ swallowed. The look in his eyes was one Rafe hated instantly.
“…what if I can’t ride anymore?”
Rafe froze.
JJ’s voice was barely a whisper. “My leg. My arm. The pins. If it heals wrong… or if I can’t balance… or if it hurts forever—”
Rafe was sitting beside him before the sentence finished.
“Hey,” he said sharply. “Look at me.”
JJ looked.
“You are going to ride again.”
“You don’t-”
“I KNOW,” Rafe growled, sudden and fierce. “It’s what you love. It’s who you are. Your body is beat to hell right now, but it will heal. And even if it didn’t-”
JJ’s breath hitched. “Rafe-”
“I’d build you a three-wheeled bike. I’d build you a SIDE CAR. I’d put you in a damn harness like a baby Björn and drive you around myself. You’re not losing this.”
JJ choked on a laugh and a sob at the same time. “A… baby Björn??”
Rafe glared. “I’m being serious.”
“You said BABY BJÖRN-”
“JJ.”
JJ sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Okay. Okay. I just… needed to hear it.”
Rafe leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
“You’re not losing ANYTHING,” he said. “Except maybe the right to walk home high.”
JJ weakly smiled. “Fair.”
When JJ finally drifted off, Rafe grabbed his phone again. Opened the local paper. That courtroom photo showed injuries the man hadn’t had when Rafe left him. Rafe stared at it for a long, still moment.
Then locked his phone.
And whispered to JJ’s sleeping form, “They didn’t hit him hard enough.”
Rafe sat in the chair. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t close his eyes. Every time JJ flinched, Rafe was there.
Every time JJ whimpered, Rafe pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. Every time JJ groaned, Rafe whispered, “I’m here.”
He dispensed every pill exactly on time. He adjusted every pillow like they were landmines.
He hated himself for not being there when JJ was hit. He hated the man who did it.
And he hated how breakable JJ suddenly looked.
By dawn, Rafe’s eyes were bloodshot, hair a mess, voice ragged. Cassie, arriving with coffee, opened the door and froze. “Jesus Christ, Rafe.”
He didn’t even look up. “He needs his meds.”
Cassie put a hand on his shoulder. “You need sleep.”
“No,” Rafe said simply.
Cassie sighed, kissed the top of his head like an annoyed aunt, and went to make JJ breakfast.
And Rafe stayed exactly where he was: Holding JJ’s hand.
Counting his breaths.
Looking at him like he was the whole universe.
Chapter Text
JJ barely slept, Rafe didn’t sleep at all, and the morning came in like an unwanted landlord demanding rent.
Rafe was already up, hands gentle as he helped JJ sit upright. “Okay,” he murmured, “slow. Slow. JJ, don’t twist. Hey stop trying to help-”
“I am helping,” JJ rasped.
“You’re actively fighting me.”
JJ winced as he sat fully upright. “Just trying to be a man, babe.”
“You lost man privileges when you got hit by a four-thousand-pound truck,” Rafe said, adjusting JJ’s pillows like he was tucking in a newborn panda.
JJ snorted. “That’s fair.”
Rafe then did the Very Serious Wheelchair Transfer, gripping JJ under the arms like a precious artifact with fragile joints. JJ hissed in pain, clutching his ribs.
“Breath,” Rafe murmured, forehead pressed lightly to JJ’s temple. “Tell me where it’s sharp.”
JJ shuddered. “Everywhere.”
“Okay. Good. That’s consistent.”
“You’re so clinical,” JJ muttered.
“You’re so breakable,” Rafe countered, gently lowering him into the wheelchair like he was made of glass.
Rafe placed JJ by the table, positioned perfectly to avoid bumping the cast, the splint, the ribs, the everything.
He made oatmeal like it was a life-saving serum.
He cut the fruit into microscopic pieces.
He placed the pills in a small porcelain dish like communion wafers.
JJ blinked at him. “Babe… I’m injured, not ninety.”
“You’re both,” Rafe said.
JJ giggled.
Rafe fed him like an overprotective nurse, popping the ibuprofen and oxy into JJ’s mouth with a sip of water in between.
JJ swallowed, smacked his lips thoughtfully, and said, “Could use more flavour.”
Rafe glared.
JJ lifted his good hand in surrender.
The door swung open.
Cassie didn’t knock. Cassie had never knocked. Cassie had probably forgotten knocking existed.
She walked in vaping. “Morning, my injured prince. Morning, my feral wolf.”
Rafe didn’t turn around. “Who is watching Magical HQ?”
Cassie blinked. “Rafe… honey… it’s Saturday.”
Rafe froze mid–oatmeal stir. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s the weekend,” she said slowly, like speaking to a skittish horse. “Even exploited farmhands and CEOs get days off.”
“But,” Rafe gestured wildly. “JJ just got hit by a truck. Someone has to..there’s paperwork. Customers. Inventory”
Cassie sucked from her vape. “Walt is there.”
Rafe stared. “WALT IS THERE?!”
Cassie nodded serenely. “He’s Phishing.”
Rafe’s eye twitched. “…like… with fish?”
“Nah. Capital P H. He’s listening to a 47-minute live jam and reading about mushrooms.”
“THAT IS NOT WORK.”
Cassie shrugged. “It keeps him happy.”
Rafe looked like he might combust.
Cassie put her vape down and clapped her hands sharply.
“Rafe. Bed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have to take care of JJ.”
“You’re hallucinating from lack of sleep.”
“I’m FINE.”
Cassie opened Rafe’s personal stash box, because of course she knew where he hid it and pulled out one of his oxys.
JJ blinked. “Is that legal?”
Cassie handed Rafe the pill. “Open.”
Rafe glared. “Cassie.”
“OPEN.”
Rafe stubbornly crossed his arms. Cassie stepped closer. “Cameron. I will physically climb you.” JJ cackled.
Rafe sighed, opened his mouth, and Cassie placed the pill on his tongue like a communion wafer of humility.
“Good boy,” she said. Rafe choked on air.
Cassie then shoved the vape into his hand. “Three hits.”
“But-”
“THREE.”
Rafe obeyed.
Because Cassie wasn’t strong, but she carried the weight of someone who could ruin your whole life with one well-timed sigh.
JJ watched, delighted. “She’s your dom now.”
Cassie winked. “I don’t want him. Too high-maintenance.”
Rafe staggered toward the bedroom, grumbling.
Cassie followed, tucked him into bed, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “If you don’t sleep six straight hours, I’ll put kale in your coffee.”
Rafe was unconscious within ninety seconds.
Cassie wheeled JJ onto the porch where sunlight hit warm on his face. She sat on the top step, lit a fresh joint, handed it over.
JJ couldn’t lift his casted arm, so she held it to his lips like she was offering communion.
JJ inhaled and sighed blissfully. “God, I missed weed.”
Cassie blew smoke sideways. “You were gone four days.”
“That’s four days of emotional trauma.”
Cassie nodded. “Facts.”
JJ leaned his head back. “I love him, you know.”
Cassie’s face softened. “I know.”
“I love him so much it makes me stupid.”
“You were stupid before.”
JJ grinned. “True.”
They passed the joint back and forth. JJ exhaled a long, lazy plume of smoke. “My body feels like shit but my heart feels like… pfft… like someone microwaved it but in a good way.”
Cassie cackled.
JJ continued, “I miss sex.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “JJ. You’re in a wheelchair with a broken leg, broken arm, cracked ribs, stitches, and head trauma.”
“I know,” he moaned dramatically. “I’m so pent-up.”
Cassie snorted. “You had NO private time at the hospital, right?”
JJ pouted. “None.”
Cassie screamed laughing.
JJ sighed deeply. “And Rafe… god. He won’t touch me for weeks. He’s in… like… crisis mode.”
Cassie nodded. “Yeah, he’s terrified he’ll break you more.”
JJ’s voice softened. “I kinda love that… but also… I’m horny.”
Cassie patted his knee. “We’ll figure something out.”
JJ looked at her, hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Step one: survive. Step two: physio. Step three: seduce wolfman again.”
JJ smirked, eyes closing in the sunlight. “Oh, I can do that.”
Cassie laughed quietly, leaned back on her elbows, and let him drift, high and warm and safe.
Inside, Rafe slept for the first time in 48 hours.
Outside, JJ planned future crimes of seduction.
And somewhere between them, the world felt almost gentle again.
Rafe woke after six full hours — the longest sleep he’d had since before the hit-and-run — and shot upright like someone had fired a gun next to his head. For a second he didn’t know where he was. Then he saw the empty chair beside JJ’s bed.
Then he heard giggling on the porch. Then he smelled weed.
He staggered out of the bedroom, hair everywhere, shirt half-wrinkled, eyes wild, and found Cassie pushing JJ in slow, lazy circles around the porch like she was giving rides at a very irresponsible amusement park.
JJ waved with his good hand. “BABE! Look! I’m doing donuts.”
Rafe nearly fainted. “STOP MOVING THE CHAIR.”
Cassie held the joint between her teeth like a pirate with a dagger. “Relax, Florence Nightinggale. We got it.”
“You do NOT ‘got it,’” Rafe snapped. “He has THREE broken-”
“Four,” JJ corrected. “I’m counting ribs individually today.”
Cassie resumed pushing him again.
Rafe inhaled slowly through his nose, vibrating.
JJ squinted at him. “Babe. You slept.”
Rafe blinked. “…I did.”
“Are you proud of yourself?”
“…No.”
Cassie shoved the wheelchair brake down with her foot. “Okay, boys. Team meeting. JJ’s physio instructions came through.”
JJ perked up. “Ooh. Are they sexy?”
Cassie deadpanned, “No, they are boring as hell. You’re immobilized.”
JJ slumped. “Ugh. I hate medical reality.”
The rest of the morning consisted of: medication schedule (Rafe announced every dose like a flight attendant), protein shakes (JJ gagged dramatically), mobility practice (JJ rolled six feet before declaring fatigue and existential ennui), Rafe sanitizing everything, Cassie shouting from the kitchen, “RAFE STOP BOILING THE DISHCLOTHS WE ARE NOT IN THE 1800s”
JJ, watching Rafe with starry eyes: “He’s so pretty when he’s insane.”
Rafe, rearranging pillows for the third time: “I can HEAR you.”
JJ: “I know. I meant it.”
Cassie handed Rafe the printout. “Leg can’t bear weight. Arm can’t lift. Ribs can’t twist. Concussion needs rest. Basically: keep him still.”
JJ pouted. “I’m still-ish.”
“You’re breathing. That counts as movement,” Rafe muttered.
They tried one exercise: JJ did five tiny ankle flexes before declaring, “I’m done. I hate healing. I wanna be young forever.”
Cassie snorted. “You’re twenty two”
JJ: “Exactly. Young forever.”
Rafe sat beside him, rubbing slow circles into his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll work up to more.”
JJ leaned into him like a sad houseplant. “Babe… can you just… hold me?”
Rafe froze. “You’re breakable.”
“Hold me carefully.”
Cassie groaned dramatically. “Okay fine. I’m going grocery shopping before I start projectile vomiting from all this tenderness.”
JJ shouted, “Get snacks!”
Cassie called back, “If you want snacks, WALK TO THE STORE.”
JJ flipped her off with his good hand. Cassie blew him a kiss and shut the door.
When they were finally alone, JJ’s whole demeanor shifted. The humour softened. The bravado faded.
“Babe… can I ask something kinda… serious?” he said quietly.
Rafe immediately tensed. “Are you hurting? Dizzy? Nauseous? Do I need to-”
“No, no,” JJ said quickly. “Just… sit?”
Rafe carefully sat on the bed beside him, hands hovering like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare.
JJ watched him for a long moment.
“You know I want you, right?” JJ asked softly.
Rafe’s throat went tight. “JJ…”
“No, seriously. I don’t want you avoiding me like I’m gonna shatter if you breathe too hard.”
“You have pins in your bone,” Rafe rasped.
JJ smiled faintly. “Yeah. Sexy, isn’t it?”
Rafe groaned into his hands.
JJ nudged his elbow. “Babe. Look at me.”
Rafe looked. JJ’s eyes were soft and sure. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m not trying to push you or rush things. I just… want you to know something.”
Rafe waited.
JJ exhaled slowly. “I miss you. Not sex. You. Touching me. Holding me. Being all wolfy and overbearing and stupidly hot.”
Rafe swallowed. Hard.
“And,” JJ added, “I didn’t get any private time in the hospital, which is honestly homophobic, and now I’m stuck here horny as hell with one functional hand which is not my preferred hand and a boyfriend who thinks I’ll explode.”
Rafe’s ears went red.
JJ laughed softly. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything. I just want you to stop being scared to touch me.”
Rafe stared at him for a long, painful moment. Then he leaned forward and kissed JJ’s forehead. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth.
All feather-light, like JJ really was made of thin glass.
JJ whispered, “See? You didn’t break me.”
Rafe breathed shakily. “Yet.”
Rafe wheeled JJ back to the bedroom and sat him beside the bed, adjusting angles, pillows, supports, everything.
JJ stared at him quietly. Which immediately concerned Rafe.
Rafe cupped the uninjured side of JJ’s face with trembling fingers. “I want to hold you.”
JJ smiled sadly. “I know. But I can’t… y’know… curl into you.”
“I know,” Rafe whispered.
“So hold my hand instead.”
Rafe threaded their fingers together immediately.
JJ’s thumb brushed his knuckles. “That’s enough, babe.”
Rafe’s eyes went glossy. “Yeah. Okay.”
He stayed like that for a long time, sitting on the bed, holding JJ’s hand, kissing his forehead every few minutes just to reassure himself JJ was still there.
Morning in the house began quietly. Too quietly. This was Rafe’s first warning.
He emerged from the kitchen holding JJ’s morning meds arranged on a saucer like he was serving communion and froze.
The wheelchair was empty. “JJ?” Rafe called sharply. Silence.
He checked the bathroom: nothing. Bedroom corner: nothing. Living room: empty.
Rafe felt his soul leave his body. He stood there, clutching the pill dish, vibrating like an over-caffeinated guard dog.
Then he heard it: A thump. Then a muffled, panicked: “RAFE?!”
Rafe dropped the pills.
He sprinted down the hallway and found JJ half on the floor, half draped over the side of the bed, good arm trembling, broken arm strapped and useless, leg cast sticking out like a tragic antenna. JJ looked up at him with wild, watery eyes.
“I,” he whispered, “tried to get something off the bedside table.”
Rafe inhaled like someone had stabbed him.
“JJ,” he said slowly, kneeling, “you cannot move without me.”
“I KNOW,” JJ wailed. “I REALISED THAT.” He burst into tears.
Rafe’s entire face folded. “Hey-hey..JJ. Stop..don’t cry-”
“I CAN’T EVEN REACH A WATER BOTTLE,” JJ sobbed.
“Okay, okay. Breathe.”
“I’M USELESS-”
“You’re not-”
“I CAN’T PEE WITHOUT AN AUDIENCE, RAFE.”
Rafe put a hand on JJ’s good cheek. “JJ. Baby, look at me.”
JJ sniffled, eyelashes spiky and wet. “You’re not useless,” Rafe said fiercely.
“I AM.”
“You’re injured.”
“I HATE IT.”
“I know. I know you do.” Rafe swallowed hard. “But I swear to God you will break yourself worse if you keep trying to be independent right now.”
JJ blinked hard. “I just wanted to reach my phone.”
“For what?” Rafe asked gently.
“To…” JJ choked, embarrassed, “…look at a picture of you.”
Rafe’s expression shattered into about forty pieces. “Oh my God,” Rafe whispered. “JJ.”
“I MISSED YOU,” JJ cried louder. “You were in the kitchen for like FORTY MINUTES.”
Rafe pressed his palm to JJ’s sternum, grounding him. “Okay. It’s okay. Let’s get you up.”
He lifted JJ gently, supporting every precious, breakable limb, and returned him to the wheelchair.
JJ immediately clung to Rafe’s wrist, breathing fast. “I don’t want you to leave the room,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” Rafe said instantly. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Later, they met with a home-visit nurse sent to check JJ’s injuries. She walked in, cheerful. “Oh! He looks better than expected!”
Rafe’s eyes snapped to her. “Better than expected?” he echoed.
She smiled. “Yes! Breaks like this can be much worse!”
JJ whispered to Rafe, “Babe… please…”
But Rafe stepped closer, voice low. “He has pins in his bone. He still can’t breathe without pain. He fell this morning because nobody told me he needed a different bedside setup. Is ANYONE going to tell us what he actually needs to heal properly?”
The nurse blinked at him. “Sir-”
“Do not ‘sir’ me,” Rafe said, one second from feral. “Do. Your. Job.”
JJ tugged his wrist weakly. “Babe… babe… it’s okay… she’s trying…”
Rafe inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Tell me what he needs,” he repeated.
The nurse finally went into full Detail Mode because Rafe’s stare could have cut sheet metal.
JJ mouthed “thank you” behind Rafe’s shoulder. Rafe ignored it.
He was already planning new pillows, bedside rails, reachable water bottles, emergency bells, everything.
JJ’s eyes softened.
This man was insane.
And JJ adored him.
JJ waited until Rafe was distracted reorganizing the medicine drawer by “danger level” before rolling himself into the doorway.
He positioned the chair just right. Tilted his head. Let his shirt collar fall open a little.
When Rafe turned around, JJ lifted his good hand and gave him the slow eyebrow.
Rafe blinked. JJ did it again. Rafe inhaled sharply. “JJ. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” JJ purred, batting his eyelashes.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m just sitting here.”
“You are absolutely NOT ‘just sitting,’” Rafe snapped. JJ wheeled half an inch forward. “Babe. Come here.”
Rafe took a step back. “No.” JJ smirked. “You’re afraid.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “I am not afraid.”
“You are. I can smell it.”
Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”
JJ leaned in as far as the wheelchair would allow. “You won’t. I just want to look at you. Touch your face. Maybe kiss you again if you let me.”
Rafe made a strangled sound like someone had stepped on a wolf.
JJ held up his hand invitingly. “Come let me kiss you, babe.”
Rafe stared like the offer was radioactive. Then, very slowly, he stepped forward, bent down, and let JJ cup the side of his face.
JJ’s thumb brushed his cheekbone. Rafe’s breath shuddered. JJ whispered, “See? No injuries.”
Rafe whispered back, “You’re still dangerous.”
JJ kissed him soft. Just once. Rafe nearly dropped to his knees. JJ grinned. “I still got it.”
Rafe backed away so fast he hit the counter.
The front door swung open. Cassie walked in mid-inhale. She took one look at Rafe’s face — flushed, glassy-eyed, panic-stricken — then at JJ’s smug expression.
“Oh,” she said. “Did my boy try to seduce you from a wheelchair?”
JJ: “Yes.”
Rafe: “No.”
Cassie: “JJ… how’d it go?”
JJ wiggled his eyebrows. “He almost fainted.”
Cassie clapped. “YES. Weaponize your disability.”
Rafe choked. “STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT.”
JJ laughed so hard his ribs hurt.
Cassie wheeled him a few inches closer to Rafe on purpose. “There. Now he’s in your proximity. Deal with it.”
Rafe looked skyward like he was asking for divine intervention.
Walt wandered in behind her carrying three grocery bags, a kombucha starter, and a DVD copy of Point Break “for emotional support.”
He saw JJ reclining in the wheelchair, shirt slightly open, cheeks faintly flushed, giving Rafe slow, seductive glances.
Walt nodded thoughtfully. “Nice,” he said.
Rafe glared. “What part of THIS is ‘nice’?”
Walt shrugged. “Dude. Disability era romance? Super hot. JJ should use his injury period to his advantage.”
JJ pointed at Walt with delight. “THAT’S WHAT I SAID.”
Rafe made another wounded-animal noise.
Walt dumped the groceries on the counter. “You should surprise him, man.”
Rafe blinked. “…with what?”
“I dunno,” Walt said casually. “Bring him his meds wearing one of those tight shirts he likes. The black one. Show him you still got range.”
JJ gasped. “THE BLACK ONE.”
Rafe turned red. “Absolutely not.”
JJ sighed dramatically. “My suffering continues.”
Walt gave JJ finger guns. “Stay strong, king.”
Cassie gave Walt a high-five.
Rafe considered exile.
Cassie, still perched on the arm of JJ’s wheelchair, opened her phone and froze.
“Uh… guys?”
Rafe snapped instantly alert. “What.”
Cassie turned the phone around.
LOCAL NEWS ALERT: HIT-AND-RUN DRIVER PLEADS GUILTY; REMANDED IN CUSTODY UNTIL SENTENCING
JJ’s breath caught. Rafe stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the article.
Cassie read aloud: “‘The defendant entered a full guilty plea this morning. The judge denied bail. Sentencing scheduled for next month. Sources suggest the defendant’s own attorney advised he had no chance at trial.’”
Walt whistled low. “Damn.”
JJ’s shoulders eased back into the chair, tension draining from him. Rafe stared at the article silently.
Cassie nudged him gently. “You okay?”
Rafe didn’t blink. “Good.”
JJ tilted his head. “Babe?” Rafe finally looked at him.
“He pled guilty,” Rafe said softly. “You won’t have to testify. He can’t drag this out. You’re safe.”
JJ’s throat tightened. He blinked fast. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess… I guess that’s good.”
Rafe put one hand gently on JJ’s knee, the uninjured one and squeezed once. JJ reached for Rafe’s hand. They laced fingers.
Walt muttered, “Bro, you two could charge admission.”
Cassie whispered, “Shut up, Walt. This is sweet.”
Rafe stayed where he was. JJ squeezed his fingers again. Rafe’s voice went low. “JJ… I want you to tell me when you need something. Anything. I don’t want you trying to move alone again.”
JJ nodded. “I know. I was… scared earlier.”
Rafe leaned in and kissed JJ’s fingertips slow, deliberate, soft. JJ shivered.
Cassie whispered, “Ohhhhh my GOD.”
Walt whispered, “This is like… emotionally erotic.”
Rafe didn’t hear them. He held JJ’s hand between both of his palms, rubbing circles with his thumbs. Not sexual. Just achingly intimate.
JJ whispered, “Babe… that feels really good.” Rafe swallowed hard. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s perfect,” JJ murmured.
Cassie and Walt exchanged a look that said: We should leave before we witness hand sex. They quietly exited the room.
Rafe and JJ stayed like that, fingers interlaced, quiet, hearts steadying in sync.
JJ whispered after a minute, “You’re my safe place.”
Rafe lifted JJ’s hand and pressed a kiss to his wrist. “You’re mine.”
JJ smiled slow. “Babe… I’m still gonna seduce you.”
Rafe groaned. “JJ…”
“I have ONE working hand. I’m gonna use it.”
Rafe buried his face in JJ’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m so doomed.”
JJ grinned. “Yes you are.”
And for the first time since the accident, the fear was gone. Replaced by something warm. Alive. Stupidly horny.
And absolutely them.
It started innocently. Well, no. No it didn’t.
It started with JJ giving Rafe a stare so loaded with intent that Rafe knocked over a water bottle just by existing in proximity to it.
Rafe looked up, suspicious. “…What?”
JJ sat in his wheelchair by the bed, blanket over his lap, expression soft and dangerous. “I need… pain relief,” JJ said dramatically.
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “You just had your oxy.”
“Not that kind of pain,” JJ said.
Rafe froze. “JJ.”
JJ bit his lip. “Babe.”
Rafe rubbed his face. “No.”
JJ leaned slightly closer, voice delicate and devastating. “I’m in distress.”
“You’re manipulating me.”
“Correct,” JJ said brightly. “Because I’m in distress.”
Rafe turned away, muttering something about saints and devils and karmic punishment.
JJ rolled forward one inch. “Baby. Listen. I can’t move. I can’t roll over. I can’t even scratch my own knee. My blood pressure is suffering.”
Rafe stared at the ceiling. “Your blood pressure is fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re literally hooked up to a home monitor. I can SEE the numbers.”
JJ sighed tragically. “I’m withering.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m losing muscle mass.”
“It’s been 6 days.”
JJ’s voice dropped low and smooth. “Rafe.”
Rafe flinched.
JJ lowered his lashes, thumb stroking the armrest.“I need relief. And it’s not gonna hurt my ribs, leg, or arm. I promise.”
“JJ-”
“If you don’t help me,” JJ continued, tone soft and wounded, "I'm gonna have to try with my left hand. And it’s gonna be sad. Tragic. Unfair to a recovering invalid. So very… unsatisfying.”
Rafe made a strangled sound.
JJ’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “Do you want me to suffer like that?”
Rafe slammed both hands on the dresser. “Oh my GOD.”
JJ wheeled closer until his knee nudged Rafe’s thigh. “Babe. I’m literally asking you to help a disabled man with palliative care.”
“That is NOT what this is.”
“It is spiritually,” JJ replied.
Rafe dragged a hand down his face. “JJ…”
JJ’s voice softened to a whisper. “I need you. And I can’t use my body right now. I can’t do almost anything. Let me at least feel close to you.”
That hit Rafe right behind the ribs. He knelt in front of JJ, hands on either side of the wheelchair. “Tell me exactly what you’re asking.”
JJ leaned forward, fingertips brushing Rafe’s jaw. “I need your hands,” he said simply.
Rafe swallowed so hard it was audible.
JJ added, almost shyly, “And… maybe your mouth could help too. Careful. Only if you are careful around my leg. Only if you want me.”
Rafe shook his head—not in refusal, but in disbelief at how easily this man dismantled him.
“JJ,” he whispered, “you’re injured.”
JJ smirked. “That’s why you’d do all the work.”
Rafe’s pupils blew wide.
JJ held his gaze, steady and certain. “Baby… I need you. I’m not trying to be reckless. I just… want to feel normal again. Want to feel us. Just for a minute.”
Rafe’s breath faltered. “JJ… if I hurt you…”
“You won’t,” JJ murmured, brushing Rafe’s cheek. “I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle. I know you’ll move slow. I know you’ll stop if anything twinges. I know every part of you cares about my safety more than anything.”
Rafe closed his eyes.
JJ whispered, right against his lips, “And I know you want me.”
That was it. Rafe broke. His forehead fell against JJ’s knee, hand sliding up JJ’s thigh with exquisite caution, every movement careful, reverent, deliberate.
JJ inhaled sharply.
Rafe lifted his head, voice quiet and ragged. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
JJ smiled, soft and hungry. “Only in one place, babe. And you’re fixing it.”
Rafe exhaled shakily… and helped him. Gently. Slowly. Carefully. Intimately.
His hands working under the blanket in a way that JJ needed and Rafe deeply understood.
JJ’s good hand threaded into Rafe’s hair, wrist trembling, breaths unsteady and relieved.
Rafe whispered constant questions: “This okay?” “Any pressure?” “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
JJ whispered constant reassurances back: “Feels good…” “Don’t stop…” “God, I needed this…”
It was intimate without being frantic. Hungry without being physical in the dangerous ways. A reclamation of their connection without risking JJ’s healing body.
And when JJ’s breath finally shuddered, head tipped back, Rafe kissed the inside of his wrist, soft, grounding, tender. JJ rested fully against the chair, dazed, smiling.
“That,” he murmured, “was medicinal.”
Rafe’s forehead dropped to JJ’s knee again. “You’re horrible.”
JJ stroked his hair. “You love me.”
Rafe’s voice was barely audible. “Yeah. I really do.”
JJ whispered, “Good. Because as soon as I heal… you’re done for.”
Rafe groaned. “I already am.”
JJ grinned, victorious.
Chapter Text
By the next morning JJ was vibrating. Not physically, he couldn’t physically vibrate without screaming, but spiritually, mentally, emotionally vibrating. He stared at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. “Babe,” JJ groaned, “if I have to look at this room for another hour, I’m gonna fling myself off the porch wheelchair and all.”
Rafe’s head snapped up from the dresser. “No, you’re not.”
“I am. You can’t stop me.” He could not physically get off the mattress without assistance, but the threat was symbolic.
Rafe paced. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere.”
“You can’t go anywhere.”
“Take me somewhere.”
“You can’t go anywhere.”
JJ slumped dramatically. “I’m going to die here.” Rafe froze… then pulled out his phone and started typing like the FBI. “What are you doing?” JJ asked.
“Fixing it.”
Ten minutes later Walt showed up in his ancient, beloved, deeply unsafe van, yelling from the driveway: “BROOOOOO I HEARD SOMEONE’S GOING ON A FIELD TRIP.”
Rafe stormed out of the house to meet him. “If you breathe near the van wrong, I’m killing you.” Walt grinned. “Rafe, it’s a van, not a newborn. Chill.” Rafe did not chill.
He carried JJ out of the house like a priceless museum artifact, muttering under his breath the whole time: “Watch your ribs. Watch your arm. I’ve got you. Don’t move. Don’t even think about moving.” JJ was having the best day he’d had in a week.
“Babe, you’re so strong,” he teased lightly.
“JJ, I swear to god—”
“Lift me a little higher. I want Walt to see my good side.” Rafe glared at him. “Stop flirting while concussed.”
JJ winked at Walt. Walt finger-gunned him. Rafe nearly growled.
By the time JJ was belted into the passenger seat, Rafe was sweating like he’d run a marathon. He folded the wheelchair with military precision and loaded it into the back.
JJ reached over with his good hand and patted Rafe’s thigh. “Proud of you, babe.”
Rafe shut the door like it was the most fragile object on earth.
JJ beamed the entire drive, head leaning against the window, high on sunshine and not being inside.
Rafe kept glancing sideways.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Rafe, if you ask me one more time, I’m gonna jump out the window.”
“You can’t jump.”
JJ gasped dramatically. “Wow. Wheelchair-shaming.” Rafe groaned.
When they pulled up to Magical HQ, JJ’s eyes actually lit up. “My weed babies,” he whispered.
“Don’t call them that,” Rafe said automatically.
He jumped out, grabbed the wheelchair, positioned it perfectly, then carried JJ out of the van with the intensity of a man transporting nuclear material. Cassie came running out of the greenhouse yelling, “MY CRIPPLED KING RETURNS!”
“Jesus Christ,” Rafe muttered. JJ laughed so hard he nearly passed out. “Cassie! Don’t call me that!”
Cassie draped herself over the wheelchair. “Let me love you.” Rafe physically removed her hands. “Back up.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Rafe. Baby. Sweetheart. Possessive psycho. I’m not trying to steal your man.”
“You don’t get to touch him,” Rafe snapped. JJ cackled. “Babe, you okay?”
“No.”
And he wasn’t. He pushed JJ around HQ like a bodyguard escorting a wounded prince. Cassie and Walt followed like a fascinated documentary crew.
Every time someone came over to say hello, employees, visitors, the UPS guy, Rafe positioned himself between JJ and other humans like a big angry golden retriever.
JJ loved it. Just absolutely basked in it. Whenever Rafe stroked his hair or touched his shoulder, JJ melted more.
Cassie whispered to Walt, “He is so feral.”
Walt nodded. “He’s like a guard dog who just found out someone keyed his owner’s car.”
After Magical HQ, Rafe declared, “We’re going home. It’s too crowded.” JJ said, “Babe, there are four people at HQ.”
“Too crowded.”
Instead, JJ begged for one more stop. “Groceries,” he said. “I need snacks. I need candy. I need soda with too much sugar. Let me live.”
Rafe gave him a long, pained look. JJ used his sad invalid expression. Rafe broke.
At the store, Rafe pushed JJ’s wheelchair like the aisles contained landmines.
JJ pointed at an enormous family-sized bag of neon cheese puffs. Rafe slowly put it in the cart like he was committing a sin.
JJ pointed at the cookies he always wanted but Rafe never let him buy. Rafe added three boxes.
JJ pointed at a bottle of whiskey for “pain management.” Rafe stared at it for five seconds, sighed in defeat, and put it in the cart.
JJ whispered triumphantly, “He’s cracked. I’m unstoppable.”
Rafe leaned down and whispered back, “Don’t push your luck, baby.” JJ shivered.
They swung through the dispensary next. Rafe stocked up for JJ and very reluctantly for himself.
When the van was loaded, JJ looked blissfully happy. Like the world had expanded again.
Rafe just looked exhausted.
Rafe carried JJ inside, tucked him into bed, set up snacks, waters, juice, the whiskey bottle, and JJ’s med schedule. Then he sat next to him, close enough to touch but careful not to jostle anything.
JJ hit the vape and offered it. Rafe hesitated. JJ raised a brow. “You know you want it.”
Rafe took it. One hit. Two.
JJ smiled, soft and affectionate. “Feeling better?”
Rafe leaned his head back against the wall. “Little bit.”
JJ nudged him gently. “Okay. I have an idea.”
“That’s never good.”
“Shut up. It’s wholesome.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “JJ…”
JJ grinned wickedly. “Let’s watch porn together.”
Rafe sputtered so violently he choked.
JJ shrugged. “Babe, we can’t do anything. I can’t even stretch without popping my stitches. But we’re still us. We’re still queer. We’re still into what we’re into. And we don’t have to pretend we’re just… patient and caretaker.”
Rafe looked stunned.
JJ continued, voice softening. “I miss being your partner. Not your emergency.”
That hit Rafe right in the chest. He cupped JJ’s cheek. “You’re always my partner.”
JJ leaned into the touch. “Then let’s do something normal for us. Something that reminds us who we are.”
Rafe swallowed.
JJ opened a tab on the laptop with exaggerated secrecy. “Alright babe,” JJ whispered, “pick something.”
Rafe flushed bright red. “No.”
JJ clicked anyway.
They spent the next half hour scrolling through things they both liked, laughing, blushing, teasing, arguing over what counted as “you’re into this, not me”, and lingering on the BDSM clips Rafe pretended not to watch for too long.
JJ nudged him. “You still like the stuff where the dom goes slow.”
Rafe nodded without looking at him. “Yeah.”
JJ smiled softly. “Me too.”
They weren’t doing anything physical. They weren’t crossing any lines. But they were back. Back in their shared world. Back in their dynamic.
Back to being lovers who loved each other in ways they couldn’t act out yet but could still acknowledge.
JJ reached for Rafe’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Rafe exhaled a long, shaky breath that sounded like relief.
They sat together like that for hours, stoned and laughing and leaning against each other, half-watching the laptop and half-watching each other. Comfortable. Intimate. Themselves.
For the first time since the accident, Rafe wasn’t haunted, and JJ didn’t feel like a burden.
They were just Rafe and JJ. Chaotic idiots in love. Broken, bruised, recovering idiots.
The nurse showed up mid-morning and JJ already knew the vibe was bad because she greeted him with that voice. The one medical professionals use right before they ruin your entire week.
“Well, JJ,” she said, lifting his leg gently and checking the swelling, “you’re healing well but we’re looking at least another week before we even think about a moon boot. And five more weeks for the arm cast.”
JJ blinked at her. Then blinked again. Then he burst into ugly wet tears like someone had just unplugged him.
“No,” he choked. “No no no no no. No five weeks. No more bed jail. No more being a potato with bones.”
The nurse patted his knee with saintlike politeness. “It’s normal to feel frustrated.”
“Frustrated,” JJ repeated in disbelief. “Lady, I am fighting for my life.”
Rafe had been standing stiff in the doorway with his hands clenched. The second JJ started crying, something in him snapped so hard he almost heard it. His whole face drained. He took one step forward, then another, and then stopped abruptly.
He couldn’t breathe. He muttered something like “sorry, one second” and walked past the nurse, out the front door and onto the porch. He didn’t slam it. He just… removed himself before he imploded.
The nurse said, “He’ll be okay,” and packed up her kit before leaving JJ to sob quietly on his pillow.
JJ expected Rafe to be gone ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Enough time to vape half a lung and cry into the bushes.
Instead Rafe came back two minutes later with something dangerous in his eyes. Not violent-dangerous. Decision-dangerous. Purpose-dangerous. Rafe-dangerous. He climbed into bed gently, careful with JJ’s ribs, careful with his arm, careful with everything. He tucked himself into JJ’s side, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, “I’m here.”
JJ sniffed pathetically. “She said five weeks.”
“I heard.”
“That’s like thirty five days.”
“I can do math,” Rafe murmured, trying not to laugh.
“Babe. I’m gonna become one with this mattress. I’m gonna fuse with it. I’m gonna become furniture.”
Rafe kissed his cheek. “You’re dramatic when you’re injured.”
JJ sniffled louder. “I’m dramatic always.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said softly. “And I love you.” JJ cried harder.
Rafe sighed, reached for the vape on the nightstand, took a long hit, then handed it to JJ. They passed it back and forth until JJ’s breathing slowed and Rafe’s shoulders dropped. Then Rafe sat up, cracked his knuckles, opened the laptop, and said calmly, “We’re getting to work.”
JJ’s tears halted. “Work?”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. He opened a document labelled RIDING SCHOOL PROPOSAL in comically large font. “I need plans, budgets, projected costs, grant opportunities, zoning justifications, safety layout diagrams, and strategic advice.”
JJ stared at him. “Babe. Porn exists.”
“I know.”
“Weed exists.”
“I know.”
“You could take your shirt off.”
Rafe inhaled slowly. “JJ, listen to me. You feel useless right now. You’re not. You built half the systems at the op. You are good at planning. You are good at strategy. And I need help. And you need something to do that makes you feel like more than a guy waiting for a moon boot.”
JJ blinked at him. “You think I’m smart.”
“I know you’re smart,” Rafe said, tone flat like the sky is blue and JJ is brilliant and both things are equally unarguable.
JJ sniffed once and nodded. “Okay. Fine. Let’s do bureaucratic foreplay.”
Rafe bit down a smile. “Exactly.”
JJ actually worked.
He sat upright as much as possible, legs propped on pillows, laptop resting on his good thigh, and he read over Rafe’s scattered notes like a general reviewing battle strategy.
“Okay,” JJ said, scrolling. “First off, you need a community engagement angle. Something soft. Something that makes old people cry. You gotta use the ‘keeping local kids safe’ angle.”
“So… don’t mention how many concussions I’ve had?”
“Absolutely do not mention that.”
Rafe typed everything JJ said. His shoulders loosened. JJ watched him relax and felt something warm spread through his chest.
He mattered. He could help. He wasn’t broken glass useless in a bed. He was JJ Maybank, schemer and planner and creative chaos generator, and Rafe was looking at him like he was oxygen.
For an hour they were a team. A functional team. A genuinely productive team. And then JJ’s brain went sideways like a shopping trolley with one busted wheel.
“Babe,” JJ said, staring into space. “What if instead of an office you also had… like… a smoothie bar.”
Rafe froze mid keystroke. “What.”
“Or like a juice truck but with wheels and it’s parked inside the school.”
“JJ.”
“What if the logo is a skull but sexy.”
“JJ.”
“I’m losing focus,” JJ whispered sadly.
Rafe closed the laptop with a sigh. “Alright. I knew we were on borrowed time.”
“Are you mad?”
“No,” Rafe said. “Your ADHD is stronger than both of us.”
JJ grinned. “Is the meeting adjourned?”
“Yes.”
“So now we get drunk?”
Rafe huffed. “You’re still on meds.”
“I am on barely any meds now.”
They opened the whiskey. They vaped. They turned on JJ’s playlist of absolute chaos. They laughed so hard JJ’s ribs hurt and Rafe had to shush him like a fussy nurse.
Then JJ nudged Rafe with his good hand. “Babe. Porn?”
Rafe sighed like a martyr. “We watched porn last night.”
“And it was bonding,” JJ argued. “We bonded. Do you not want to bond with me anymore?”
Rafe glared. “Stop weaponizing your injuries.”
JJ widened his eyes innocently. “I’m fragile. I could die. Let me bond.”
Rafe groaned but opened the laptop anyway. They scrolled through videos that made both of them blush, tease, shove each other, stop to analyse gear they found interesting, argue about dom technique, laugh at bad acting, and point out their niche preferences with stupidly soft voices.
JJ kept glancing sideways at Rafe. Rafe kept pretending not to notice.
After a few minutes JJ whispered, “Babe… can you touch yourself for me?”
Rafe froze like someone had unplugged him. “What.”
“Just a little,” JJ begged. “Just with your hand. For me. I can’t do anything. I can’t even move my leg without screaming. I want to see you. Please.”
Rafe’s entire face turned scarlet. “No.”
JJ gasped. “No?”
“No,” Rafe repeated, flustered. “I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re injured. Because I’m not… because it’s weird. Because you’re looking at me.”
JJ blinked. “That’s the point, babe.”
Rafe folded his arms stubbornly. “I’m not doing it.”
JJ stared at him for exactly two seconds. Then grinned wickedly. “Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll help jog your imagination.”
He opened his photos app. Rafe went still. “JJ.”
JJ scrolled delightfully slowly to an album labelled RAFAEL THE MUSE.
“JJ, no.” JJ clicked.
Rafe dropped his face into both hands.
The screen filled with naked and half naked photos of Rafe taken through their entire relationship: morning light, bed hair, wet hair, bruised thighs, soft smiles, hard stares, jawline shadows, all of it.
JJ held up the laptop smugly. “Look at you.”
“No,” Rafe said into his palms.
“Yes,” JJ said.
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
Rafe peeked through his fingers like a man being forced to watch his own execution.
JJ softened. “Babe… it’s okay. I know you’re shy. I know you’re stressed. I’m not trying to make you do anything crazy. I just want you to remember we’re still us. Even like this.”
Rafe exhaled slowly. “I know.”
JJ kissed the corner of his mouth. “And just so you know? Any time you want to touch yourself for me… you can. But if not…”
He rotated the screen toward himself and smirked. “I’ve got enough material to survive a nuclear winter.”
Rafe groaned into JJ’s shoulder. “I hate you so much.”
“You love me,” JJ said, smug and glowing.
“I do,” Rafe muttered, defeated, climbing back down under the blankets and tucking in against JJ’s uninjured side.
They stayed like that: stoned, warm, laughing, teasing, watching stupid videos and occasionally glancing at the photo gallery like it was contraband.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was them.
The next day JJ was already restless again. His cast itched. His ribs ached. His leg throbbed. He glared at the ceiling and declared, “I’m gonna eat drywall if you don’t distract me.”
Rafe closed his laptop. “Let’s look at vans again.” JJ’s eyes lit up instantly. “Vans.”
They spent an hour scrolling, JJ rejecting every option until he froze mid-scroll and whispered, “Babe. That one.”
A boxy, plain, ugly-as-sin white van. Just begging for chaos. A perfect blank canvas. Completely theirs. Rafe bought it in under ten minutes.
JJ didn’t even get to say “don’t overpay” before Rafe hung up the phone and was already grabbing his jacket to go pick it up with Walt.
Two hours later the white van was parked in the driveway. JJ, perched in his wheelchair on the front path, stared at it with reverence. “She’s beautiful.”
Rafe knelt beside him. “What colours?”
“Every colour I like on weed packaging,” JJ said immediately.
Rafe nodded and returned twenty minutes later with eight different cans of paint, brushes of all sizes, and a small rolling table so JJ could dip and paint without straining his ribs.
“Okay, baby,” Rafe said, helping him wheel closer. “Tell me what to outline.”
JJ’s left hand trembled with excitement. He pointed. “Big wave. Like the one outside Kildare Pier. Long curve, then foamy bits. And like flames underneath. But weed flames. You know. Weed vibes.”
Rafe did. Because he always did.
He sketched the outline in gentle strokes, crisp, controlled, every curve perfect because he wanted JJ’s vision to be exactly right.
JJ watched with shining eyes. “You’re so good at that.” Rafe shrugged, embarrassed. “I just follow your voice.” JJ choked up a little at that but didn’t say anything.
When the outline was done, JJ dipped a brush and began painting inside the lines, slow and careful. His movements were shaky from only having one usable hand, but he never broke the outline thanks to Rafe steadying the panel every time the wind hit.
After twenty minutes JJ’s arm was shaking. After thirty his forehead was beaded with sweat. After forty he tried to keep going anyway.
Rafe gently took the brush out of his hand. “Enough. You rest. I’ll finish it.”
JJ slumped in his wheelchair. “I don’t want you to take over.”
“I’m not taking over,” Rafe said, dipping the brush. “I’m helping. Your design. My muscles.”
JJ let himself relax. Rafe painted for another hour, filling in every curve, every shadow, every swirl JJ had asked for. The van slowly became a rolling mural of wave, flame, weed-leaf silhouettes, and JJ’s chaotic heart.
By the time the sun dipped low, JJ was dozing in his chair. Rafe wiped his hands, crouched down, and whispered, “Ready to go inside?” JJ nodded weakly.
Rafe lifted him with full, careful strength, carried him in bridal-style, and laid him on the bed with gentle precision. He removed JJ’s shoes, tucked the blankets around him, and kissed his forehead.
JJ blinked sleepily. “She’s the prettiest van in the world.”
“You made her that way,” Rafe murmured. JJ smiled, bone-tired. “Lie with me.”
Rafe slipped into bed beside him, one arm curling protectively around JJ’s chest, the other resting lightly against JJ’s good hand.
JJ whispered, “I miss… us. Like… all of us. All the parts.” Rafe inhaled deeply. “I know. I do too.”
JJ nuzzled closer. “Tell me something dark.” Rafe froze. “JJ…”
“It’s just fantasy. I need it. I need to feel wanted that way. I’m stuck in bed like a broken doll, babe. I need you to remind me who we are.”
That broke Rafe clean in half. He shifted closer, mouth near JJ’s ear, voice dropping lower and darker than it had been since before the accident.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll tell you.” JJ’s breathing hitched.
Rafe stroked his hair and whispered, “When you’re healed… when the cast is gone… when you can move without hurting… I’m going to take you in that van.” JJ shivered.
“I’m going to wait until you’re not expecting it,” Rafe said softly. “Middle of the night. Or in the morning when you’re sleepy. I’m going to put a blindfold over your eyes. Ask you if you remember the safeword. Tie your wrists with zip ties the way you like. The soft kind. Safe for pulling.”
JJ moaned quietly.
“And I’m going to carry you out the front door like you belong to me. Put you in the back of the van. Shut the doors. Start driving.”
JJ whispered, “Where?”
Rafe’s breath warmed JJ’s skin. “Nowhere. Everywhere. Days without cell service. Empty roads. No one around. Just you in the back of the van, tied and blindfolded and waiting for whatever I want to do to you. And you loving it because it’s me. Because it’s us.”
JJ’s fingers curled weakly against Rafe’s chest.
“And you won’t know where we are,” Rafe murmured. “You won’t know when I’m going to stop. Or climb back there. Or touch you. Or kiss you. Or hold you down. I am going to fuck you so hard the van will shake. You’ll just feel the van moving under you and know you’re mine until I decide to take you home.”
JJ gasped. “Rafe…”
Rafe kissed his jaw. “And the whole time I’ll be whispering in your ear how good you are. How wanted. How perfect. How much I missed doing this with you.”
JJ swallowed, eyes wet. “Don’t stop.”
Rafe tightened his hold on him, voice low and reverent. “That’s my promise, baby. When you’re healed, I will give you the darkest, filthiest, safest fantasy you’ve ever had. But right now… you rest. And know that I still want you in every way.”
JJ exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you. I needed that so much.”
Rafe kissed his temple. “I know.”
They fell asleep tangled together, the freshly painted van drying outside, and the promise of future darkness warming the space between them.
Chapter Text
Rafe had always thought silence was supposed to be peaceful. Not for him. For him, silence was where the dangerous thoughts lived. Right now the house was quiet. Too quiet. JJ was sleeping. Finally. After hours of pain spikes and frustration and whining that somehow still made Rafe love him more.
Rafe sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, spreadsheets half-filled, zoning applications blinking accusingly at him, coffee going cold. His hands were shaking just enough that the trackpad kept misinterpreting his clicks. He closed the laptop. He couldn’t think about business when JJ wasn’t safe. He couldn’t think about business when JJ was broken. He couldn’t think about business when every time JJ shifted in his sleep, Rafe’s heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to escape.
He dropped his head into his hands and exhaled slow. He had been holding his breath for days. He hadn’t told JJ that.
He hadn’t told JJ that every time a nurse mentioned “could have been worse,” his vision blurred and he heard the blood rushing in his ears and thought, I would kill the whole world if he had died. He hadn’t told JJ that when he saw the hospital monitor beeping out irregularly during that first night, he nearly vomited on the floor. He hadn’t told JJ that he wakes at least twice a night convinced the bed is empty. He definitely hadn’t told JJ what he thought about when it wasn’t. Which was now.
Rafe opened the laptop again. Not to work. To stare at JJ’s photo album labelled MAYBANK 1. He didn’t remember creating a second and third backup folder, but they existed, organized like a digital shrine. JJ laughing. JJ sunburned. JJ naked and leaning against the kitchen counter. JJ tied to the headboard from a night Rafe could barely even remember without getting dizzy. Rafe swallowed.
He didn’t want sex. Not exactly. He wanted JJ whole. He wanted JJ uninjured so he could throw him over his shoulder again.
He wanted JJ healed so he could bend him backwards and make him gasp. He wanted JJ laughing and taunting him and running through the woods like a feral blonde creature daring Rafe to chase him.
His fantasies were getting darker. Not because he wanted to hurt JJ, but because JJ liked when he whispered the dark stuff. JJ liked when he growled threats into his neck that were never real. JJ liked when Rafe described impossible, terrible scenarios because it lit him up from the inside like a sparkler. And right now, when JJ could barely move, fantasies were all they had. Rafe closed his eyes and let his mind go there.
Rafe exhaled. In his head, he saw it. JJ healed. JJ strong again. JJ standing in the driveway with that little smirk that meant he knew he was about to provoke something dangerous. He pictured grabbing JJ around the waist. Lifting him. Throwing him lightly into the back of the van while JJ laughed and kicked and dared him to try harder. He pictured the blindfold. The zip ties. The way JJ’s voice always softened when he whispered, “I trust you.” He pictured the doors closing. The engine humming. Hours of secluded backroads with JJ helpless in the best way and Rafe absolutely feral with wanting him.
Rafe opened his eyes and felt a burn in his chest. He wanted that back. He wanted JJ back. Not just the physical part, though that ache was humiliatingly sharp, but the dynamic. The intensity. The connection. He stood and paced, unable to sit still. He needed to work. He needed to keep moving or his brain would spiral into places that weren’t healthy.
He opened the riding school application again. JJ had been right. He needed community appeal. He needed safety angles.
He needed youth engagement. He needed “local rising star” branding, which he hated but Cassie insisted was marketable and JJ said would make him look “hot and responsible.”
He started typing. But his mind drifted again. To how JJ had looked earlier when he painted the van. Eyes bright, paint on his cheek, breathing shallow from pain but glowing like the sun when he saw Rafe outline the wave exactly the way he wanted.
JJ’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. “You make me feel like I’m still me.” Rafe sat back, breath hitching. He didn’t want JJ to feel broken. He didn’t want JJ to think the injury changed anything between them. He didn’t want JJ to think he wasn’t still desirable. Still wanted. Still the reason Rafe’s pulse did weird, stupid things.
The sound of a quiet moan drifted from the bedroom. Rafe dropped the pen he didn’t realize he was holding. JJ. He was probably dreaming. Or hurting. Or calling out without knowing he was doing it. Rafe was already moving. He slipped into the room, heart thudding, and found JJ stirring, face twisted in pain. Rafe crouched beside him and took his hand. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” JJ blinked awake slowly. “Babe…” Rafe brushed his hair back. “Bad dream?” JJ nodded. Rafe climbed carefully into bed beside him. Not touching anything that hurt. Just curling close enough for warmth and comfort.
JJ nestled into him, exhausted. “What were you doing?” Rafe swallowed. “Thinking.”
“About me?”
“Always.”
JJ smiled faintly. “Dirty thoughts?” Rafe closed his eyes. “Yeah.” JJ’s fingers grazed his wrist. “Tell me one.” Rafe took a slow breath. “Not until you’re healed.” “But you can say it.” Rafe hesitated. Then leaned down and whispered one line into JJ’s ear. JJ’s breath hitched so hard Rafe felt it. JJ whispered, “Keep talking.” Rafe shook his head. “No. Gotta save something for later.” JJ groaned dramatically. “You’re killing me.” Rafe kissed his forehead. “Not even close.”
JJ nuzzled in the blankets. “I wanna do the van fantasy.” Rafe’s heart clenched. “I know, baby.”
“But you won’t actually torture me, right?”
“Never,” Rafe whispered fiercely. “Not you. Not ever.” JJ exhaled. “Okay. Good.”
They lay together like that. Warm. Quiet. Rafe plotting ten different versions of a future scene he could only whisper right now. JJ drifting in and out of sleep but clinging to Rafe’s shirt like he needed the anchor.
And Rafe, mind spinning with darkness and devotion and business plans and fear and love, thinking:
I have to get this school started.
I have to build something for him.
I have to keep him safe.
I have to give him everything.
He kissed JJ’s temple again. He would. He would do it all.
He just needed the world to stop trying to take JJ away long enough for him to make it happen.
JJ had been counting down to the moon boot like it was Christmas, Pride, and his birthday rolled into one. When the nurse finally fastened the straps and said, “With support only. Short distances. No stairs,” JJ almost wept with joy. Rafe did weep a little. Not visibly. But JJ saw the shine in his eyes and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Babe,” JJ whispered. “You okay?”
“No,” Rafe said quietly, staring at the boot like it was made of explosives. “But you are. And that’s enough.” They hugged awkwardly around JJ’s cast. JJ breathed in Rafe’s scent, that faint mix of soap and motorcycle oil. Rafe held him just a little too long, a little too tight, muttering, “Don’t fall. Don’t push yourself. Don’t-“
“I’m not gonna die walking six feet,” JJ laughed.
Rafe did not laugh.
Not even a little.
When they got home, JJ insisted on testing the boot right away. “Stay back,” he said, wobbling upright. Rafe hovered with his hands out. “I’m right here.”
“That’s the problem.”
JJ took one step. Good. Second step. Wobbly. Third step. A shadow crossed the driveway. Someone leaned against the white van.
Tall. Tanned. Messy brown hair. Smile like he was born flirting. Like he was trouble. JJ blinked. “Wait. Is that-”
“Eli Rooker,” the guy said, pushing off the van. “Hey, Maybank.” JJ’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. Eli? Since when are you in town?”
Rafe went rigid. He did not like the way this man said JJ’s name. He did not like the way JJ brightened. He did not like the way Eli looked JJ over like assessing a prize he once almost won.
JJ grinned, glowed, really. “Dude, I thought you moved to Asheville.”
“I did,” Eli said, stepping closer. “Grow scene wasn’t as good. Heard rumours you were out here making waves. Figured I’d check it out.”
Rafe moved between them so fast JJ didn’t even see him step. “Hi,” Rafe said flatly. No smile. No warmth. Just territorial threat with polite punctuation. Eli looked Rafe up and down. Slow. Assessing. Rafe felt heat crawl up his spine. Not fear, something sharper, something possessive. Eli smiled. “You must be the boyfriend.”
JJ said proudly, “Yeah, this is Rafe.”
Rafe extended a hand because JJ was watching. Eli shook it too firmly. Too familiar. Too confident. Rafe wanted to crush his knuckles. JJ turned to Rafe, unaware of the storm forming behind him. “Rafe, Eli and I used to surf together. He taught me how to drop in when I was, like, fourteen.” Rafe did not like a single word in that sentence.
Eli added, “He was fearless even then. Always thought you’d go pro.” JJ blushed in a way Rafe had not seen around anyone else in years. Rafe’s jaw ticked. JJ’s moon-boot wobble worsened and Rafe immediately grabbed him around the waist. Eli’s eyebrows lifted slightly, watching Rafe touch him, hold him, claim him. “How’d you get hurt?” Eli asked JJ.
“Hit and run,” JJ shrugged.
Eli’s eyes darkened. “Damn. Someone get the guy?”
Rafe said, “He’s in jail.” Eli seemed impressed. “Good.”
JJ’s smile softened. “It’s been rough. But Rafe’s been amazing.” Eli’s gaze flicked between them — reading everything, understanding the dynamic without being told. He smiled in a way Rafe hated. “Glad you’re in good hands, Maybank.” JJ looked shy. Rafe felt something viciously hot tighten low in his stomach.
Eli looked at the mural on the van. “You painted that?” JJ lit up. “Yeah. Well, designed it. Rafe did the outlines. We’re still finishing it.”
“It’s sick,” Eli said. “You got talent, man.” JJ beamed. Rafe burned. Eli shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen. I’m crashing in town for a couple weeks. If you guys wanna grab a drink, catch up?”
“Oh my god, yes,” JJ said. Rafe’s stare could have cut steel. Eli chuckled softly, like he enjoyed the tension. “Sunday?” he asked. JJ nodded. Rafe answered. “We’ll see.”
Eli winked at JJ. “Don’t let him keep you locked away.” JJ laughed. Rafe did not.
Eli walked off down the drive, easy and confident, the type who didn’t mind stepping on landmines if he thought they might explode interestingly.
JJ sighed happily. “Damn. He looks good.” Rafe turned his head slowly. “What.” JJ chuckled. “Relax. I didn’t say better than you. I just said he looks good. I haven’t thought about that dude in forever.”
Rafe’s pulse beat hard enough to shake him. He grabbed his waist and helped him wobble forward in his moon boot “Inside.” JJ frowned. “Babe-”
“Inside.”
JJ sighed but let him help. Once inside, Rafe paced. JJ sat on the couch, bewildered. Rafe said nothing for a full thirty seconds. Then, very quietly: “How close were you.”
JJ blinked. “We never hooked up.”
“But you wanted to.” JJ hesitated. “I mean… yeah? I was fourteen. He was the hottest guy in town.” Rafe turned away, shoulders tense and high. JJ softened. “Baby. That was a lifetime ago. I was a kid. And Eli didn’t want me like that. And even if he did? Look at me.” JJ gestured to his injured body. “No one is taking me anywhere like this.” Rafe finally met his eyes. His were darker than they had been in weeks. “Don’t say that,” he said, voice low.
“Say what?”
“That no one would want you like this.” JJ swallowed. “Rafe…” Rafe stepped closer, jaw tight. “I want you like this. Injured. Broken. Messy. High. Frustrated. Moon boot. Cast. All of it. I want you always.” JJ felt his breath catch.
“And you’re mine,” Rafe added softly. “Even if old friends crawl out of the woods.” JJ reached for him with his good hand. “Babe. Come here.” Rafe sank down beside him and buried his face in JJ’s neck. JJ stroked his hair. “You’re jealous.”
“Yes,” Rafe said without hesitation. “I don’t like competition.” JJ kissed the top of his head. “You don’t have competition.” Rafe whispered, “Then why did you smile at him like that.” JJ laughed softly. “Because he’s part of an old version of me. And you’re part of the one I chose.” Rafe pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “You’re coming home with me after Sunday,” he said. “No drinking without me. No wandering. No standing too long. No leaving my sight.” JJ smirked. “Possessive much.”
“Yes.”
“You’re also hot when you’re like this.” Rafe exhaled shakily, jealousy twisting into something darker, hungry. So JJ leaned up and whispered, “And babe? You don’t need to worry. Eli might’ve been the hottest guy in Kildare when I was fourteen.” Rafe’s jaw clenched. “But you’re the hottest guy in the world to me now.” Rafe inhaled like he’d been punched. JJ grinned.
The balance had shifted. The tone reset. The dynamic fully returned.
JJ was mobile. Rafe was jealous. The ex-rival was in town. The sexual tension was back like wildfire.
They were back.
JJ’s second morning with the moon boot looked like this: Rafe hovering like a malfunctioning drone, hands twitching, eyes glued to JJ’s every wobble. JJ testing his weight like he’d just been reborn: one careful step… a second… then immediately trying a third that was way too ambitious. Rafe lunged. “Babe. JJ-stop-Jesus! Just. Sit. DOWN-” JJ landed on a stool with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not glass, Rafe.”
“You kind of are.”
“Nope. Silicone and weed.” Rafe shot him a devastated look. “If you fall, I’ll die.” JJ laughed so hard he nearly slipped again, which sent Rafe into another panic spiral.
But JJ was mobile. Shaky. Slow. But mobile.
And that changed everything.
“Let’s take the van,” JJ said, smug as hell. Rafe grumbled under his breath but helped him down the porch steps, an arm tight around JJ’s waist like he’d never let go again. The van was theirs. Freshly purchased, white, already half-covered in JJ’s mural outlines. JJ grinned every time he saw it, like it made him feel human again.
“That leg okay?” Rafe asked for the 94th time. “Yes, babe.”
“You’d tell me if it wasn’t?”
“Mm.”
“JJ.”
JJ smirked. “I’d probably tell you after it snapped.” Rafe stopped buckling him in and stared. “That’s not funny.” JJ’s grin softened. “But you’re cute when you freak out.” Rafe muttered something vile and adoring and slammed the door shut too hard. They drove to Magical HQ. JJ insisted on walking himself from the van. Rafe insisted on hovering at a distance of six inches.
It was a compromise.
Cassie was the first to spot him hobbling in. Her eyes went huge. “Oh my GOD, YOU’RE UPRIGHT.”
JJ spread his arms dramatically. “My reign continues.”
Cassie hugged him gently. “Look at you! You’re almost a person again!” JJ cackled. Rafe glowered. Cassie blinked at him. “What crawled up your ass?”
“He’s overexerting,” Rafe snapped. “He took six steps.”
“Seven,” JJ corrected. “Maybe eight.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, mother hen.” Rafe bristled, then placed a hand firmly on JJ’s lower back like he was reasserting ownership in broad daylight.
JJ raised a brow. Cassie snorted. Rafe pretended nothing happened.
JJ wanted to celebrate his vertical status. Celebration meant: booze, chips, ridiculous snacks, energy drinks, gummies, a frozen lasagna, and three different kinds of chocolate. Rafe tried to say no.
JJ smiled at him. Game over.
At checkout, JJ leaned heavily on Rafe’s shoulder and said loudly: “Careful, babe, you look jealous again.”
Rafe nearly dropped the Doritos.
They unloaded the van slowly, Rafe carrying everything heavy, JJ supervising like a benevolent dictator. Then they collapsed onto the bed, JJ propped on pillows, Rafe sprawled beside him. JJ passed him the vape. Rafe hit it like someone trying to escape their own brain. “You okay?” JJ asked, voice soft.
“No.” JJ grinned. “Wanna get high?”
“Yes.”
They did. And the world softened. And the air got warm. And JJ’s smile got huge and sleepy and sexy. He nudged Rafe’s thigh. “Porn?” Rafe froze. “JJ—”
“Babe. We’re not dead. We’re not eighty. And we finally can do stuff that doesn’t involve bending my leg like a pretzel.” Rafe swallowed. “What kind of stuff?” JJ smirked. “Put on the porn and find out.” They didn’t go softcore. They went straight to the bookmarked playlists labelled Rafe’s Fucked Up Taste. Rope work. Breath control. Hands on throats. Power exchange. Blindfolds. Positions JJ might not manage yet but loved watching Rafe react to. Rafe inhaled sharply. His pupils blew wide. He tried not to shift but failed. JJ saw everything.
“You like watching it,” JJ murmured. Rafe didn’t answer. “You wanna do that stuff to me again.” Rafe’s jaw flexed. JJ leaned closer. “Say it.” Rafe’s voice was gravel. “Yes.”
JJ touched his cheek. “Then show me something.” Rafe blinked. “JJ…” JJ pouted. “You wouldn’t deny a recovering man his… coping mechanisms… would you?”
“JJ—”
“I can’t jerk off properly yet. You want me to do a tragic left-handed attempt while you’re right here?”
Rafe groaned like he was physically in pain. JJ whispered: “Touch yourself for me.” Rafe shook. Actually shook. Then whispered: “Fine.” He sat back against the headboard, breathing hard, hand sliding down his sweats. JJ’s eyes went wide, greedy, adoring. “Fuck,” JJ whispered.
Rafe gave him exactly what he asked for; slow, controlled, dominant, focused entirely on JJ watching him. Every breath heavy, every stroke deliberate, every sound meant for JJ alone. JJ bit his lip so hard he almost bruised it. Rafe’s voice dropped to a dark growl: “Don’t look away.” JJ didn’t.
It was perfect. Insane. Healing.
JJ collapsed against him after, sweating lightly, breathing fast. Rafe wrapped an arm around him protectively. JJ whispered, “I’m gonna ride again.” Rafe kissed his temple. “Of course you are.”
“And we’re gonna do scenes again.” Rafe’s breath stuttered. “Yes. When you’re healed.” JJ tugged his hair gently. “Babe. I know you’re scared.” Rafe swallowed. “Terrified.” JJ kissed his cheek. “But you don’t lose me.” Rafe’s eyes went glassy. “You don’t,” JJ repeated. “I’m getting better. We’re getting back to us.” Rafe closed his eyes, forehead resting against JJ’s. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.” JJ smiled, sleepy and smug. “And also… that was hot as fuck.”
Rafe groaned. “Don’t start.” JJ laughed softly. “You love it.” Rafe did. He really, really did.
JJ was moving better these days. Not great, not fast, but better and apparently “better” was enough for him to start roaming the world again. “Eli texted,” JJ said, shrugging into his jacket. “Wants to grab a drink.” Rafe froze. Eli. Tall, sun washed-brown hair, older, surf-prodigy Eli. JJ’s old crush. The guy JJ once called the hottest person on the island. Rafe’s eye twitched. “Why?” JJ laughed. “Because he’s my friend, babe.”
Rafe muttered something unintelligible that sounded like blasphemy. JJ limped closer, poked his chest. “Come with me so you don’t implode. It’ll be fine.”
Rafe scowled, but he grabbed the keys.
Eli spotted them immediately and lit up. JJ lit up back. Rafe hated the symmetry.
JJ half-limped, half-jogged the last few steps, and Eli automatically braced him with one steadying hand gently, supportive, nothing romantic, nothing dangerous. Rafe still wanted to break his fingers for touching JJ like that. “Holy shit, man,” Eli breathed, looking JJ over. “You okay?” JJ grinned crookedly. “Moon boot’s ugly as sin, but yeah.”
They hugged, quick, careful, familiar. Rafe’s jaw locked so tight he saw stars. They sat. Eli bought drinks. JJ laughed fully, freely- the kind of laugh Rafe hadn’t heard since before the truck.
And Eli? He wasn’t even flirting. He wasn’t doing a single thing wrong. He was just a warm, generous, older guy who used to teach JJ surf tricks and who JJ used to look at with teenage longing. Which somehow made it all so, so, so much worse. JJ leaned in, animated, talking about the grow op. Eli listened, eyes bright, smiling wide. He ruffled JJ’s hair without thinking. JJ rolled his eyes and smacked him away playfully.
Rafe gripped his beer so hard the glass squeaked. JJ noticed, smirked, and pressed his knee against Rafe’s under the table to soothe him.
It did not soothe him.
JJ buckled in slowly, careful of his ribs. Rafe stared straight ahead like the windshield had personally offended him.
“That was nice,” JJ said. “No it wasn’t.” JJ huffed. “Babe-”
“You blushed when he hugged you.”
“No I didn’t.”
“He touched your hair.”
“He always touches my hair.”
“He shouldn’t.” JJ grinned. “Are you being jealous of my fourteen-year-old crush right now?” Rafe’s nostrils flared. “I'm being jealous in general.”
JJ reached over, squeezed his thigh. “Babe. Eli’s like a brother.” “He’s like a guy who’s older than you, hotter than he should be, and taught you how to surf. That’s not a brother.” JJ snorted. “You’re insane.” Rafe didn’t blink. “I remember you at seventeen,” he said quietly. “Skinny, sunburnt, wild. Running around Boneyard like you didn’t belong to anyone. And every stupid boy on that island thought he could have you.”
JJ’s breath hitched. Rafe’s voice dropped. “And back then, I wanted you so bad I used to shake. And you never even noticed.” JJ stared at him, stunned. “I noticed,” he whispered. Rafe blinked hard. Something painful and warm shot through him. JJ squeezed his thigh again, softer this time. “You have me now, psycho. I’m yours. Completely.” Rafe exhaled shakily. It didn’t fix the fear in his ribs. But it helped.
A little.
JJ limped up the steps without holding Rafe’s arm. Rafe hated it. JJ collapsed onto the couch, propped his boot up, and smiled like the world was finally manageable again. “You’re quiet,” he said.
“You’re walking without me.”
“It’s called healing, babe.” Rafe didn’t smile. “It scares me.” JJ blinked, softened. “Come here.” Rafe sat beside him like a kicked dog. JJ touched his cheek. “Babe, I didn’t laugh like that tonight because of Eli. I laughed like that because I wasn’t in pain for once. Because seeing an old friend felt normal. Because it reminded me I’m still a person outside being hit by a truck.”
Rafe swallowed. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “When you were hurt… you were mine in this really fucked-up, terrifying way. And now you’re healing and you’re laughing with Eli and you’re walking around and…” “And what?” JJ asked, voice gentler than anything in the world.
“And I’m scared you’ll remember who you were before you had me.” JJ lifted his face, forehead pressed to Rafe’s. “Before I had you,” JJ murmured, “I was lost. Before I had you, I was lonely as hell. Homeless and beat down. Before I had you, I thought I’d die early and no one would care.” Rafe shuddered.
“You’re my home,” JJ whispered. “Eli is nostalgia. You are my life.” Rafe kissed him — desperate, relieved, unravelling. JJ smiled into it. “You wanna stake your claim again?” Rafe almost groaned. JJ whispered against his lips, “Then take me back. When I’m healed.” Rafe’s breath stuttered.
Hours later, JJ lay curled on his good side, moon boot sprawled out, breathing steady. And Rafe? Rafe sat in the kitchen with a mug of cold coffee at 2 a.m., lit by the laptop screen, spiralling beautifully. He scrolled through: JJ’s location history. Even though JJ was in the next room. Eli’s social media: Smiling. Surfing. Older. Taller. Unthreatening. Threatening. JJ’s old photos. Seventeen. Eighteen. Laughing. Free. Warm in a way Rafe had never been allowed to be. Rafe’s chest caved inward at the memory.
He opened the CNC document.
CNC Scenario — Post-Recovery
And typed:
- wait until cast is off
- moon boot gone
- strength returned
- no warning
- take him at night
- blindfold immediately
- hands zip-tied behind back
- into the van
- drive two hours
- campsite clear
- no phones
- he will scream
- let him
- remind him he is mine
He stared at the last line. Then he added:
- remind him he was mine before he knew it
- remind him Eli is the past
- I am the future
His breathing steadied. His pulse slowed. There he was. The man JJ fell in love with. The man JJ trusted with the dark. The man JJ wanted to take him.
Rafe Cameron, obsessive bastard, fully awake again.
“Babe…?” Sleepy voice. Crooked hair. Moon boot dragging. Rafe snapped the laptop shut. JJ rubbed his eye with his casted hand. “Why’re you awake? Come to bed.” Rafe swallowed. “Couldn’t sleep.” JJ limped over, leaned his forehead against Rafe’s chest.
“You’re mine,” JJ mumbled into him, half-asleep. Rafe wrapped both arms around him, crushing him gently. His voice was a low promise against JJ’s hair: “When you’re healed, baby… I’ll show you exactly what that means.” JJ sighed, smiling sleepily.
And Rafe held him like he wasn’t ever letting go.
Chapter Text
JJ healed fast. Too fast, in Rafe’s opinion.
Within a week of the moon boot going on, JJ was: limping around the house without holding onto walls, doing part-time shifts at the grow op, leaving the house without Rafe shadowing him, laughing again . texting Eli back in actual complete sentences. Rafe’s stomach twisted every time JJ said “I’ll be right back.” Every time he limped out the door without help. Every time he didn’t need Rafe’s hands on him. And worst of all: JJ was glowing again. Healthy. Independent. Warm in that same infuriating way Rafe remembered from seventeen.
Which is why the message from Eli hit like a baseball bat to Rafe’s spine.
Eli: Waves are clean today. Want to ride along & watch? We’ll keep you on dry sand, promise.
JJ stared at his phone, chewed his lip, then looked up at Rafe. “Babe… he’s just being nice.” Rafe’s eyebrow twitched. “Nice how?” “Nice like… we used to surf together. He knows I miss it. He said I can sit on the beach with him. Nothing wild.”
“You can’t sit on the beach. Your foot-”
On a towel.” “And your ribs-”
“Better.”
“And the incline down the dunes-”
“I’d go slow.”
“And Eli-” JJ laughed. “Eli’s not gonna carry me into the sunset, babe. He’s just bored.” Rafe didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch. JJ softened. “Come with me. Please? It’ll be fun.” Rafe stared at him for a long, dangerous second. Then muttered, “Fine.”
JJ limped slowly across the sand, the moon boot sinking awkwardly. Eli jogged ahead, long legs, board under one sun-bleached arm, and set up two towels. He waved. Big smile. Too friendly. JJ beamed back. Rafe wanted the tide to rise and swallow Eli whole. Eli flopped down beside JJ. “How’s the leg?”
“Getting better.”
Rafe sat on JJ’s other side like a guard dog with a law degree in homicide. Eli went into the water for a few warm-up runs. JJ watched, eyes bright. Rafe watched JJ’s face with growing nausea. Because this was it. This was the boy JJ used to want. Tall, relaxed, sandy, gorgeous, kind. The boy who taught JJ to duck dive, to stand, to cut left on a wave when every instinct told him to bail. And JJ was remembering. Rafe could see it all over him. The nostalgia. The admiration. The comfort. The past. Rafe’s jaw went tight enough to crack a molar. JJ touched his arm gently. “You okay?”
“No.” JJ laughed. “Babe.” Rafe swallowed. “You smiled at him like… like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like the crush came back.”
JJ blinked at him, shocked- then almost choked laughing. “Babe. I’m sitting next to you. With your hand basically welded to my thigh. I think we’re good.” Rafe looked down. Oh. He had, in fact, clamped onto JJ’s thigh like he was anchoring him to the earth. He let go. Slowly. JJ leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I only want you.”
Rafe wanted to believe it. He really did.
On the drive home, JJ fell asleep in the passenger seat, mouth open a little, hair sticking to his forehead, moon boot stretched out in the footwell. Rafe drove like a man holding a newborn grenade. When they got home, Rafe put JJ to bed and returned to the garage. The new white van sat there quietly, innocent, perfect. JJ had painted the mural outlines the day before, shaky left-handed doodles of waves, sun rays, and a feral little scribble version of Rafe’s face that Rafe pretended not to adore.
Rafe opened the back doors. Stared inside. Measured the space with his eyes.
Mental checklists started forming like frost:
- hooks on the walls
- anchor points on the floor
- padding
- blackout curtains
- sound dampening foam
- zip-tie stash box
- water bottles
- blankets
- tracker scrambler
- blindfold drawer
He paced. Imagined it. JJ’s gasp when the van door opened. The first blindfold. The zip ties tightening around his wrists. The way JJ would fight just long enough to feel alive again.
The way he’d finally melt the second he recognized Rafe’s breath at his ear. Rafe braced his hands on the roof of the van and exhaled hard enough to shake. “Mine,” he whispered to the empty air.
He started installing hooks.
JJ didn’t notice. Not at first. But Rafe checked his location history every time JJ left the house. Verified his walk times between Magical HQ and the coffee shop. Watched Eli’s social media like it was a national threat. Drove past JJ’s workplace and circled the block twice. Tracked JJ’s phone battery percentage “just in case.”
One afternoon JJ texted: “babe I’m going 2 blocks over to grab a burrito. chill.”
Rafe saw the notification the moment it appeared and was already grabbing his helmet. He ended up pretending to “just happen to be” driving past the burrito shop. JJ raised an eyebrow through the window. Rafe muttered something about running errands.
JJ mouthed: psycho
But he smiled like he meant I love you anyway.
Cassie showed up unannounced (as always), breezed inside, took one look at Rafe hunched over the laptop with seven tabs of “industrial restraint hardware” open, and stopped dead. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Rafe didn’t look up. “What.” Cassie pointed at the screen. “What the hell are you building? A basement in a van?” Rafe snapped the laptop shut. Cassie blinked, then whispered, “Oh my god, you ARE building a basement in a van.” Rafe glared.
Cassie sighed dramatically, dropped her backpack, walked to the fridge, popped open a seltzer, and sat beside him. “Okay. Talk.” Rafe rubbed his face. “I’m planning a scene.” Cassie nodded. “Okay… good… normal for you two. But why do you look like you’re preparing for a federal kidnapping?” Rafe exhaled through his nose. “He’s getting better.”
“And?”
“And he doesn’t need me as much.” Cassie raised one eyebrow. “So you’re compensating by building a hostage chamber?” “It’s not a hostage chamber.”
“Oh no? What’s this then?” She held up a hardware receipt: ‘20 Pack Industrial Zip Ties’ Rafe snatched it. “Props.” Cassie inhaled deeply. “Okay. Listen. You are worried. You are jealous. You are spiraling. I get it. But maybe, just maybe, you should talk to JJ instead of turning the van into Saw V.” Rafe scowled. “This is for JJ. He wants this.” Cassie stared at him. Softened. Sighed again. “Then fine,” she said. “But you need to tell him before you actually zip-tie him to something.” Rafe didn’t respond. Which told Cassie everything.
The bedroom door cracked open. JJ limped halfway into the hall, hair sticking up, rubbing his eye. “Babe? Why are you yelling at Cassie?” Cassie pointed at Rafe. “Because he’s building a murder van.” JJ blinked. “Oh babe… is this about Eli again?” Rafe stood there, breathing hard. “No.” JJ’s expression: pure disbelief. Rafe sighed. “Maybe.”
JJ limped forward, cupped Rafe’s jaw with his casted arm, and whispered: “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. And Eli is literally just a guy who helped me not die in the ocean when I was a teenager.” Rafe swallowed. JJ’s voice dropped lower. Warm. Intimate. “And when I’m healed, babe… you can do whatever you need. Whatever we need. But until then?” He kissed Rafe slow, soft, devastating. “Maybe don’t scare Cassie with your kidnap plans.” Cassie raised her hand. “Thank you.”
JJ kept kissing Rafe. Cassie sighed again. “Okay, I’m leaving. Do NOT involve me in your crimes.” She left. JJ didn’t stop kissing Rafe until Rafe stopped breathing properly. When he finally pulled back, JJ whispered: “You wanna remind me I’m yours? You will. Just not yet.” Rafe groaned. JJ smirked. “Now come to bed. Your psycho is showing.”
JJ slept. Rafe didn’t. His whole body felt too tight for his skin. He kept pacing between the living room window and the kitchen counter like a dog that had lost its bone. He even tried sitting, but it felt wrong. Stillness meant thinking, thinking meant fear, and fear meant imagining JJ walking farther and farther away from him every day. He wasn’t jealous of JJ’s strength returning. That would be stupid. He was grateful for it. He was proud of it. But he was terrified of losing the intensity that had existed between them while JJ was injured.
It had been raw and intimate in a way Rafe knew he would never experience again. JJ had needed him. Not in some abstract emotional sense. Physically needed him to move, to stand, to eat, to get down a hallway, to be safe. Being that essential to someone was like a shot to Rafe’s bloodstream. It changed him. It rewired him. It carved a new shape in his ribs and left JJ sitting there.
Now JJ could walk short distances with the moon boot. Now JJ was back at Magical HQ part time. Now JJ was talking to people without leaning on Rafe’s shoulder or being tucked into Rafe’s arm. Now JJ was laughing again. Open and easy. And worst of all, Eli was in town.
Eli showed up at Magical HQ in the early afternoon. Rafe was in the office with Walt, pretending to review soil reports while actually watching JJ move around outside. JJ was propped against a crate with his invoices, the boot stuck out in front of him, his hair bright in the sun. He looked good. He looked happy. He looked like someone who was healing fast enough to forget he had ever been breakable. Rafe felt that little twist of panic again.
Then the door opened and Eli walked in. Brown hair with golden streaks from the sun, tall, relaxed. His presence was a punch to the gut. He looked exactly like the kind of uncomplicated island boy JJ used to orbit at fifteen. And JJ lit up when he saw him. “Eli! Dude!” “Jay! Man, look at you moving around.” Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard he thought he might crack a molar.
Eli pulled a small, beat-up bar of surf wax from his pocket. The brand name was huge on the label. Sex Wax. Rafe nearly stopped breathing. “Found this in an old gear bag. Think it’s yours from 2019.” JJ laughed. “Holy shit, I actually remember that.”
Then it happened. Eli reached out and ruffled JJ’s hair. JJ didn’t even flinch. He swatted Eli’s hand away good-naturedly and kept laughing. Rafe was already halfway across the room before he registered he had moved. "Don’t touch him,” Rafe said.
Eli blinked. “Sorry. Habit. It’s a greeting thing.” “Not for him.” Rafe’s voice was low, controlled, but something violent threaded underneath it. JJ put a hand on Rafe’s arm. “Babe.” Rafe didn’t look away from Eli. “He is not your habit.” Eli raised his palms. “Alright. Got it.” Rafe nodded slowly, then walked back to the office. JJ mouthed sorry to Eli, limped after Rafe, and kept massaging Rafe’s hand until his breathing evened out. But something had cracked open. Rafe could feel the air rushing through it.
Cassie cornered him behind the storage shed an hour later. She didn’t bother warming up. “You are spiralling.” “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re vibrating like a power tool.” He glared at her. “I am jealous. Not insane.” Cassie snorted. “Those two things are not mutually exclusive.” He rolled his eyes. She stepped closer. “Rafe, listen. JJ is getting stronger. He’s moving around. He’s talking. He’s happy. That does not mean he is going to leave you.” Rafe said nothing. Cassie crossed her arms. “You think Eli is a threat because JJ once had a crush on him. You think independence means loss. You think caregiving was the only glue holding you together. You think if JJ can walk into a room alone, you lose your place in his life.” Rafe finally spoke. “I don’t think he’ll leave me. I know he won’t. But losing that version of us hurts.”
Cassie’s expression softened. She put one hand on his shoulder. “You don’t lose anything. You adapt.” Rafe didn’t respond. Cassie sighed. “And for the love of God, stop building whatever horror-movie set you’re constructing in that van. I saw the materials, I’m not blind.” Rafe’s heart slammed once. Cassie shook her head. “Talk to him before you do something extreme.”
But Rafe was already walking away. He wasn’t going to talk. He was going to prepare.
The van waited for him behind the grow op. White exterior. JJ’s painted wave outlines curling along the side. It was almost sweet-looking. Innocent. Inside, Rafe had transformed it. He shut the back doors. Darkness swallowed him. He imagined JJ kneeling there. Blindfolded. Hands tied behind his back. Breathing quick and sharp. Saying Rafe. Not in fear. In anticipation. He whispered into the empty air, “I’m going to take you and you won’t know when it’s coming.”
He practiced lifting weight to simulate JJ’s body, timing the grab, the pull into the van, the door shut. He practiced tying the blindfold swiftly without catching JJ’s hair. He practiced securing restraint points, testing the give, pressing his palms to the floor where JJ’s knees would go so he could check for discomfort.
He rehearsed his voice. Quiet, cold, controlled. He kept repeating it. Do not hurt him. Do not scare him harder than agreed. Keep it sharp but safe. Give him the fantasy without losing him to fear. He stayed in there until sweat soaked through his shirt. He stayed until the fantasy felt like oxygen in his lungs.
When he stepped out of the van, Cassie was sitting on the back porch stairs, smoking. JJ sat beside her, his moon boot stretched out, cast resting on a cushion. Cassie looked exasperated. JJ looked worried in the way he got when he thought he knew exactly what Rafe was doing but didn’t want to stop him. Cassie whispered to JJ, “Your boyfriend is constructing a kidnapping chamber.”
JJ took the joint. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Cassie blinked. “You are disturbingly calm about this.” JJ exhaled smoke. “He’s planning. He always plans. It’s how he tames the crazy.” Cassie stared. “This is not normal planning.” JJ shrugged. “Neither are we.” She softened. “Just promise me you actually want whatever he’s building toward.” JJ’s voice went quiet. “I want him. Always.” Cassie looked between them, muttered something about trauma and coastline humidity frying her brain, and left.
Rafe walked toward JJ slowly. He didn’t hide his stare. JJ’s cheeks warmed. Rafe lifted him easily, despite JJ protesting. “I can walk. I’m not breakable.” “I know you aren’t breakable. That’s why I’m doing this.” JJ shivered. “Doing what?” Rafe held him close. “Preparing.” JJ’s breath caught. “When?” Rafe kissed the palm of JJ’s good hand. “Soon. Not when you can run. You won’t need to run. I’ll take you from sleep.” JJ exhaled like the ground dissolved under him.
“You won’t expect it,” Rafe whispered. “That’s the point.” JJ pressed his face into Rafe’s shoulder. “Okay.” Rafe carried him inside. He finally felt steady. JJ was healing. JJ was moving. JJ was laughing with Eli again. But JJ still whispered his permission against Rafe’s throat.
And that was enough to keep Rafe alive.
JJ’s moon boot was off, replaced by a lace-up brace he kept complaining about but secretly admired because he said it made him look like a sexy injured linebacker. His leg was still weak, still tender, still nowhere near ready for Rafe’s planned scenario, but JJ was moving with a confidence that had returned almost overnight.
They were at Magical HQ, JJ checking plant notes while balancing on his good leg, when Eli showed up again. Rafe noticed him first. The brown hair with sunkissed streaks that JJ once described as unfair. The relaxed posture. The way JJ lit up when he saw him. Rafe felt that old sensation in his ribs. A tightness. A warning. Eli waved. “Jay! Dude. You busy tonight?”
JJ perked. “Not really. What’s up?” “Some of the surf crew is getting together for a bonfire at the south point. Bring drinks. Bring your man too, if he wants. Or not. No pressure.” JJ opened his mouth to answer. Rafe stepped beside him before a single syllable left JJ’s throat. “No,” Rafe said. Eli blinked. “Sorry?”
“No. He’s not going.” JJ stared at him like he had just broken a window. Eli raised his hands. “Okay, man. No worries. Just thought he might want to see people, catch up. Nothing weird.” JJ looked torn. “Rafe…” Eli saw the tension, backed away slightly, and tossed JJ a crooked smile. “Offer’s open if you change your mind.” JJ nodded slowly, even though Rafe’s hand on his back was practically a warning. Eli waved and left. JJ exhaled hard. “Babe. That was rude.”
“It needed to be said.” “I can make my own decisions.” “Not about that.” JJ’s eyes sharpened. “What is that supposed to mean?” Rafe didn’t answer. He turned away, heading for the back door, because if he stayed another second he might pick Eli up by the throat for implying JJ belonged at a bonfire with a bunch of tan, barefoot idiots who might think JJ was theirs to flirt with. JJ limped after him, catching his arm. “Rafe. Hey. Stop. I love you, idiot. But you can’t just decide things like that.” Rafe swallowed, jaw tense. JJ softened. “Talk to me.”
Rafe’s voice cracked out low. “He is inviting you into a version of your life where I don’t exist.” JJ went still. “I won’t lose what we built,” Rafe said. “I won’t watch you slip back into something light and easy and free. I can’t compete with who you were at sixteen.” JJ blinked. “Rafe. Look at me.” Rafe hesitated. “Look at me,” JJ repeated. Rafe lifted his eyes. JJ smiled the smallest smile. “I don’t want light or easy or free. I want intense. I want ours. I want you.” Rafe’s heart stuttered once. JJ stepped closer. “You don’t need to compete with Eli. You’ve already won.” Rafe took a long breath in. Something settled. Something else sharpened. JJ felt the shift immediately.
“Babe… what?” Rafe brushed his thumb under JJ’s jaw. “The date.” JJ’s pulse jumped. “What date?” Rafe leaned close, lips brushing JJ’s ear. “For your abduction.” JJ’s breath hitched. “You’re serious.” “I am always serious with you,” Rafe murmured. “You said soon. And now I know you’re ready enough.” JJ swallowed.
“Rafe, I still have braces and physio-” “You can walk,” Rafe said. “Good enough for what I am planning.” JJ was suddenly sweating.
“When?” Rafe smiled. Slow. Dark. Intimate. “You won’t know. That is the point.” JJ made a tiny choking sound that was ninety percent arousal and ten percent fear, and Rafe kissed the corner of his mouth. “I want you nervous when you go to sleep,” Rafe whispered. “I want you wondering whether tonight is the night.” JJ’s knees went soft. “Holy hell.” Rafe kissed him again, brief and claiming, then walked away as if he had not just set JJ’s neurons on fire.
JJ was impossible for the rest of the day. He kept glancing at Rafe. Jumping when the van doors slammed. Flinching delightfully when Rafe stepped behind him unexpectedly. Laughing nervously at Cassie’s dumb jokes. Breathing faster whenever Rafe touched him. Rafe drank every reaction like water. JJ finally broke.
“I want to be ready,” he muttered, stretching his leg at the bench with a grimace. “You are ready,” Rafe said. “No. I want to be actually kidnap-ready. Like… physically.” Rafe frowned. “JJ. Don’t be stupid.” JJ ignored him entirely and tried to push a deeper stretch. His face twisted. “Stop,” Rafe snapped. “I’m fine,” JJ replied.
“You’re hurting yourself.” JJ stubbornly strained again. Rafe pulled him upright by the waist. “Absolutely not. I won’t take you if you are injured. I am not doing a medical kidnapping.” JJ’s cheeks flushed. “I just want it to be good.”
“It will be good because it is us,” Rafe growled. “If you tear something, I swear I will lock you in bed for a week with nothing but water and protein shakes.” JJ blinked. “That sounds kinda…” Rafe silenced him with a glare so sharp JJ shut up mid-thought. JJ leaned his forehead to Rafe’s chest.
“You have no idea how badly I want this.” Rafe exhaled through his teeth. “You will get everything you want. Do not try to speedrun your recovery.” JJ sighed in surrender. “Fine.”
But Rafe filed away the phrase I want this. He would replay it later.
Cassie caught Rafe alone behind the building while JJ was inside sorting invoices. She didn’t look furious. She looked scared. “Rafe. We need to talk.”
“No we don’t.”
“Yes we do.”
He didn’t stop walking. Cassie walked faster. “I know you set the date,” she said. Rafe’s shoulders tensed. “There is no date.” “Bullshit. JJ is vibrating. You’re vibrating. The whole building feels like it is made of electrical wire.” Rafe finally stopped. “Cassie. This is consensual.” “Is it?” she demanded. “Because JJ looks excited, sure, but he also looks terrified in a way that feels half trauma, half arousal, and one hundred percent unstable.” Rafe’s eyes went icy. “He trusts me.”
Cassie stepped closer. “I know he does. But do you trust yourself right now?” Rafe flinched almost imperceptibly. Cassie didn’t back down. “You are still carrying the fear from the accident. You are still carrying the months of caregiving intensity. You are still half feral from hunting the guy who hit him. You are not in a neutral headspace for a fantasy that hinges on control.” Rafe’s jaw flexed. “I would never cross a line.”
Cassie took a breath. “If you hurt him because you are chasing the high of being needed… if you lose control because you are scared of losing the caretaker role… if you let your obsession run this instead of your love… I will put you in the ground myself.”Rafe blinked.
Cassie held her ground. “JJ is your world. Treat him like it.” He didn’t speak. She softened just slightly. “Just be sure the version of this scene you are planning is for him. Not for the part of you that can’t handle watching him become independent again.” Rafe closed his eyes once. When he opened them, he was calmer.
“I hear you,” he said quietly. Cassie nodded. “Good.” She walked away. Rafe stayed still. He replayed every word she said. He replayed every breath JJ had taken that day. He weighed want against need, obsession against devotion. He whispered into the empty yard, “This is for him.”
He believed it. He hoped it was enough.
Chapter Text
JJ tried to act normal. He really did. But the problem was that Rafe kept touching him like he already owned the next seventy-two hours of his life. A hand on the back of his neck when he poured coffee. A palm on his hip when he walked past the fridge. Two fingers under his chin when he was distracted. The kind of contact that didn’t restrain, didn’t claim in public, but whispered the promise of what was coming.
JJ couldn’t handle it. By noon he was trembling. By two he kept flinching at shadows. By three his brain was a live wire. He tried to hide it, acting casual while repotting a small plant at Magical HQ, but Rafe watched him with the calm attention of a man cataloguing prey behaviour. JJ dropped the trowel. Rafe spoke softly. “You are not breathing right.”
JJ muttered, “I would breathe fine if you stopped looking at me like that.” “Like what?” JJ stared at him. “Like I should be already tied up.” Rafe smiled without showing teeth. “Good.”
JJ nearly combusted on the spot.
Rafe turned up the anticipation. During inventory he stood behind JJ and said quietly, “You made a mistake this morning.” JJ nearly choked. “What mistake.” “You locked the bathroom door while showering. You think a locked door will stop me.”
JJ’s pulse hit the ceiling. “I didn’t do that on purpose.” “I know,” Rafe murmured. “That is what makes it adorable.” JJ had to sit down for a solid thirty seconds.
Later, at the checkout counter, Rafe texted him from three feet away.
I could take you tonight.
But I won’t.
Which is worse.
JJ’s knees actually buckled. Cassie caught him by the elbow with a look of instant suspicion. “You good?” she asked. JJ squeaked, “Bathroom,” and fled.
Eli triggered Rafe again. It happened around five p.m., when Eli swung by holding two iced coffees like a golden retriever who had never once considered jealousy as a human emotion. “Thought you guys could use a treat.” JJ lit up. “Dude. Hell yes.”
Rafe did not move. Did not blink. Did not breathe in a way that suggested humanity. Eli placed one coffee in JJ’s hand. Then he looked at Rafe. “This one’s for you, man.” Rafe finally spoke. “Why.” Eli looked confused. “Because you like coffee.”
Rafe held his stare for a long moment. Too long. JJ nudged him. “Say thank you.” Rafe took the cup with the mechanical precision of a man defusing a bomb. “Thank you.” Eli grinned, relieved. “Cool. Also, Jay, a couple of us are taking boards out tomorrow morning. You should come watch. I know you can’t surf yet, but it’ll be fun.” JJ froze.
Rafe’s hand tightened around the iced coffee until the plastic flexed. JJ cleared his throat. “Uh… maybe.” Rafe said, “He’s not going.”
Eli straightened a little. “Was talking to JJ.” “And I answered.”
JJ stepped between them. “Eli, thanks, man. Really. I’ll see how I feel.” Eli looked at JJ, then at Rafe, then back at JJ. There was confusion in his eyes, and concern too. He wasn’t stupid. He could feel the tension. “Alright,” Eli murmured. “No pressure.” He left.
JJ turned to Rafe. “You need to chill.”
“No. I need you focused.”
“On what.”
“On me.”
JJ flushed.
Rafe touched JJ’s jaw. “You gave him that smile.” “What smile.” “The smile you used to give him at sixteen.” JJ groaned. “Oh my god. Rafe. Stop. I am not flirting with Eli.” “You don’t see yourself clearly.” JJ threw his hands up. “Well maybe you should see a therapist.”
“I have you.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Then stop smiling at Eli.”
JJ gaped. “How about you stop trying to time-travel to my teenage years.” Rafe closed the distance. “I remember you at eighteen. Running around like you did not belong to anyone.”
“I didn’t.”
“You do now.”
JJ’s breath hitched. “Rafe…”
Rafe touched his lower lip. “Do not accept invitations from men who you used to want or who wanted you.”
JJ blinked fast. “But you used to want me.” Rafe smiled slowly. “I still do. And I have you. Completely.” JJ felt that in every muscle.
JJ tried to guess the night. At home he sat on the couch, fidgeting. “So… if you were me… and you were planning to kidnap someone… when would it be.” Rafe didn’t look up from his laptop. “Stop trying.”
“No seriously.”
“No.”
“Is it soon.”
“Maybe.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“Tuesday?”
“No.”
“Friday?”
“No.”
“Next week.”
“No.”
“So I am wrong?”
“All of those are wrong.”
JJ stared at him. “Did you even think of a date yet.”
“Yes.”
“When is it.”
Rafe closed the laptop. “JJ. You won’t know. Not the hour. Not the moment. Not the hand on your mouth.” JJ’s breathing changed instantly. Rafe crawled onto the couch beside him. “Go ahead. Try to imagine it.” JJ squeezed his eyes shut. Rafe whispered, “Not like that. Open your eyes. Look at me.” JJ complied. Rafe tilted his chin. “You will be asleep. Then you won’t be. You will hear me before you feel me. And then you will feel everything.” JJ whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Rafe kissed him gently. “Good.”
Cassie felt the storm. She showed up at their house at eight p.m. uninvited, holding a bag of dumplings and a six-pack. Rafe opened the door. “No.”
“Yes,” she said. “No,” he repeated.
She pushed past him. “JJ, where are you.” JJ called, “Couch. Rafe is being dramatic.” Cassie threw herself into the armchair. “Correct. I could feel the tension from my house.” JJ laughed nervously. “We are fine.”
Cassie looked between them. “No. You are both vibrating like powerlines. Neither of you should be alone tonight.” Rafe glared. “Cassie.” She pointed a finger at him. “I swear to god, if you so much as breathe wrong while JJ is in this state, I will drag you into the driveway and beat you with your own shoe.” JJ snorted. Rafe did not.
Cassie softened. “Look. I am staying for a while. Let things calm down. Order will be restored. Then I will leave.” Rafe reluctantly stepped back. Cassie cracked open a beer. “Alright. Who wants dumplings and who wants to pretend they are not on the verge of a psychosexual meltdown.” JJ raised his hand. “I want both.” Cassie nodded. “Good boy.” Rafe hissed under his breath.
Cassie smirked. “Relax. I am not competing for the crown.” JJ wheezed laughing. Rafe sank onto the couch beside him and pulled him close by the waist. Possessive. Silent. Claiming. JJ leaned into him.
Cassie watched them for a long moment, something like relief settling in her chest. It would be a long night. And the real one was still coming.
JJ woke before Rafe. That never happened. It was still dim, early, the kind of morning where the air felt grey and slow. Rafe slept curled around him from behind, arm slung over JJ’s waist like a restraint he forgot he was using. JJ lay still for a moment, listening to Rafe breathe. Then his phone buzzed. Any other morning, he would’ve ignored it. But he was restless and warm and anxious in a way he couldn’t name. He checked the screen. It was Eli.
Morning, Jay.
Surf looks clean today. Wish you could be out there.
JJ smiled- soft, nostalgic, unguarded. The same smile that used to get him in trouble. His thumb hovered. He texted back before he thought twice.
Miss it a lot.
Catch a barrel for me.
And then, because muscle memory was a bitch, he attached a photo from last week: his bare foot in the sand, shoreline washing over it. Not sexual. Not flirty. Just… intimate in that casual way teenage history always is.
He hit send. And instantly regretted it. He turned slowly. Rafe was awake. Not blinking. Not breathing loudly. Just watching him. JJ whispered, “How long have you been awake.” Rafe’s voice was too calm. “Long enough.” JJ felt his stomach drop. “It was just Eli.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t anything.”
“I saw the smile.” JJ froze. Rafe lifted his head. “The smile you used to give him. The one from those old photos. The one I never got because you didn’t know I existed.” JJ whispered, “Rafe. That wasn’t a flirty smile.”
“You sent him a picture.” “It was my foot.” “You sent him sand and sunlight,” Rafe said. “You sent him the version of you that wants to be remembered.”
JJ’s chest tightened. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you,” he said.
“You did.”
Rafe rolled out of bed. JJ watched him walk into the kitchen. He didn’t slam anything. Didn’t curse. Didn’t break.
That was worse. When he came back, he held his coffee without drinking it. “Get dressed,” Rafe said.
JJ blinked. “What. Why.”
“Because you’re gonna understand something today.” JJ whispered, “Rafe…”
“Now.” JJ obeyed.
The van was already running. JJ hadn’t heard Rafe start it. Rafe opened the side door and motioned. “Inside.” JJ climbed in slowly, heart pounding. The van smelled like paint, rope, and trouble. Rafe shut the door behind them and leaned against it.
JJ whispered, “Are you mad.” “No.”
“Then what.” “I’m not afraid you’ll cheat on me,” Rafe said. “You won’t. That’s not who you are.” JJ relaxed half an inch. Rafe stepped closer. “I’m afraid that when you smile at Eli, you remember the boy you used to be. The boy who didn’t belong to anyone. The boy who could run.” JJ’s breath caught.
“And now,” Rafe continued, “you’re almost healed. You’ll be fast again. If you ever wanted to run, you could.” “I’ not going anywhere,” JJ said, voice breaking.
Rafe touched JJ’s jaw gently. “Then don’t make me feel eighteen again. Watching you from the dunes while you gave that smile to everyone except me.” JJ’s eyes went soft. “Rafe…”
“Get on your knees.” JJ’s breath hitched. “Right now?” “Yes.” JJ sank onto the floor of the van, knees on the mat. Rafe watched him like he wanted to devour him. “Good,” Rafe murmured. “You remember who you belong to.” JJ swallowed. “I do.”
“Say it.” “I belong to you.” Rafe shut his eyes like that fixed something inside him. He touched JJ’s cheek, softer now.
“You’re not running. Not even in your head.” “I’m not.”
“And you’re not giving your old smiles to other men.” “I won’t.”
“And when the night comes, you’re not hiding from me.” JJ looked up at him with pupils blown wide. “I won’t hide.”
Rafe kissed him slow, heavy, consuming. “Good.” He stood. “Now get in the passenger seat. We’re going for a drive.”
“Where?” “Doesn’t matter. I want you in this van. I want you thinking about what it’ll feel like when I take you in it.”
JJ’s heart jumped into his throat.
Rafe drove. Hand occasionally brushing JJ’s thigh. Mind somewhere darker. Breathing steady and controlled in a way that made JJ twitch with anticipation. Every slow stop. Every turn. Every quiet stretch of road. JJ imagined Rafe pulling over. Blindfolding him. Zip-tying his wrists. Dragging him into the back. JJ burned the whole time.
Rafe didn’t touch him again. Not yet. That made it worse.
They got home. JJ stumbled out on weak legs. Rafe slid an arm around him. “You understand now.” JJ nodded. Rafe kissed his neck. “Good.”
They went inside. Cassie was already on the porch. She took one look and groaned. “Oh fantastic. I can feel the jealousy from the driveway.” JJ flushed. Rafe glared. Cassie pointed at him. “Whatever’s going on in your head, fix it. JJ looks like he got eaten alive and you look like you haven’t blinked since yesterday.” JJ squeaked, “Cassie…”
She softened toward him. “Not your fault, baby. But you look like you’ve joined a cult.” Rafe growled, “Cass.” She flicked his ear. “Behave. I mean it. If you cross a line with him, I will throw hands and you know I will win.” Rafe did not disagree.
Cassie kissed JJ’s forehead, smacked Rafe’s shoulder, and walked off muttering, “I swear to god, the sexual tension in this house is a biohazard.” JJ stared after her. Rafe stared at JJ.
JJ whispered, “When’s it happening.” Rafe brushed his knuckles over JJ’s mouth. “When you least expect it.” JJ shivered. Rafe added quietly, “And baby… it won’t be gentle.” JJ whispered, “Good.” Rafe’s breathing changed.
The night was coming. JJ wanted it more than he wanted air. Rafe was hanging on by a thread. And Eli had no idea what he’d set in motion.
JJ noticed the first shift on Tuesday morning. He woke up and reached for his phone. It wasn’t where he left it. He frowned, rolled to his side, and looked around the nightstand. Nothing. He sat up, confused. “Rafe…?”
Rafe stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping, looking like he hadn’t slept much but had powered through it with sheer will. “I moved it,” he said calmly. JJ blinked. “Why.”
“I don’t want you reaching for it first thing when you wake up.” JJ stared. “Are you serious.”
“Yes.”
“Since when do you control when I check my phone.” Rafe walked past him and kissed his forehead like that ended the discussion. “Since now.” JJ’s entire nervous system lit up. Not with anger. With adrenaline.
“Where is it,” he whispered. “Kitchen,” Rafe said. “Charging.”
“You put it in the kitchen overnight.” “Yes.”
JJ swallowed. “That’s new.” “That’s intentional.”
JJ didn’t argue. Because part of him loved it. Part of him hated loving it. Part of him felt exposed and owned all at once.
The second change happened at lunch. JJ went to grab his keys by the door. They weren’t there. He checked every pocket of his jacket, the bowl by the entryway, the counter near the fridge. “Rafe,” he called. “Where are my keys.”
Rafe didn’t look up from the invoices he was reviewing at the table. “I’ve got them.” JJ froze. “Why do you have them?”
“Because your leg’s still healing,” Rafe said mildly. “And you don’t need to be driving yet.” “I have the moon boot,” JJ argued. “I’m walking fine.”
“Walking,” Rafe said. “Not driving.” “Rafe…”
Rafe met his eyes. And that look- that calm, dangerous, final look made JJ’s stomach flutter. “You don’t need your keys today,” Rafe said. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” “You don’t have to.”
JJ’s pulse spiked. “You’re shifting the rules on me,” JJ said quietly. “Yes,” Rafe answered. “I am.” JJ felt himself tremble. Not with fear. With anticipation.
The third shift was smaller, but not small at all. JJ tried to close the bathroom door before showering. Rafe stopped it with one hand. JJ’s eyes darted up. “What.” “No closed doors today,” Rafe said. JJ whispered, “Not even in the bathroom?” “Especially not in the bathroom.”
That was when JJ realized: Rafe wasn’t punishing him. He was preparing him. Preparing his body. Preparing his nerves. Preparing his mind for the moment Rafe wouldn’t let him close anything. Or see anything. Or hold anything. JJ’s heart hammered. “Rafe… when.”Rafe kissed the corner of his mouth. “Soon.” And he let the door close just halfway. Half privacy. Half exposure.
JJ understood the message clearly.
But the real detonation happened around four p.m. JJ’s phone buzzed on the couch beside him. He didn’t even look at it. He was too absorbed in the new smoking device Cassie brought over. Or pretending to be absorbed. Or pretending he wasn’t hyperaware of every shift in Rafe’s behaviour.
Rafe instantly said, without looking up, “Check it.” JJ blinked. “You told me not to check my phone first thing.” “That was this morning. Now I want you to look.” JJ picked up the phone. It was Eli. JJ felt his stomach drop.
Eli had sent: Got a photo developed from back in the day. Thought you’d want a copy. And attached…a picture of eighteen-year-old JJ on the beach, hair dripping, necklace shining, grinning like he’d swallowed the sun. JJ’s breath left his body. Rafe looked up at the exact moment the light shifted on JJ’s face.
“What is it,” Rafe asked. JJ hid the screen reflexively. Too reflexively. Rafe stood. Very slowly. “JJ,” he said softly. “Show me.” JJ could’ve lied. Could’ve stalled. Could’ve said it was nothing. But Rafe’s gaze was solid heat and pressure and inevitability. JJ turned the screen. Rafe’s jaw tightened so hard JJ heard it. Eli sent a follow-up before either of them spoke.
You were a beautiful kid, Jay. Hope the healing’s going okay.
JJ didn’t breathe. Rafe didn’t blink. Something inside Rafe clicked into place. A silent decision. A hinge swinging shut. Not fury. Not panic. Something colder. Rafe handed the phone back to JJ without a word. Then he walked toward the van. JJ scrambled after him. “Rafe. Rafe. Hey. Stop. I didn’t ask him to send that.”
Rafe opened the van door. “I know.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it.” “I know.”
“Then what are you doing.”
Rafe turned slowly. “You’re ready.” JJ froze. “What.” Rafe stepped close enough that JJ felt every heartbeat against his ribs. “You’re walking,” Rafe murmured. “Your boot’s getting lighter. You’re getting your strength back. And Eli remembers the boy you were. That means it’s time.”
JJ whispered, “Time for what.” Rafe touched JJ’s jaw with two fingers. “For you to remember who you belong to.” JJ felt heat rush through him. Not fear. Need. “When,” he whispered. Rafe said, “Soon.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s the only answer you’re getting.”
JJ shivered so visibly Rafe smiled. “You’re not ready to know the day,” Rafe said softly. “But you’re ready to lose the idea that you get to choose.” JJ’s knees nearly buckled.
That night, the whole house felt different. Lights dimmer. Shadows heavier. Doors not shutting fully. Rafe never letting JJ’s phone stay near him for too long. JJ lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Rafe lay beside him, breathing steady. JJ whispered, “I’m nervous.” Rafe turned to him, touched his face with a palm that covered half his cheek. “I want you to be nervous.”JJ swallowed hard. “I… want you to take me.”
“You will get what you asked for,” Rafe said. “And what did I ask for,” JJ whispered. Rafe kissed him, slow and claiming. “You asked me to ruin you the way you ruin me.” JJ shut his eyes. “Goodnight, baby,” Rafe murmured. “Sleep while you still can.”
JJ didn’t sleep at all. Rafe didn’t either. They lay there breathing. Waiting. Circling the edge of something huge. And JJ kept replaying the picture Eli sent and the way Rafe looked at it and the truth he finally understood: Rafe wasn’t jealous of Eli touching him. Rafe was jealous of who JJ used to be. And he was going to fix that. Personally.
Rafe woke JJ with a hand sliding over his hip and a quiet kiss to the back of his neck. “Get up,” he murmured. “I’m taking you to Magical HQ.” JJ squinted at the clock.
“It’s early.” “It’s not.”
“It feels early.” Rafe kissed him again. “Get dressed.”
JJ groaned dramatically, threw an arm over his face, then rolled out of bed. He moved slow, half because of the moon boot and half because every single morning felt like it might be the morning and he never knew when Rafe would finally make good on the threat hanging over them both.
Rafe helped him into the van with one steady hand at his back, then shut the door like he was locking away something precious. JJ’s stomach flipped. He still wasn’t used to how easy Rafe was with the physical closeness. How natural it seemed for Rafe to guide him everywhere. How much the van had started to feel like a loaded space.
They got to Magical HQ just before nine. Cassie was already inside rearranging shelves like they owed her money. Walt was outside wearing tie-dye and watering his plants like a man who communed with cannabis spirits.
Rafe tipped JJ’s chin. “Have a normal workday.” JJ snorted. “I don’t think I remember what normal is.” “You’ll be fine.”
“You say that like you’re not actively planning to kidnap me.” “I’m not planning.” JJ’s cheeks flushed. “Cool. Great. I’m gonna go… not freak out.” Rafe kissed him once soft, quick, grounding , then turned toward his bike.
JJ called, “Where’re you heading?” “Contractors,” Rafe said. “We’re designing the school.” JJ perked up. “Oh, hell yeah. Dirt track?”
“Dirt and tarmac,” Rafe said. “I want a split layout. Beginner loop, intermediate straight, advanced cornering section. Portable building for classes. Toilets. First-aid room. Shade sails. Camera points. Parking for scooters and small bikes. And drainage. Lots of drainage. They don’t think about drainage unless you make them.” JJ blinked. “You’re sexy as hell when you talk civil engineering.”
Rafe smirked. “Good to know.” JJ stepped closer. “What’re you telling them?”
“That I want this school to feel safe, but not soft. Riders need consequences, not danger. I want clear sightlines, marked boundaries, and a controlled skid zone. And I want it finished fast.” JJ grinned. God, he loved when Rafe talked like a man building a future. “Will your phone be on?” JJ asked. “No,” Rafe said. “Not for them. They’ll reach me by email only this week.”
JJ frowned. “Why only email?” Rafe’s eyes softened in a way that made JJ’s breath trip. “Because the next time someone hears my voice without warning might be you. Not them.” JJ almost dropped his coffee. Rafe started his bike. “Work hard. Don’t think too much.” “That’s impossible.”
Rafe smirked and drove away.
JJ tried to work. Really.
He checked humidity sensors. Trimmed plants. Smoked a little. Ate part of a cookie Cassie left out. Smoked again. Reorganized a shelf. Then tried to remember how to exist in his own body while waiting for a man to abduct him consensually. Cassie finally snapped, “If you don’t sit down, baby, I’m throwing you in the propagation sink.”
JJ slumped into a chair. “He said soon.” “Soon what.” JJ stared at the floor. “Soon… everything.” Cassie rolled her eyes affectionately. “You’re glowing like someone who’s either in love or about to get murdered for fun.”
JJ pulled his hood over his face. “I’m not having this conversation.” “You absolutely are,” she said.
JJ moaned into his sleeves.
Around noon, JJ’s phone buzzed. He braced himself, thinking it was Rafe. It wasn’t. It was Eli.
Hey Jay, I’m heading south tomorrow for a comp. Wanna hang today? One more lunch before I hit the road?
JJ chewed his lip. He wasn’t in love with Eli. He wasn’t even tempted. But Eli was tied to a version of himself he hadn’t seen in a long time — the reckless, sunburnt, buzzed kid with no responsibilities and no injuries and no van-related BDSM spirals.
He typed back:
Yeah man. Come to HQ. Let’s get tacos
Eli sent a thumbs up. JJ muttered, “Please don’t let this blow up in my face.” Cassie called from across the room,
“What did you do?” “Nothing!”
“That tone says you did something.” JJ yanked his hood lower. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” “It’s very fine.” Cassie sighed. “Jesus Christ.”
Eli arrived like he always did: hoodie, sunnies, hair messy from the wind, carrying tacos from a truck JJ loved.
They sat outside under the shade sails, talking, eating, smoking, laughing like they were sixteen again. Eli drew a stupid doodle on JJ’s cast. JJ coughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. They reminisced about surf wax, board repairs, the contest Eli won at seventeen. Eli posted a selfie before JJ even realized what he was doing. JJ honestly forgot about it three minutes later because Eli told a story that made him choke on his taco.
Rafe didn’t forget. By four p.m., Rafe had negotiated every part of the school build. He stood with the contractors beside the site, pointing at rough survey flags. “I want the dirt track on the west side,” he said. “Gentle slope, no blind turns. Clay mix, not straight sand. Asphalt straight on the east for braking drills. Portable building delivered next month. I want glass windows you can see into from the track. Emergency lighting. Shade sails. Two toilet blocks. Double hose line. And no one cuts corners on drainage. If you skimp, I’ll know.”
The contractors nodded, scribbling notes. Rafe added, “I won’t be reachable by phone this week. Email only. And if you fall behind schedule, I’ll switch contractors.” The foreman raised eyebrows. “You’re serious about this.” “Completely,” Rafe said.
He shook hands, got in the van, and left. He didn’t check his phone until he hit the overlook above town. Eli posted a new photo. Rafe tapped it. JJ and Eli sat together, stoned smiles, heads tipped toward each other, tacos in hand. JJ looked young. Eli looked like he belonged beside him. The jealousy hit hard, sharp, immediate.
Then Rafe read the caption: Had a blast in Eureka with my favourite grommet. See you soon Malibu.
Rafe stared at the word Malibu until his shoulders loosened. Eli wasn’t staying. Eli wasn’t circling. Eli wasn’t competition. JJ wasn’t slipping away. Rafe breathed out slowly. He could let this go. Barely.
When Rafe walked through the door, JJ was on the couch, holding his phone like a kid who’d done something stupid and adorable. “Hey,” JJ said, voice small. Rafe took one look at him and knelt between JJ’s knees. “You had lunch with Eli,” Rafe said. JJ winced.
“I didn’t know he’d post that.” “I know.”
“He’s leaving tomorrow.” “I saw.”
JJ bit his lip. “You mad at me?” “No,” Rafe said softly. “But we’re done with surprises.” JJ swallowed. “Meaning…?” Rafe leaned in and kissed the inside of JJ’s knee, slow and possessive. “Meaning the countdown just got shorter.” JJ shivered so visibly the couch shook. Rafe rested his forehead against JJ’s thigh. “You’re mine, baby. And before this week ends, you’re gonna feel it.”
JJ’s breath hitched. “I’m ready.” Rafe smiled against his skin. “No, you’re not.” JJ whimpered. “But you will be,” Rafe murmured. JJ’s hands trembled. “Rafe…” “Shh,” Rafe whispered. “Soon.” JJ felt the word in his bones. Soon.
And then neither of them spoke for a long time. Because the night was coming. And they both knew it.
Chapter Text
Rafe calmly made dinner for JJ and himself.
The pre-scheduled email was already sitting in drafts, waiting. He read it one more time:
Cassie,
Don’t expect JJ onsite for a few days.
He’s safe.
R
He scheduled it for 7 a.m. Then he shut the laptop.
Tonight was real. The van was ready. He’d spent the last hour making sure: mattress in place, duvet straightened, pillows shoved against the wall. Two duffel bags — one with spare clothes and food and water, one with the gear. Cuffs. Rope. A small first aid kit. Two bottles of lube. The blackout hood. A few camping basics in case they stayed out longer. And the carabiner attached to the steel ceiling brace he’d installed last week. It all felt calm. Prepared. Like the world had snapped into its correct shape.
Rafe padded back into the house. JJ was in the bath, cast propped on a folded towel over the edge, hair damp, eyes pink from weed. The bathroom smelled like eucalyptus salts and the strawberry Kush vape JJ loved too much. Rafe knelt beside the tub. JJ smiled- loose, hazy, sweet. “You okay?” JJ murmured.
“Yeah.” “You sure?”
Rafe kissed his cheek. “I made dinner. Your favourite.” JJ groaned happily. “God, I’m starving.” They ate on the couch: roasted potatoes, salad, marinated chicken. JJ inhaled everything. Rafe pretended to vape, only mouth-breathing the smoke so JJ wouldn’t realize he was staying clear-headed on purpose. JJ didn’t notice. He got stoned enough that his eyelids went soft and he kept leaning into Rafe’s shoulder, mumbling about how horny he was going to be once his leg fully healed.
Rafe brushed his hair back. “Soon.” “Mm.” JJ kissed his jaw. “Love you.”
“I know,” Rafe whispered.
They went to bed early. JJ curled against him, warm, high, trusting. His hands locked around Rafe’s neck as if that alone could tether him. Rafe stared at the ceiling. At 2 a.m., JJ rolled in his sleep, cheek nuzzling against Rafe’s throat. His fingers flexed against Rafe’s skin.
Time.
Rafe reached for the bedside drawer and slid it open. The zip ties rested on top, next to the blindfold and the cloth he’d planned to use for JJ’s mouth. He moved slow, silent, practiced. He took JJ’s wrists gently in his hands, sliding them away from his neck. JJ barely stirred. Then Rafe looped the zip tie around JJ’s wrists in front, safe, exactly how they agreed and tightened it before JJ even blinked awake. JJ gasped, half choking on a shocked inhale. “Rafe?”
Rafe slid the blindfold over his eyes. JJ’s breath hitched. Before he could speak again, Rafe pressed the soft cloth over his mouth and tied it behind his head. JJ made a muffled, trembling sound. Rafe leaned close, voice low and feral against JJ’s ear. “You’re coming with me, twink.” JJ shuddered so hard the whole mattress shifted.
Before JJ could fully process it, Rafe hooked an arm under his back, another under his thighs, and hauled him up. JJ struggled instinctively. Nnot resisting, just startled, letting out a muffled grunt. Rafe’s grip tightened. “Move again and It’ll be worse for you.” JJ froze, breathing fast against the cloth. “Good boy.”
Rafe slung JJ over his shoulder and carried him through the dark house, steps confident and unhurried. JJ wriggled once, a tiny panic burst, but Rafe only squeezed his thigh. “Breathe. I’ve got you.” He stepped outside into the cold night air, the world silent except for JJ’s muffled breathing.
The side door of the van slid open with a soft clunk. Rafe lifted JJ in and laid him on the mattress. JJ tried to sit up, confused, blindfolded, wrists bound in front of him. Rafe pushed him gently onto his back. He took the carabiner, clipped it through the zip ties, and pulled it up with the attached rope until JJ’s hands were anchored by the ceiling mount. Not uncomfortably tight, just enough to keep him exactly where Rafe wanted him. JJ exhaled a broken sound through the gag.
Rafe climbed in after him, settling between JJ’s knees. He stroked the side of JJ’s face with his thumb. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “And we’re leaving.” JJ arched toward the voice, shaking, overwhelmed in that perfect way that made Rafe’s chest ache with love and hunger. Rafe kissed him through the cloth. Then he slid the van door shut, walked to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and looked once in the rearview mirror at the shape of JJ’s restrained body on the mattress.
Game on. He pulled out of the driveway. Tonight had finally begun.
JJ had never felt anything like this.
He lay flat on his back on the mattress, wrists zip tied together and clipped up toward the ceiling so he couldn’t lower his hands. The blindfold stole the whole world from him, and the gag made his breathing loud inside his own head. The van moved, bumping softly under him. He swallowed hard, trying to breathe slow even though panic kept slamming into him in little jolts.
He had agreed to this. Weeks ago. He had teased Rafe about being ready when the cast came off. He had begged for darkness, for fear, for the fantasy that had lived inside Rafe’s head since the night JJ got his moon boot off. But talking about it and waking up bound and taken out of the house were not the same experience. His body knew that. His body reacted like he had been taken by force even though he trusted every cell of Rafe’s judgment.
JJ tried to move his legs and felt how quickly the mattress shifted. There was no bracing point. He couldn’t sit up without pulling against the zip ties. Couldn’t roll sideways without losing his balance. Couldn’t see anything but darkness. He made a sound behind the gag, something that was half frustration, half need.
The van turned sharply. JJ slid an inch and gasped against the cloth. His heart pounded so hard it felt like his whole body vibrated around it. He tried to listen instead. Tyres on asphalt. Occasional wind. The faint rattle of something metal in a cupholder in the front. He had no idea where Rafe was taking him. How far. How long. That was the part that hit him hardest. No control.
JJ’s cock throbbed helplessly under his shorts. He hated how turned on he was while also scared out of his mind. He hated how much that combination made him feel owned. Loved. Consumed. A violent shiver ran through him.
The van sped up. JJ let out another muffled sound, involuntary. He wanted Rafe to hear it. He wanted Rafe to know he was doing great. He wanted Rafe to stop and touch him. He wanted Rafe to keep driving forever. He had no idea which want would win if he were unbound. He tugged lightly at the zip ties. They held, firm and unwavering. His breath came out sharp.
He couldn’t change what was coming. All he could do was wait while the fear curled through him like electricity and the arousal burned hot behind it.
And trust.
Rafe hadn’t felt this calm in years. Maybe ever. His hands on the wheel were steady. His breathing deep and slow. His mind sharpened to a single point. JJ was in the back of the van. Bound. Blindfolded. Gagged. Clipped to the ceiling brace Rafe had welded into place himself. Taken straight from their bed and carried without resistance.
Mine.
The word echoed in every heartbeat. Rafe checked the rearview mirror again even though he couldn’t see much in the dark. Just the shape of JJ’s legs. The faint movement when JJ tried to adjust. The shifting shadow when the van hit a bump. He listened hard. There.
Another muffled sound. Rafe’s pulse jumped instantly. JJ was awake. JJ was feeling it. The fear. The helplessness. The heat.
Good.
He tightened his grip on the wheel. This wasn’t about punishing JJ. Or proving anything. Or competing with Eli’s stupid sun streaks and old surf stories. This was about reminding JJ who he belonged to. Who thought about him every second of every day. Who waited months while JJ healed. Who planned and calculated and controlled every variable so tonight would be perfect.
JJ wanted this. Asked for this. And Rafe was finally giving him the version he had begged for. Rafe’s voice came out a raw whisper “You’re not getting away from me tonight.” The road straightened out and Rafe accelerated.
He thought about the campsite he’d chosen. Remote. No cell service. A spot he could defend from every angle. He thought about the blankets in the back, the food, the lube, the cuffs, the hood. The river nearby where he planned to drag JJ for a cold rinse in the morning, wrists bound behind him, blindfold still on. He thought about his hands on JJ’s hips. About JJ arching when the fear turned molten. About JJ gasping into the gag because he couldn’t form words. About JJ remembering this night for the rest of his life.
Rafe felt his cock throb in his jeans. He forced himself to stay steady. This was supposed to last. This was supposed to unfold slowly. He had hours. Maybe days if JJ wanted it. He had prepared for both. He spoke again, under his breath.
“You’re not running anymore. You’re not laughing with anyone else. You’re not turning away from me. Not tonight.”
He drove another five minutes before checking the mirror again. JJ was shaking. Rafe’s whole body lit up like someone struck a match inside his spine.
Perfect.
He reached for the backlight and flicked it on for one second, just long enough for JJ to register behind his blindfold, know he was being watched, before turning it off again. JJ let out a frantic, muffled noise. Rafe grinned, sharp and wolfish. “Good boy.”
They had an hour of driving left. Plenty of time for JJ to fall apart in the dark. Plenty of time for Rafe to build the moment exactly how he wanted. Tonight, he wasn’t spiralling. Tonight, he wasn’t scared of losing JJ. Tonight was control. Tonight was the payoff of months of longing and care and planning. Tonight was theirs.
The road shifted from asphalt to gravel long before the van slowed. JJ felt the change first in his bones. Every vibration turned sharper, louder, more intimate. The blindfold pressed against his eyelashes with each rattle. His wrists ached gently from being held overhead. His breathing had turned uncontrollable.
He had no idea how long they’d been driving. It could’ve been minutes or hours. The darkness made time meaningless. Then the van stopped. Not gently. Not dramatically. Just a clean, controlled stop, like Rafe had rehearsed the exact pressure needed on the brake. JJ froze.
The engine cut off. For a heartbeat, the world was silent. He heard Rafe’s door open. He heard footsteps. Then the side door slid open and the cold night air poured in around JJ like water. JJ gasped into the gag. Rafe’s voice came from above him, low and steady. Almost tender. “Don’t move.” JJ shivered hard.
The van rocked once when Rafe climbed in. JJ couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything. But he felt it. The shift in weight. The slight drop of the mattress. The quiet, controlled exhale that meant Rafe was close, right there, all around him. Rafe unhooked the carabiner from the ceiling, letting JJ’s bound hands fall gently to his chest. JJ breathed out a shaking sigh of relief at the release of tension.
JJ lay flat on his back, hands bound in front with the zip tie, blindfold still on, gag removed, chest rising too fast. His left leg braced in the lace-up support, toes digging into the blanket. The brace wasn’t painful. It just reminded him he wasn’t fully steady. That he was prey tonight, not a fighter. Rafe knelt next to him on the mattress. JJ could feel the warmth of his thighs through the blanket.
“You’re shaking,” Rafe murmured. JJ swallowed. “Yeah.” “Why?” JJ’s voice cracked. “Because you took me. Because I can’t see. Because I don’t know what happens next.” Rafe brushed a thumb over JJ’s cheek. “And you like that.”
JJ nodded hard. “So much.” Rafe’s breath shuddered. For a second the whole van went still except for their breathing. Then JJ flinched, a tiny jerk of pain in his wrists. Rafe went still. “Where?”
“My wrists,” JJ whispered. “Zip tie’s digging.” Rafe didn’t hesitate. He reached to the side pocket of the van wall and pulled out his knife. JJ heard the soft metallic click of the blade opening and his whole body spasmed. “Easy,” Rafe whispered. “I’m not cutting you.” He slid the flat of the blade under the zip tie, careful and precise. A soft snap. The plastic loosened. JJ gasped in relief as his wrists came free.
Rafe rubbed them immediately, slow circles with his thumb, warming the skin back to life, murmuring under his breath. “Good boy. That’s better, yeah? Didn’t mean to pull them that tight. You tell me every time something hurts, understood?” JJ nodded fast. “Yeah. Promise.” Then Rafe reached behind him and pulled out their leather cuffs. Soft cuffs. The ones they used at home.
Rafe lifted JJ’s hands gently and buckled them together, not tight. Just enough to restrain him without pain. They settled around JJ’s wrists like a memory. Like trust made physical. JJ breathed out hard, his chest loosening now that he was bound properly. Rafe leaned down and kissed him slow, deep, a full claim. JJ arched helplessly into it. Rafe pulled back only when JJ chased his mouth.
“Turn over,” Rafe said quietly. “On your stomach. I want your leg brace on the left side. Slow and careful.”
JJ tried. Even blindfolded, even bound, he wanted to impress him. The van mattress dipped under his weight as he rolled, bracing his injured leg exactly how the PT told him. No sharp pain. Just pressure. Rafe supported his hips when he wobbled, steadying him. “Good. Just like that.” JJ’s breath trembled. “You’re getting soft with me.”
Rafe let out a low sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Not tonight.”
JJ felt him shift behind him, knees pressing to either side of JJ’s hips. Rafe’s hands slid up JJ’s back, down again, over the brace, and then lower. “You ran from me for months,” Rafe whispered against the back of JJ’s neck. “Even when you didn’t know you were running. Even when you were hurt. Even when I was the only one who could move your leg without shooting pain.”
JJ moaned, face pressed into the mattress. “And now you’re here in my van,” Rafe breathed, voice turning dark. “Bound. Blindfolded. Taken. No moon boot. No cast. No fucking escape.” JJ whimpered. “Rafe…”
“You’re not leaving this van until I decide,” Rafe said. “You’re not walking out. You’re not choosing. You’re not fighting.” JJ’s whole body lit up. “Say you know whose you are.” “I’m yours,” JJ whispered.
Rafe slid a hand under JJ’s stomach and lifted his hips, making him arch. “Again.” “I’m yours.”
“Louder.” “I’m yours, Rafe.”
Rafe kissed the back of his neck. “I’m gonna fuck you, then sleep in this van with you tied up next to me. Then fuck you again in the morning. Then maybe again after that.” JJ’s breath hitched. “Please.” Rafe wiped a hand over JJ’s thigh, checking for any lingering weakness. “You sure you’re steady?” “Yeah,” JJ gasped. “My leg’s good. I’m good.”
“Then you’re getting everything.” Rafe slid into him with slow, devastating pressure. JJ’s body bowed. He let out a low, broken moan. “Good,” Rafe growled. “Take it.”
The van rocked gently with their rhythm. The mattress creaked. JJ made small, desperate noises that filled the enclosed space, bouncing off the walls. The night outside was quiet, the forest holding its breath for them. Rafe’s hand stayed on JJ’s hips, avoiding any weight on his braced leg, steadying him, commanding him. JJ felt owned. Consumed. Loved so violently it made him dizzy.
At one point Rafe leaned over him entirely, chest pressed to JJ’s back, breath hot on his ear. “You think Eli ever made you feel like this?” JJ moaned. “No.”
“You think anyone’s ever touched you like this?” “No.”
“You think you’ll ever want anyone else?” JJ shook his head hard, trembling. “Just you. Only you.” Rafe groaned like JJ’s words hit somewhere too deep. JJ came first, messy and shuddering, face buried in the blanket. Rafe followed with a growl against JJ’s shoulder, holding him still, keeping him where he wanted him.
When JJ collapsed fully, panting, Rafe gently turned him onto his side, adjusting his brace, smoothing his hair. The blindfold stayed on. The cuffs stayed on. Rafe pulled a thick duvet over both of them and curled around JJ’s body from behind, grounding him with slow, steady breaths. “You’re sleeping like this,” Rafe murmured. “In the van. In my arms. Tied up. Not going anywhere.”
JJ let out a pleased, exhausted hum. “Good. Don’t let me go.” Rafe kissed the back of his neck. “Never.”
And the woods closed around them as they fell asleep together, tangled and bound, the whole world far away.
JJ woke to stillness. No birds yet. No breeze. Just the thick quiet of dawn and the slow, steady weight of Rafe’s forearm across his waist. The cuffs were still on. The blindfold was still on. And JJ’s heart kicked once, hard, because he wasn’t afraid, he was alive. He shifted a little. Not a struggle, just a test. Rafe was awake immediately. “Morning,” Rafe murmured, voice wrecked from sleep and something darker. “Don’t move yet.” JJ froze, breath catching.
Rafe sat up behind him, and JJ felt hands moving with purpose, steady, sure. The bedding rustled. The van creaked softly. Then Rafe slid the blindfold off. Light didn’t rush in. It was still dim, still dawn, but JJ blinked at the sudden sense of space. The van ceiling. The mattress under him. Rafe kneeling over him, hair messy, shirt half off, eyes blown wide in the half-light.
JJ looked… ruined in the most perfect way. Rafe stared at him like he was memorizing the moment.
“Let me see your leg,” Rafe said. JJ swallowed and nudged the brace into view. Rafe pushed the duvet aside gently and ran both hands down JJ’s thigh, slow and grounding. He checked the brace from top to bottom, adjusting one of the laces. Rubbing his calf.
“Any pain?” “No,” JJ breathed. “Feels good.”
Rafe nodded, jaw tight with concentration. He lifted JJ’s wrist next, turning the cuff enough to examine the skin underneath. “You tell me if anything feels wrong,” he said quietly. “You don’t push through something just because you want to impress me.” JJ smirked. “What if I do wanna impress you?”
“You already did,” Rafe muttered, thumb brushing the inside of JJ’s arm. “Now I need to make sure I don’t break you.” JJ laughed under his breath, shaky and warm. “Then kiss me again and shut up.” Rafe did, Slow at first, then deeper, then something that made JJ’s toes curl in the blankets. Deep, hungry. Claiming. A promise. When Rafe finally pulled back, JJ was flushed and breathing unevenly.
“Blindfold stays off,” Rafe said softly. “I want you to look at me this time.” JJ nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Okay.” Rafe pushed JJ gently onto his back, adjusting the brace, slipping a pillow under his calf so there’d be no strain. He checked JJ’s right arm again. Careful pressure on the healed bone, the muscles, the old tension near the elbow.
“You’re solid,” Rafe said, voice lower now. “You can handle me.” JJ’s whole body lit up at that. Rafe leaned over him, slow, and the air changed. Thicker. Hotter. JJ felt Rafe’s breath on his jaw, felt fingers curl around his ribcage, felt the van tilt as Rafe settled between his legs. Firm, sure, unmistakably intimate. JJ closed his eyes for a second and whispered, “Take me. Please.”
Rafe smiled against his throat. “Open your eyes,” he said. “If you close them again, I’ll hood you right now.” JJ’s eyes snapped open. Rafe’s grin was feral. “Good boy.”
The rest was instinctual, hunger wrapped in control, heat wrapped in restraint. Rafe opened JJ’s legs and prepared him carefully. He crawled over JJ’s chest and tapped his cock on JJ’s lips. He let him have a taste, dipped in deeply once and then pulled out. He moved backwards down JJ’s torso and back between his legs. He held JJ’s eyes with fierce intensity as he pushed inside him.
He kept a deep steady pace that occasionally hit harder and made JJ groan. JJ’s breath hitched again and again, the van rocking slightly, Rafe bracing himself with one hand beside JJ’s head while the other pressed firm on JJ’s hip, guiding his body where he wanted him. JJ made a sound that was almost a sob. Rafe didn’t break eye contact once.
JJ’s cuff hands reached for his cock while Rafe pounded him, but Rafe lifted his hands away and above his head. When JJ finally shuddered into the mattress, trembling and boneless, Rafe kissed his forehead.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Rafe murmured against his skin. “We’re not done.” JJ blinked at him. “What?” Rafe was already reaching for the small duffel bag by the van door. The hood. JJ’s breath stuttered. Rafe didn’t put it on him yet, just held it loosely in one hand.
“You still good?” Rafe asked, voice steady. “Brace okay? Arm okay?” JJ nodded fast. “I’m good. I’m really good.”
“Then I’m taking you to the creek.” JJ’s heart lurched. “Like this?” Rafe chuckled. “Yes. Naked.”
He uncuffed JJ long enough to completely undress him, slow, deliberate, touching him more than he needed to, guiding his arms, steadying his leg, letting JJ lean on him while Rafe pulled a shirt over his head. Then the cuffs went back on. Soft. Secure. Familiar. Rafe slipped the hood over JJ’s fingers, letting him feel the fabric without putting it on.
“You’ll get this later,” Rafe whispered into JJ’s ear. “Water first.”
He helped JJ out the side door of the van, one arm around his waist for balance, guiding him through the trees. JJ’s leg felt steady. The brace kept him aligned. Rafe kept him upright. The creek was ten yards away; cold, clear, shallow. Rafe stood behind JJ, hands on his shoulders. “You trust me?” he asked softly.
JJ nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Because I’m about to put you in the water and you’re gonna feel the shock all the way to your teeth.” JJ smiled nervously. “Okay.” Rafe lowered him into the creek, letting the cold hit his legs, his hips, up his spine. JJ gasped, clutching Rafe’s arm. “Fuck! That is cold-” Rafe stepped into the water behind him, chest pressed to JJ’s back, arms wrapped around his torso, grounding him fully. “Breathe,” Rafe murmured. “You’re with me.”
JJ sucked in a shaking breath and leaned back into him. The creek kept rushing. The woods stayed silent. Rafe kissed the side of his head. “Tonight,” Rafe whispered, voice dark as the water around them, “you’re mine again.” JJ shivered for all the right reasons.
Cold hit him first. Not the gentle “oh shit” cold. The kind that clamped around bone. JJ’s breath punched out and scattered across the creek in a white plume. His fingers dug into Rafe’s forearm, not resisting, just anchoring himself so the world didn’t tilt. Rafe pressed his chest to JJ’s back, slow and steady. “Breathe,” Rafe murmured, lips brushing JJ’s ear. JJ breathed. Shaky. Fast. Alive.
The hood dangled in Rafe’s free hand, brushing JJ’s hip now and then, just enough for JJ to feel it, not see it. That was the point. Rafe didn’t have to put it on him yet for JJ’s spine to light up. JJ swallowed.
“You’re gonna use that on me tonight.” “Yes.”
“You planned this whole trip just for that.” “Yes.”
JJ tried to breathe again. Failed. Tried again. Finally got something resembling air. Rafe’s hands drifted down JJ’s arms, checking the muscles, confirming the healed strength, stopping right above the brace on JJ’s leg. “You steady?”
JJ nodded hard. “Yeah.” “You sure?” JJ inhaled sharply. “Yeah. I want this.”
Rafe pressed a kiss to the back of his head. JJ realized his knees were shaking from cold, from adrenaline, from the knowledge that Rafe hadn’t slept all night because he’d been too busy planning his abduction. JJ wasn’t afraid. JJ was consumed.
Rafe led him back to the riverbank, guiding every step with a hand on JJ’s shoulder. JJ’s teeth were chattering, but he didn’t want a towel. He didn’t want warmth. He wanted Rafe. Rafe turned him gently, cupped his cheeks, looked him over.
Then he lifted the hood. “Last chance,” Rafe said quietly. “If you don’t want this part, say so.” JJ felt the hood: black, heavy fabric, thick enough to drown the world, thin enough for breath. He swallowed. “Put it on me.” Rafe exhaled, rough and relieved. “Good boy.”
He lowered the hood over JJ’s head. Darkness swallowed everything instantly, deeper than the blindfold, more complete, more enclosing. JJ could hear his own breath, hear his pulse in his ears, hear Rafe stepping around him. His world shrank to weight, texture, touch, sound. Rafe’s hands smoothed over JJ’s hooded head, down the sides of his neck, resting briefly on his shoulders like he was claiming territory. “Say something,” Rafe murmured.
JJ’s voice shook. “I’m here.”
“What are you?” “Yours.” Rafe kissed the hood over JJ’s mouth. " Yours's." JJ’s knees nearly buckled. Rafe caught him instantly. “Careful. There’s more.” JJ’s breath stuttered. “More?”
Rafe’s fingers slid up the cuffs. “A drive. A second camp. A new place to take you apart.”
JJ couldn’t see him, but Rafe studied him, the way he swayed slightly, the way his hands curled instinctively toward his chest, the way the hood made him small and brave at the same time. The creek water dripped down JJ’s chest, making the skin pucker with the cold. His brace was steady. His leg strong enough now for short ambush movements. Perfect.
Rafe breathed through his teeth. He’d built this scenario over weeks:
Take JJ at night.
Blindfold.
Cuffs in front.
Carry him out of the bedroom.
Van door.
Mattress.
Carabiner restraint.
Drive two hours.
Creek.
Cold shock.
Hood.
Another campsite.
More rope.
More control.
No phones.
No distractions.
Just them.
A rewilding of their relationship. A reset of the darkness that bonded them. A reminder that JJ didn’t belong to anyone else. Not Eli, not Walt, not Cassie, not the goddamn world. JJ belonged to him.
Rafe touched the brace one more time. Solid. Good. Safe enough for what he planned. He touched JJ’s arm. Cold. Responsive. Ready. He retrieved a towel from the van and carefully dried JJ’s skin and hair. He guided him to sit just inside the van door and helped him slip into some sweatpants. He uncuffed JJ just long enough to slide a hoody over his head and arms and then re-cuffed him. He removed the soaked brace and applied a dry one.
“Come on,” Rafe whispered. “Time to go.” The van door slid shut like a vault closing. JJ knelt on the mattress, balanced by Rafe’s hands, guided down gently. The cuffs stayed on. The hood stayed on. JJ felt the van shudder as Rafe crawled into the front seat and turned the engine over. The vibration moved through the floor, through JJ’s knees, through his chest.
Rafe didn’t talk. He didn’t have to. JJ heard everything: the crunch of gravel under the tyres. The shift into drive. The low hum of the heater. Rafe’s breath when he exhaled through his nose slowly, like he was holding himself back. JJ’s heart pounded so loudly he wondered if Rafe could hear it. He whispered into the hood, “You’re taking me somewhere else.”
A beat. Then Rafe’s voice floated back from the driver’s seat, dark and soft. “Another hour.”
JJ‘s breath caught. “Why?” “So you’ll forget the way home.”
JJ trembled. “Rafe…”
“So you’ll depend on me.” JJ’s throat tightened. “I already do.” Rafe’s voice deepened. “You’re gonna depend on me more." JJ’s pulse throbbed in every part of the hood. He shifted, kneeling, trying to sense motion.
“Are we still near town?” JJ asked. “No,” Rafe said. “That went by ten minutes ago.”
JJ’s chest fluttered. “Are we near the highway?” “No.”
“What direction are we going?” “Don’t worry about that.”
JJ swallowed. “Okay.” He knelt still, listening to the hum of the van, the murmur of Rafe’s breath, the occasional soft grunt as Rafe shifted gears. He was helpless. He was safe. He was claimed. He was terrified in the best possible way.
Rafe drove slow enough for control, fast enough to make JJ lose his sense of time.
The hooded shape in the rearview mirror made something deep in his chest twist tight. JJ kneeling, hands cuffed in front, head bowed slightly under the hood, following the vibration of the van like a tether. Rafe gripped the wheel harder. He spoke low, for JJ alone. “You’re doing perfect back there. You know that?” JJ’s hood turned slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Rafe watched the slight tremor in JJ’s shoulders. That tension. That surrender. That holy combination of fear and desire that only JJ ever gave him. He breathed out slow. “We’re almost there.” JJ whispered, “What’s waiting for me?” Rafe smiled. Something feral.
“A clearing. A fallen tree. Rope. A night where you won’t forget who you belong to.” JJ trembled visibly. “And after?” JJ whispered. “After,” Rafe said quietly, “I’ll bring you home. Feed you. Bathe you. Kiss every inch I scared. And you’ll sleep against me like nothing in the world could take you.” JJ’s breath hitched so hard Rafe heard it through the hood.
Good.
Perfect.
The van slowed. Turned. Crunched over dirt and leaves. Stopped. JJ’s breathing went hot and fast. The sliding door opened. Cold air rushed in. Rafe stepped inside. JJ felt hands on his shoulders, steady and grounding.
“You stand when I say stand,” Rafe murmured. “Okay.”
“You walk where I guide you.” “Okay.”
“You take every step because I’m the one holding you up.” “Okay.”
“And tonight is mine. All of it.” JJ nodded hard under the hood. “Take me.”
Rafe’s hand slid down to JJ’s ribs, a subtle command.
“Let’s begin.”
Chapter Text
JJ’s world became sound and touch. Leaves. Cold air. Rafe’s palm on the back of his neck firm, controlling, but steady. “Step,” Rafe murmured. JJ stepped. “Again.” JJ followed, feeling the earth shift under his boots, feeling the uneven ground, feeling his leg brace catch and then release with each careful movement. Rafe adjusted his pace instantly, tightening his hold whenever JJ wobbled.
They walked deeper. Branches creaked overhead. The air grew colder, wetter. JJ didn’t know where they were, didn’t know how far from the van, didn’t know what was coming. That was the point. JJ felt owned. Felt frightened and challenged. But he also felt held. Truths that only Rafe could braid together. Rafe’s hand slid to JJ’s shoulder.
“You good?” JJ nodded. “Yeah.”
“You dizzy?” “No.”
“Pain anywhere?” “Just… adrenaline.”
Rafe chuckled low behind him. “Good.” JJ swallowed. “Where are we?”
“You’ll know soon.”
JJ heard the change before he felt it, the way sound opened up, the soft echo and colder air. They’d stepped into a real clearing, maybe ten, fifteen yards wide. Rafe guided him forward until JJ’s brace tapped something solid. “Stop,” Rafe said quietly. “It’s the trunk. Don’t move.” JJ stayed perfectly still.
Rafe stepped around him, boots crunching in slow circles. JJ felt the rope before he saw it, the scratch of it brushing his arm as Rafe ran it through his fingers, testing weight, length, tension. “You know this tree?” Rafe asked somewhere behind him. JJ breathed hard. “No.” “You will.”
The rope touched JJ’s wrist, not binding, just a promise. JJ shivered. Rafe stood in front of him and lifted the hood slowly, letting JJ feel the shift of cold air on his face before the world came back into view. Dawn light filtered pale blue through the trees. A fallen trunk stretched across the clearing, thick, ancient, bark cracked in places. Rafe had draped a blanket across the top to protect JJ’s skin. Two ropes already hung from a sturdy branch above, knotted cleanly, precisely.
Rafe’s work. Rafe’s plan. JJ looked at the setup and nearly buckled from the heat that tore through him. Rafe watched him carefully. Every micro expression. Every breath. “You scared?” he asked. JJ swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You want to stop?” JJ shook his head. “No.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened, something like relief and hunger crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured. “Because this is the part where you forget the hospital and the chair and the pain and the meds.” He stepped closer, crowding JJ, hands bracketing JJ’s jaw gently, firmly. “This is the part where you remember what your body can do again.”
JJ’s breath shook. “Yeah?” Rafe nodded. “Yeah. You’re not fragile anymore. I’m not treating you like you’re breakable. Not tonight.” JJ’s eyes burned, not with fear, but gratitude so fierce it hurt. Rafe lifted JJ’s hands, still cuffed together, and threaded the rope through the middle of the cuffs, looping slowly, deliberately. No jerks. No surprises. Just tension. Just control. “You can pull away if you need to,” Rafe said quietly. “But you won’t.” JJ licked his lips. “No.”
Rafe tied the knots one at a time, checking JJ’s expression with every pull. The rope drew JJ’s hands upward, not overhead, that would strain his shoulder. Angled, giving him leverage against the trunk. Rafe positioned JJ carefully, adjusting his brace, checking his stance, bracing his good leg against the wood.
“Pain?” “No.”
“Pressure?” “A little.”
“Too much?” “No.”
Rafe kissed the side of JJ’s neck. “Tell me the second that changes.” JJ nodded. Rafe stepped back. JJ stood there cuffed, roped, braced, breath fogging in the morning light, trembling for all the right reasons. He’d never felt more alive. Or more exposed. Or more claimed. Rafe’s voice dropped to a low, steady growl. “You ready to hear why you’re here?” JJ nodded fast. “Yeah.”
Rafe walked a slow circle around him, fingers dragging lightly across JJ’s shoulder, his spine, the edge of the brace. “You’re here because you healed,” Rafe said. “And healing scared me.” JJ’s breath hitched. “You’re here because I got used to you needing me every hour.” Rafe paused behind him. “And I liked it. Too much.”
JJ closed his eyes. “Rafe…” “You’re here,” Rafe continued, “because the minute you could stand without wobbling, I felt like I was losing something.” JJ’s voice cracked. “You’re not.”
Rafe stepped in front of him, hands framing JJ’s hips. “I know that,” Rafe said softly. “I know it now. I know it right here." He tapped JJ’s chest. “But my head?” A broken laugh. “My head needed this. Needed to take you again. Needed to know I could claim you when you’re strong.”
JJ’s eyes stung. “Rafe. Look at me.” Rafe did. JJ held his gaze, steady despite the rope, despite the cold, despite the hood folded on the ground waiting for round two. “You’re not losing me,” JJ said. “I’m choosing you.” Rafe’s breath punched out of him like someone hit him. And for the first time all night, maybe all month, JJ watched Rafe’s shoulders unclench.
Rafe stepped in, forehead pressed to JJ’s, breathing him in. “Say it again.” “I’m choosing you,” JJ whispered. Rafe kissed him harsh and grateful and reverent all at once.
JJ’s brace kept his leg steady. The rope kept his hands anchored. Rafe kept his mind centred. For the first time since the hit and run, JJ didn’t feel broken. Didn’t feel fragile. Didn’t feel like a patient or an invalid or a weight Rafe had been carrying. He felt powerful. He felt wanted. He felt dangerous again, in that old Boneyard way, the way Rafe had first watched him years ago, half-hunter, half-worshipper.
“Rafe,” JJ whispered, voice rough, “I’m strong enough. I’m ready. Take me.” Rafe inhaled sharply, like the words hit bone. Then he stepped back, slow, deliberate, expression shifting, darkening. And when he spoke again, it wasn’t reassurance. It wasn’t softness. It was possession. “Hold tight,” Rafe said. “I’m not done with you.”
JJ shivered from scalp to heel. He couldn’t see the hood at Rafe’s feet. But he felt it coming. And he wanted it.
JJ watched Rafe circle him slow, deliberate, every step a question and an answer. Then Rafe bent, picked up the hood, and held it in both hands like it was a crown or a sentence. “Last time seeing me for a while,” he murmured. JJ swallowed. “Okay.”
“You need water first?” “No.”
“You dizzy?” “No.”
“You still want this?” JJ’s voice broke. “More than anything.”
Rafe cupped the back of JJ’s head and lowered the hood over him again. And the world disappeared. Complete black. Warm fabric. His own breath loud inside the space. His pulse pounding like a second heart. Rafe’s hands stayed on his shoulders until JJ found equilibrium. Then Rafe whispered against his ear, “Good boy.” JJ shuddered.
Rafe untied just enough rope to guide JJ forward without strain, careful to protect his arm and brace. JJ followed every nudge, every verbal cue.
“Step up.”
“Left foot over.”
“Lean forward.”
“Good.”
The blanket-covered trunk pressed under JJ’s thighs as Rafe helped him kneel, then slowly guided him down until JJ was draped over it, chest on the warm fabric, hands still cuffed above his head, rope slack but present. A reminder more than a restraint. JJ felt claimed. He felt held. He felt ready.
The hood amplified everything; the smell of bark, the warmth of the blanket, the pressure of the trunk, the weight of Rafe’s hands adjusting him with quiet, terrifying tenderness. “You comfortable?” Rafe murmured. JJ nodded, hood brushing the bark. “Yeah.”
“Any strain on the brace?” “No.”
“You tell me instantly if that changes.” “I will.”
Rafe stroked his back once, then again, slow and grounding. “You’re good,” he said. “You’re perfect.” JJ exhaled shakily.
“Now,” Rafe whispered, voice turning low, “listen.” The fabric over JJ’s ears made Rafe’s voice sound closer, heavier, like it came from inside his skull. “You know what this is?” Rafe asked. JJ shook his head.
“This is the first time since the accident that you’ve let me take everything from you.” JJ’s breath went uneven. “This is the first time you’ve trusted your body enough to give it back to me.” JJ swallowed hard.
Rafe leaned close enough that JJ felt breath through the hood. “And now you’re going to listen to me.” JJ shivered. “Yes.” Rafe’s fingers brushed the back of JJ’s neck, light but commanding. “You survived something that terrified me,” Rafe said. “And then you healed. And then you started moving away from me again without meaning to. Walking without me. Breathing without me. Getting strong without me.” JJ’s heartbeat kicked.
“Today,” Rafe murmured, “I take you because you want me to. Not because you need me. That’s different. That’s dangerous. That’s beautiful.” JJ let out a sound he didn’t know he had. “And when this hood comes off later,” Rafe said softly, “you’re going to look at me with those stupid blue eyes and know you’re mine not because you’re broken but because you’re strong enough to choose it.” JJ choked on a breath. “Rafe…”
“You ready for the next part?” Rafe asked. JJ nodded hard. “Yes.” Rafe’s hand tightened in his hair gently, warning, claiming.
“Good.”
The first rumble of thunder cracked so far away that JJ wondered if he imagined it. Rafe froze. Listened. Judged distance by instinct. Another rumble. Closer. A faint shift in wind. Rafe cursed under his breath, quiet and frustrated but not panicked. He touched JJ’s spine. “Stay still,” he said. “Don’t move until I tell you.”
JJ’s heart sprinted. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah,” Rafe said. Calm but taut. “We’re gonna adjust.” JJ’s pulse hammered against the hood. “Are we stopping?” Rafe hesitated only half a second and JJ heard everything in that pause. “No,” Rafe said. “We’re not stopping. You’re safe. I just need to change how I do this.” The thunder answered him.
JJ felt Rafe step away, rope creaking slightly, then felt his hands again faster this time, secure, untying enough to free JJ without yanking. “A storm wasn’t in the plan,” Rafe said, voice low but determined. “But I’m not done with you yet.” JJ braced himself. “What now?” Rafe leaned over him, kissing the hood where JJ’s temple would be.
“We head to the van,” he murmured. “But you stay hooded. You stay cuffed. And you let me carry you if the ground gets slick. If I tell you to freeze, you freeze. Understand?” JJ nodded instantly. “Yes.”
Lightning flashed, a bright pulse visible even through the hood. JJ flinched. Rafe steadied him with both hands. “I’ve got you.”
Rain hit first in soft drops, then in a sheet. JJ couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything. But he heard the shift in the trees, felt the damp cold on his arms, felt Rafe moving around him faster than before. “You okay?” Rafe asked, voice raised slightly over the rain. JJ nodded and grinned under the hood. “Yeah.” “You sure?” “Yeah. You sound more freaked out than me.” Rafe groaned. “Shut up.” JJ laughed a real, bright laugh that startled them both.
Rafe hauled JJ to his feet, arm around JJ’s waist, guiding his steps, checking his brace every time JJ’s foot landed. The rain became a curtain. The woods grew loud. JJ trusted the hands on him completely. Once, JJ slipped slightly and Rafe caught him so quickly it knocked the breath from both of them. “See?” JJ said breathlessly. “I’m fine.” “You’re insufferable,” Rafe muttered, tightening his grip. JJ laughed again.
Thunder cracked overhead. Rafe cursed louder this time, dragging JJ faster. “Stop laughing. I’m literally stealing you in a storm.”
JJ: “I’m having the time of my life.”
Rafe: “I hate you.” JJ smiling under the hood
“No you don’t.”
Rafe’s breath hitched. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”
They stumbled into the clearing where the van waited, rain hammering the metal roof like applause. Rafe slid the door open with one arm, pulled JJ inside with the other, slammed it shut, and collapsed on top of him in a pile of wet limbs and adrenaline. JJ wheezed out, “Holy shit.” Rafe pressed his forehead to JJ’s hooded one.
“You okay?” “Yeah.”
“You cold?” “A little.”
“You scared?” “No.”
“You need a breather?” “Yeah. But don’t take the hood off yet.”
Rafe froze. “You want to keep going?” JJ smiled beneath the fabric. “Yeah. Do you?” Rafe’s whole body trembled with relief, affection, madness, love. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I really fucking do.”
Rafe checked JJ’s brace again. Checked his breathing. Checked his wrists. Checked his balance. Checked himself. Then he sat JJ on the mattress, still hooded, still cuffed, rain pounding on the roof like a war drum. Rafe knelt in front of him, voice soft, ruined. “You scared me today,” Rafe said. “Not because of the storm. Because you’re not fragile anymore. And I don’t know how to exist when I’m not protecting you.”
JJ tilted his hooded head. “You’re still protecting me.” “Not the same way.” JJ smiled. “Maybe you get to protect me in different ways now.” Rafe let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Rafe rested his forehead on JJ’s knee, brace and all. JJ’s voice softened. “Rafe. You didn’t lose me when I healed.” Silence. “You don’t lose me.” Rafe exhaled a broken laugh. “Good.”
“Yeah,” JJ said. “Good. Rafe leaned closer. “You ready for the next part?” he murmured. JJ grinned under the hood. “Yeah. Take me. The van shook in the storm, but inside, they were steady. Bound. Chosen. Together.
The van shook in the storm. Rain hammered the roof like fists. Lightning flashed in thin slices of white through the cracks in the curtains. The air was humid and cold all at once, that weird after storm temperature where everything feels electrically alive. JJ knelt on the mattress, still hooded, breathing hard inside the fabric. Rafe knelt in front of him, soaked from rain, hands braced on either side of JJ’s thighs.
“Stay still,” Rafe murmured. His voice was shaking. Not from fear, from everything else. JJ nodded. Rafe reached up. His fingers curled around the edge of the hood and lifted. Slow. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just careful. The hood peeled away from JJ’s skin and the dim van light hit his face. He looked wrecked. In the best way. Flushed cheeks. Damp hair stuck to his forehead. Mouth swollen from biting back sounds he didn’t want Rafe to hear or maybe desperately wanted Rafe to hear. Eyes bright and blown wide, like he’d just been dragged out of a fever dream.
Rafe froze halfway through removing the hood. Because JJ was smiling. Not a little smile. Not a sexy smile. A soft, exhausted, grateful, stupid-lovely smile. “Hey,” JJ whispered. Rafe swallowed. Hard. “Hey.”
He pulled the hood off fully and let it drop to the floor. JJ blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light, then lifted his bound hands slightly, just enough for Rafe to see the trust still there. “You okay?” Rafe asked, voice low. “Yeah,” JJ breathed. “More than okay.” Rafe exhaled shakily and cupped JJ’s jaw with both hands. He didn’t kiss him. He just held his face like it was something he’d almost lost. “Say something,” Rafe whispered.
JJ licked his lips. “Take the cuffs off.” Rafe hesitated. “Are you sure? I thought you wanted-” “I’m not stopping,” JJ said. “I just want to touch you.” Rafe’s hands trembled as he unbuckled the cuffs. The second JJ’s wrists were free, he reached up, grabbed Rafe’s hoodie with both fists, and pulled him in. Their foreheads touched. JJ’s breath was warm against Rafe’s mouth.
Rafe closed his mouth over JJ's and kissed him deeply, JJ's arms wrapped around him. "It's too cold to take our clothes off, baby, so I am just going to lower your sweats enough to fuck you," Rafe murmured. "Roll over." JJ obeyed, but lowered his sweats himself, to mid thigh, and presented himself to Rafe in a way that nearly made him cry. Rafe stared at him long enough that JJ looked over his shoulder "Are you ok, big guy?" Rafe nodded once and reached into his pocket for the lube. He straddled JJ's thighs and slicked him up with reverence. He stroked slick onto his cock, and gently grinded and slipped between his cheeks before thrusting in.
At this point he was feeling such a mix of complicated feelings. Awe, love, respect, lust, darkness, that his hard on was part desperate desire and part overload. He would have been content with boyfriend fucking but promised JJ a hard scene, and the best he could do in this state, was pound the fuck out of him and whisper the filth that made JJ shiver. He started at a moderate depth and pace but ramped it up to hard and then very hard, getting faster and then more random as he tried to hold on until JJ whimpered and sobbed.
"I will never ever stop fucking you, JJ. Your mouth, your cock, your hands, your ass, your soul. All mine. Forever." JJ moaned and panted as the words and the pounding pinned him down physically and emotionally. "You never get to leave me. I will follow you and find you anywhere in the world." JJ knew this to be true. "Fuck, JJ. Your ass is so tight and your cock perfect. It' fucking mouth watering. I never stop thinking about it.".
"Beautiful. Better than any fantasy I had before I got my hands on you." JJ gasped as Rafe fucked him harder and spread his cheeks with his thumbs to see his cock thrusting in better.
"Nobody gets to see this or touch this ever again." JJ knew Rafe would rather die or kill someone than allow that. "Fuuuuck...JJ.." Rafe was so close, JJ allowed himself to let go with a shout Rafe felt in his bones. Rafe fucked him through it, just until JJ looked uncomfortable, then with two final, brutal thrusts, came inside him and collapsed over his back heavily.
Rafe reached under JJ's shoulders and held him tight underneath him. He kissed and sucked the back of JJ's neck and panted hot air. "You're everything. I love you." JJ sobbed back, "I love you too, Rafe. Forever." They stayed like that for a while, Rafe's heavy body weight on JJ, silent and awestruck.
Then JJ said quietly, steady as a confession “I wanna go darker next time.” Rafe’s whole body jolted like lightning hit him. “JJ…” JJ kept holding him, eyes clear. “I mean it. If this was the warm-up? If this was you being careful because of the brace and all that? Then yeah. Next time, I want the dark version.”
Rafe’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” JJ smirked faintly. “I do. And you do too.” Rafe stared at him, rain pounding, storm shaking the van, and for a moment, Rafe looked younger. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone who’d been waiting his whole life to hear exactly that sentence from exactly this person. He touched JJ’s cheek again, softer this time. “You can have that,” Rafe whispered. “Not while you’re still healing.” JJ nodded. “Okay.”
“But when you’re ready?” Rafe said. “When your leg’s strong enough? When your arm’s fully back? When you can run properly again?” JJ leaned in, lips brushing Rafe’s jaw. “Then take me,” JJ breathed. “Really take me.” Rafe’s breath left his chest in one violent exhale. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You are my soulmate JJ. You are also my reason and my daily challenge.” JJ grinned. “You started it.”
The thunder cracked again. So hard the van shook. Rafe flinched. JJ winced. Rafe looked toward the windshield, already fogged with humidity and storm breath. “Road’s a mess,” he said. “We’re not going anywhere.” JJ sat back on the mattress.
“Good. I kinda wanna stay.” Rafe blinked. “Yeah?” JJ nodded. “I feel… safe here.” Rafe’s throat tightened. He didn’t say it, but he felt safe too. Not from the storm. Not from danger. From himself.
JJ lay back on the mattress slowly, giving Rafe room to adjust the brace, lifting his arm so Rafe could tuck a blanket under it. They ended up tangled together, JJ half on Rafe’s chest, Rafe’s arm wrapped carefully around him. No cuffs now. No hood. Just breath steadying, hearts settling, adrenaline burning off like mist. For a long time they didn’t talk.
Just lay there listening to the rain batter the van while JJ’s hand traced lazy circles on Rafe’s ribs. Rafe finally whispered, “I love you.” JJ hummed sleepily. “I know. I love you too.”
“You scared me tonight.” JJ smiled against Rafe’s chest. “Good.”
“JJ…” JJ opened one eye.
“If you weren’t scared, it wouldn’t be a scene. And if you didn’t bring me home safe, it wouldn’t be love.” Rafe closed his eyes. He didn’t deserve him. But he wasn’t letting him go.
The storm finally let up around five in the morning. JJ was out cold. Not just tired. Whole-body, soul-deep exhaustion. The good kind. The kind that reset him. Rafe lay there for another ten minutes just watching him breathe. Then quietly, careful not to wake him, Rafe slid out from under him and tucked the blanket around him. JJ didn’t stir. Rafe stepped out of the van, stretched his back, rubbed his neck, then climbed into the front seat. The world was grey, soaked, fog rising in low ribbons from the earth.
He started the engine. Drove slow. Checked the rearview every thirty seconds. JJ lay curled on the mattress, hood beside him, cuffs coiled neatly by his knee, his leg brace still on properly. He looked peaceful. Rafe’s chest clenched painfully. “Mine,” he whispered into the quiet van. “Still mine.”
JJ didn’t wake. Didn’t need to. They were going home. Together. Bound in a way no rope had ever matched. And darker things were coming because JJ had asked for them. Because JJ was ready again. Because Rafe wasn’t afraid to take him.
Not anymore.
Chapter Text
JJ woke slow and warm, the kind of soreness that felt like memory and promise tangled together. He blinked up at the ceiling, then over at Rafe sitting in the corner chair like he’d been carved there. JJ’s voice cracked. “Hey.” Rafe stood immediately. “How’re you feeling?” JJ stretched carefully, checking his brace, checking his shoulder. “Good. Like… good-good. Nothing hurts that shouldn’t.”
Rafe leaned down, checking him with those slow, practical touches that always made JJ’s pulse jump.
“Leg?” “Good.”
“Arm?” “Good.”
“Neck?” JJ grinned. “You really went for it last night.” Rafe’s ears went pink. “You told me to.” “And you listened.” JJ tugged him closer. “Come here.” Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, brushing JJ’s hair back, thumb grazing his cheek. The kind of soft that always followed their darkest nights. The kind that made JJ melt.
“Coffee?” JJ asked. Rafe nodded, relieved and raw in that way he never admitted out loud. They moved slow. JJ hobbling a bit, Rafe hovering behind him like a magnetic field.
Cassie barged in without knocking, holding a smoothie and sunglasses like she was starring in her own movie. She stopped dead. Looked at JJ’s neck. Looked at Rafe’s face. “Oh. My. God.” JJ held up both hands. “Cass-”
“No. No. You two are unhinged. JJ, you look like someone tried to eat you.” Rafe muttered, “Cassie…” She turned on him. “And you. You look like you haven’t blinked since last night.” JJ laughed. “We’re fine.” Cassie snorted. “You’re glowing. He’s feral. This is exactly what I feared when you two idiots got together.” Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you not.”
Cassie kissed JJ’s cheek like a proud aunt. “I’m happy for you. Just hydrate. And don’t let him throw you over anything until your whole leg is cleared. Yes, Rafe, I’m talking to you.” Rafe glared. “I know his limits.”
Cassie pointed at him. “No, you know your fantasies. JJ knows his limits. There’s a difference.” JJ wheezed laughing. Cassie winked at him on the way out. “I want details later. And if he gets weird about Eli again, call me. I’ll smack him with a clipboard.” Rafe looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
JJ hugged him from behind. “I love her.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Rafe sighed. “Unfortunately.”
They sat on the couch with coffee, JJ leaning into the warmth of Rafe’s side. JJ broke the silence. “Last night was intense.” Rafe nodded. “It was supposed to be.” “You okay?” Rafe traced circles on JJ’s thigh. “Yeah. Just… full.” JJ smiled softly. “Me too.” Rafe met his eyes. “You tell me if anything was too much.”
“I would have stopped you instantly,” JJ said. “But you read me right.” Rafe exhaled slowly. “Good. I needed to know that.” JJ rested his head on Rafe’s shoulder. “And next time, I want the hood earlier.” Rafe’s breath hitched. “Yeah?” “Yeah.”
The air between them sharpened. JJ grinned. “But also… maybe no river dunk until the water’s not freezing.” Rafe laughed, low and warm. “Fine.”
JJ hesitated, then said, “You wanna talk about him?” Rafe tensed immediately. JJ didn’t push. Just waited. Rafe finally spoke, quiet and sharp. “He got to know you from fourteen. I didn’t.” JJ rubbed at his thigh. “You knew me. You just didn’t talk to me.”
“I watched,” Rafe muttered. “Like an idiot. And he… he just walked right into your life. Tall, brown hair, surfer teeth, stupid confidence. Teaching you tricks. Laughing with you. Everyone wanted you back then.”
JJ frowned. “Rafe. You know that’s not real.” “It’s how it felt.” JJ cupped the back of Rafe’s neck. “You wanna know the real truth?” Rafe swallowed. JJ leaned in. “I didn’t have him. And I didn’t want him. Not like that. Not really. It was just a crush.” Rafe closed his eyes. “And even if I did,” JJ whispered, “that was then. You’re the one I want. You’re the one who sees me.”Rafe opened his eyes. The jealousy was still there, but quieter now. Honest. Not spiraling.
“Say it again,” he said. JJ kissed him, slow and sure. “I choose you.” Rafe breathed out like he’d been holding it for a year.
Later, JJ watched from a barstool while Rafe sorted paperwork for the contractors. “You really told them email only for a week?” JJ asked. Rafe didn’t look up. “Yeah.” “So they won’t call?” “Correct.”
“And that’s because…” Rafe met his eyes. JJ smirked. “Because you’re planning something.” Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Maybe.” JJ bumped his knee against Rafe’s. “You’re insane.” “About you,” Rafe said simply. JJ shivered.
Cassie came back later under the excuse of bringing groceries. She waited until JJ was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. Then she stepped close to Rafe, arms crossed. “You did your scene,” she said quietly. “Good. I’m glad you both got what you needed.” Rafe’s jaw tightened.
“But listen to me,” Cassie said. “You don’t get to lose your mind over Eli. You don’t get to punish JJ for someone who isn’t even here.” Rafe glared. “I’m not.” “You are,” she said. “You look like you’re two breaths from doing some unhinged romantic stupidity. I’m telling you right now: if you cross a line, I will drag your ass back to earth myself.”
Rafe’s fists curled. “I would never hurt him.” “I know,” Cassie said. “But you could scare him. Don’t.” Rafe’s throat worked. He nodded once. Cassie softened. “You’re good for him. Just don’t let the old Cameron crazy override the actual love you two have.” Rafe couldn’t answer.
So Cassie kissed his cheek and left.
JJ had heard enough to know Rafe needed grounding. He came over, took Rafe’s wrist, and tugged him toward the bedroom. “Come here.” Rafe followed silently. JJ pulled him down onto the bed, climbed into his lap, and kissed him slow. “You’re not losing me,” he said. “Not to Eli. Not to anyone.” Rafe’s breathing steadied. JJ held his face. “We’re good. You and me. And the next time you plan something for us, I want it. All of it.” Rafe’s eyes darkened. Dangerous. Hungry. “You sure?”
JJ nodded. “Yeah. But right now? I just want you to lie down with me.” Rafe finally let himself relax, stretching out beside JJ, hand over JJ’s stomach. Quiet. Warm. Present. JJ whispered, half teasing, half promise, “I can’t wait for whatever’s next.” Rafe smiled into his hair. “You won’t have to wait long.”
The morning was bright but cold, the kind of crisp air that made JJ’s breath fog and his leg brace feel stiff. Rafe parked the van at Magical HQ and helped JJ hop down, one hand steady on his waist. “You don’t have to hover,” JJ said. “I literally do,” Rafe replied. Cassie stuck her head out the front door. “He does. He’s like a large controlling cardigan. Very warm. Very clingy.”
Rafe glared at her. “Do you want your job?” Cassie smiled sweetly. “Do you want breakfast or not?” JJ snorted. Rafe muttered something too low for human ears. Their morning routine was back; messy, protective, stupid, loving. JJ stayed with Cassie while Rafe headed out to meet the contractors at the leased riding school site. It felt strange doing something for himself after months consumed by JJ’s injury. Strange in a guilty, slightly thrilling way.
Rafe stood with the contractor team, pointing out markers he’d spray-painted himself. “So the dirt track loops here,” he said, drawing a curve with his boot. “This section needs banking. And over there? Asphalt track. Quarter-mile practice line. Needs proper drainage.”
The lead contractor nodded. “Portable classroom goes where?” Rafe tapped a stake. “Right there. Windows facing west. And bathrooms on the far side. Separate septic. Signage on both entries.”
“You sure you want to handle email-only this week?” the contractor asked. “Yep,” Rafe said. “No calls.”
“Must be a big project.” “Yeah,” Rafe murmured. “The biggest.” He meant JJ.
Physio started early, which suited JJ fine. He woke buzzing, vibrating, almost smug. The kind of energy that meant he was finally done being a fragile little hospital pet and ready to become a menace again. Rafe drove him to the appointment even though JJ insisted the van was “technically his now.” Rafe just stared at him the entire ride like: you’re adorable, and also, absolutely not.
The physio tech took one look at JJ’s leg, whistled low, and said, “Alright, surfer boy. Let’s get this thing moving.”
JJ hadn’t realized how much he missed using his body until they started. Controlled bends, slow weight shifts, range-of-motion exercises that made him groan and sweat and try not to scream in front of strangers. But every time he hit a milestone, more flexion, more strength, more stability, he thought of exactly one thing: Rafe is going to lose his mind when I can wrap my legs around him again.
He grinned through the pain. The physio raised a brow. “Does hurting yourself make you happy?” JJ wiped his forehead. “You have no idea.”
When he returned to HQ later, Cassie burst out of the propagation room holding a bag of chips and vibrating like she’d snorted fertilizer. “Everyone shut up,” she said, even though no one was talking. “I have a girlfriend.” JJ dropped his phone. Rafe blinked. “Since when?”
Cassie shoved a picture in JJ’s face. “Since last night. Her name’s Marcy. She’s a mechanic. She rides motorcycles. She cooks. And she thinks I’m hot.” JJ let out a proud scream. Rafe cautiously scanned the photo like it might contain explosive residue. “She looks… stable,” he said finally.
Cassie beamed. “We’re going on a double date. Tonight.” JJ looked at Rafe. Rafe looked at Cassie. Cassie crossed her arms. “Don’t make me find a taller lesbian to beat you up. You’re coming.”
Dinner was at a modern fusion place where the lighting was too dim for menus and the music sounded like expensive anxiety.
Marcy was gorgeous: inked sleeves, grease under her nails, hair in a perfect messy bun, and a smile that didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought. Cassie looked so smitten JJ nearly cried. JJ was halfway through telling a story when he noticed Rafe wasn’t eating. Rafe was… studying Marcy. Marcy eventually looked at him and said, “You can ask whatever you want. I already know you’re vetting me.”
Rafe didn’t deny it. He leaned forward. “You ride?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“What engine size?”
“Depends what mood I’m in.”
JJ hid behind his drink. Rafe nodded. “Cassie’s never ridden pillion with anyone but me. If you try to impress her with speed before she’s ready, I’ll take your kneecaps.” Marcy stared at him. Then she smiled. “Good. Someone needed to say it.”
Cassie whispered to JJ, “Is this… hot?” JJ whispered back, “Unfortunately… yeah?”
By the end of dinner, Rafe approved of her. Which meant Marcy survived.
A week later JJ was finally cleared to work full shifts again. He practically sprinted to HQ. Well, as close to sprinting as someone still wearing a lightweight brace could manage, and reclaimed his kingdom. He watered. He propagated. He calibrated humidifiers. He yelled at Walt for mislabelling a clone. Cassie hugged him every hour like he’d come back from war.
Rafe watched from the mezzanine, one hand on the railing, eyes heavy with a pride so intense it bordered on feral. This was JJ’s world. And Rafe loved watching him in it.
With JJ taking the van to and from work on his own, Rafe finally had his mornings back. And the second he swung a leg over his bike, everything clicked into place. The engine roared to life beneath him, hungry, responsive, loyal and the moment he shot onto the empty early-morning highway, the world snapped wide open.
Cold air slicing past him, the sun punching through clouds, the cliffs rising sharp and jagged as he carved along the bluff roads at speeds law enforcement would definitely object to. He wasn’t running from anything. He was remembering who he was. What his body could do. How good it felt to let danger flirt with him again. By the time he arrived at the riding school site, he felt alive.
The contractors already looked nervous. Good. He stepped out of his helmet and walked across the dirt like a man about to shut down an entire union. “Morning,” one contractor called, forcing cheer. Rafe nodded once. “Show me.”
They ran him through the progress: Foundations. Drainage. Preliminary grading for the dirt track. A third of the tarmac lane carved out. Plumbing trenches started for the portable building. Rafe listened, arms crossed, expression carved from mineral. Then he stepped in. “No. Shift the grading five feet west. That curve’s too tight for learners. Level that rise. Compaction isn’t uniform here, redo it. And the fencing needs to be reinforced. I don’t want a single kid blowing through a barrier.”
They scrambled to adjust their notes. Someone whispered, “He scares me.” Someone else whispered back, “Just do what he says; he pays on time.” Rafe approved the timeline, revised half the workflow, and left behind a group of men who would absolutely be ahead of schedule tomorrow.
He felt good. Focused. Back in control.
By noon, JJ’s phone was lighting up every fifteen minutes.
Rafe:
How’s the leg
JJ:
Good. Stop checking I’m literally working.
Rafe:
Cassie let you carry a tray?
JJ:
Yes. Daddy Cassie says I’m cleared.
Rafe:
Tell her she doesn’t get to be daddy.
JJ:
lol jealous?
Rafe:
Yes.
Five minutes later:
Rafe:
Don’t climb on the counters again.
JJ:
bro I’m not doing acrobatics I’m watering weed
Ten minutes later:
Rafe:
Send me a picture
JJ:
of what
Rafe:
You. So I know you’re alive. JJ sent a picture of his own annoyed face. Rafe sent back a heart. JJ nearly walked into a shelving unit.
When JJ came home in the van, tired and glowing from working all day, Rafe met him at the door like he’d been waiting hours. JJ laughed. “Babe, I’m fine.” Rafe kissed him like he wasn’t fine at all. JJ’s brace knocked gently against Rafe’s shin. JJ kissed him back harder. They stood like that a long time. Not because JJ needed support. But because Rafe did.
JJ bounced in place on the exam table which the nurse asked him not to do twice, while Rafe hovered far too close, vibrating like he might fistfight the medical equipment. The brace removal appointment was supposed to be routine. For JJ, it felt like parole. The doctor clicked through scans, poked along the tibia, nodded in approval. “Healing beautifully,” she said. “You’ve worked hard.” JJ beamed. Rafe answered for him. “He did everything exactly as prescribed.” JJ elbowed him. “Don’t make me sound like a Boy Scout.”
The doctor undid the Velcro straps. The brace came off with a soft pull. JJ flexed his leg carefully, then fully, then rotated his ankle and grinned like the sun. “Oh thank god,” he breathed. Rafe swallowed hard, watching every tiny movement like he was witnessing a resurrection. “Go slow,” Rafe warned.
The doctor smiled. “He’s cleared to begin normal mobility again. No high-impact work for a few more weeks, but yes he can use it.” JJ tested a squat. Rafe made a noise so soft only JJ heard it. JJ straightened and whispered, “Down boy.”
On the drive home, JJ stretched his legs out in the van, rolling his hips experimentally, rotating his torso the way he used to when warming up for surfing. Each movement was a reminder. Oh. I can do all my old things again. He saw Rafe glance at him in the rearview mirror. JJ stretched a little more on purpose.
Rafe’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. JJ smirked. “You okay up there?” “No,” Rafe said honestly. JJ’s laugh rattled the whole van.
When they arrived at Magical HQ, Cassie exploded out the front door, dragging Marcy behind her like a human trophy. “BEHOLD!” Cassie shouted. “THE BOY CAN WALK NORMALLY.” JJ held up both arms like a victorious gladiator. “Fuck yeah!” Marcy clapped politely. “Congrats, man.”
Cassie threw her arms around JJ in the kind of hug that would’ve snapped his ribs a month ago. “Now you can double-date with us properly! Bowling this weekend!” JJ’s face fell. “Bowling?” Cassie gasped in horror. “You don’t like bowling?”
Marcy whispered to Rafe, “Does she know bowling sucks?” Rafe deadpanned, “Not yet.” Cassie whirled on him. “Rafe Cameron. Support me.” He blinked slowly. “Cassie. No.” Cassie stomped her foot like a toddler. “Marcy, let’s go plan our outfits.” Marcy shot Rafe a look of fear and apology before being dragged away. JJ laughed so hard he wheezed.
Rafe muttered, “I want a refund on that entire couple.”
Rafe visited the riding school build site that afternoon. The contractors had already doubled the grading team, installed the fencing posts, compacted the tarmac lane twice, finished trenching for plumbing and electrical and started prepping the concrete pads
All since yesterday. Rafe stared around the site, impressed but suspicious. “This is ahead of schedule.” The foreman wiped sweat from his forehead. “Yes, sir. We.. uh- felt motivated.” Rafe narrowed his eyes. “Why.” The foreman gulped. “Because you said you’d be here today.” Rafe didn’t know how to respond to that. He settled on a single nod. “Good,” he said. Three grown men visibly exhaled in relief.
JJ texted him right then:
JJ:
Send me a pic of the site
Rafe took one from the angle that made it look most intimidating and sent it.
JJ:
holy shit babe it looks like a real thing
Rafe:
It is a real thing.
And it will be done soon.
JJ:
Are you scaring them again
Rafe:
I’m not scaring them
I’m encouraging excellence
JJ:
same thing lol
Rafe almost smiled.
When JJ got back to HQ, his phone lit up nonstop:
Rafe:
Don’t lift anything over ten pounds
JJ:
it was a succulent tray relax
Rafe:
Don’t stretch unless someone’s watching you
JJ:
Cassie is watching me smoke a bowl does that count
Rafe:
Jesus
Send me a photo
JJ sent one — sprawled on the couch, legs stretched obscenely, looking very proud of himself.
Rafe stopped breathing.
Rafe:
Come home early
JJ:
babe i work here
Rafe:
Come home anyway
JJ’s grin nearly split his face.
That night they sat on the couch, JJ with his restored bendiness on full display, Rafe sitting too still, too quiet, watching him with a focus that made the air electric. JJ stretched again just to test him. Rafe’s jaw flexed. “You’re intense again,” JJ said softly. Rafe didn’t deny it. “You’re healed,” Rafe murmured. “You’re moving like yourself again.”
“So?” “So I haven’t had to hold myself back in weeks.” JJ felt heat pool low in his stomach. “You’re thinking about it.” “Yes.”
“And it scares you?” “No,” Rafe said. “It scares you.” JJ didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t sure. Because Rafe wasn’t wrong. Because the idea of Rafe slipping darker again made him nervous in a way that felt a lot like excitement. Rafe leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “When you’re ready, you tell me.” JJ swallowed. “And until then?” Rafe touched his ankle gently, reverently, possessively. “I watch you get stronger every day.”
Cassie approached the double-date like it was a holy pilgrimage. She even made a group chat titled: GAY BOWLING NIGHT, BE GRATEFUL JJ sent twelve skull emojis. Rafe sent nothing, which Cassie assumed was consent. They met at a retro bowling alley that smelled like neon and despair. Marcy arrived looking slightly frightened, slightly impressed, and dressed in a leather jacket that made Rafe narrow his eyes in slow suspicion.
“You clean up nice,” Cassie said, kissing her cheek. Marcy blushed. “You too.” JJ dramatically fanned himself.
Rafe muttered, “Let’s just get our lane.” They shared lane eleven- a strategic decision, since keeping Rafe and JJ separated was known to escalate into public indecency or competitive violence. Cassie handed out shoes like a dictator handing out rations. “Okay,” she said, “teams are simple: me and JJ versus Rafe and Marcy.”
Marcy visibly paled. “I’m… on his team?” Rafe blinked at her. “Is that a problem?” “No! No no no! I’m just… I bowl weird?” Marcy squeaked. Cassie patted her back. “We’ll get you bumper rails.” Marcy gasped. “Cass! You monster!” “You gutter every throw!” Cassie hissed. “It’s called charm!” Marcy protested. JJ cackled and staggered off to pick a ball. Rafe followed, because JJ limping slightly made his protective instincts flare even though the brace was gone.
“Babe,” JJ said, catching him staring, “I’m good.” “You say that,” Rafe muttered, “but I haven’t seen you bend since Tuesday.” JJ arched one eyebrow. “Watch me.” He didn’t even need to make it dirty, the moment JJ bent to grab a ball, shifting low, smooth, fluid, the way he used to… Rafe forgot oxygen existed. Every line of JJ’s body said I’m back. Every line of Rafe’s body said kill me now or take me home immediately. “Rafe?” JJ said, glancing up with the most innocent little smile. Rafe swallowed. “I’m fine.” He was not fine.
Marcy stepped up to bowl next. She rolled the ball so gently it looked like she was putting a baby down for a nap. It wobbled into the gutter halfway down. Cassie cheered anyway. “That’s my girl!” Marcy grimaced. “It was terrible.” Rafe crossed his arms and studied the lane like it owed him money. “Your wrist angle’s wrong.” Marcy jumped. “Oh! Okay! Sorry!”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Rafe said, tone flat but not unkind. “Just adjust.” “Which way?” Marcy squeaked. Rafe stepped behind her, nudging her elbow a centimetre inward. “Like that. And commit. The ball weighs something. Don’t treat it like glass.” Marcy nodded frantically.
JJ whispered to Cassie, “Is he… coaching her?” Cassie whispered back, “Marcy might cry.” Marcy bowled again, harder, straight down the middle. A strike. She screamed. Cassie screamed. JJ clapped. Rafe nodded once, approvingly. Marcy gasped, “Oh my god I did it.” “Good,” Rafe said. “Now do it again.”
Cassie took JJ aside. “I think your boyfriend just imprinted on my girlfriend.” JJ snorted. “She should feel honoured.” When JJ’s turn came again, he strolled to the lane with a swagger that said mobility restored, bitches. He twisted. Balanced on one leg. Dropped low. And bowled a perfect curve ball that smashed the pins clean.
Cassie and Marcy applauded. Rafe stared at JJ like he was seeing sin incarnate. JJ walked back slow, all heat and smugness. “Miss this?” Rafe leaned in close. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Cassie shouted, “Keep it PG, my dudes!” JJ winked. “No promises.”
Halfway through the game, Marcy turned to Rafe, trying to make conversation. “So, uh… you’re doing the motorcycle school thing, right? That’s cool.” Rafe shrugged. “It will be when the contractors stop cutting corners.” Marcy nodded nervously. “You’re… tough.” Cassie sighed dreamily. “He’s intense. That’s why we love him.”
Rafe tilted his head. “I’m not intense.” JJ, Cassie, and Marcy all stared at him like he’d just lied about being human. Marcy decided to be brave. “You kind of scare me a little.” Rafe blinked. “Why.” Cassie snorted. “Baby. You said that like you don’t understand the question.” Rafe thought about it. “I’m being helpful.” Marcy whispered, “Terrifyingly helpful.”
JJ kissed Rafe’s shoulder. “It’s okay, babe. She’ll adjust.” Rafe frowned. “I’m not doing anything wrong.” Cassie stage-whispered to Marcy, “He’s actually being incredibly polite.” Marcy looked betrayed. “That was POLITE?” JJ laughed so hard he had to sit down.
They stumbled home after the game, throats sore from laughing, Marcy marginally traumatized but in love with Cassie anyway. JJ kicked off his shoes inside the door and stretched his leg fully, beautifully, with a slow twist of his hips. Rafe stopped mid-step. “Do that again,” he said quietly.
JJ grinned and did a deeper stretch, arms over his head, spine arching, one knee drawing up. Rafe’s breath stuttered. JJ walked toward him, closing the distance, voice low. “Missed this, didn’t you.” Rafe swallowed. “More than you know.” JJ kissed him finally, finally with the full force of a body that worked the way it used to. He pushed Rafe back onto the couch, crawled into his lap, and Rafe’s hands flew automatically to JJ’s hips.
JJ murmured into his mouth, “I can do this again.” He lifted one leg, slow, deliberate, and hooked it over Rafe’s hip. Rafe exhaled like he’d been punched. Then JJ lifted the other leg. Rafe froze. Shook. Then held JJ’s waist tighter, reverent. “You’re sure?” he asked, breath ragged. JJ brushed their noses together. “I want you to hold me like before.”
He slid backward, and Rafe caught him perfectly, palms under his thighs, guiding, steadying. JJ laughed against his mouth and shifted higher. One fluid motion, and JJ’s ankles were around Rafe’s neck. Rafe’s eyes went dark immediately. JJ whispered, “Yeah. I’m bendy again.” Rafe kissed down JJ’s throat, slow and hungry, hands gripping JJ like he was something precious and breakable and his.
JJ held his face. “Hey.” Rafe looked up. JJ smiled. “I’m not breakable anymore.” Rafe closed his eyes for half a second, relief and desire and devotion crashing together so hard JJ felt it radiate through him. Rafe whispered, “Come here.” JJ did.
They kissed and pressed together on the couch, tangled and breathless, not rushing anything, not pushing too far just relearning each other’s bodies, rediscovering the freedom they’d both missed. JJ’s legs stayed wrapped around Rafes waist until they fell asleep like that, arms locked tight, breathing slow, the storm finally gone from both of them.
Rafe woke before JJ which was normal but this morning he didn’t hover. Didn’t tuck the blanket around JJ or check the brace or linger like a worried ghost. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching JJ breathe. Not protective. Focused. Planning something JJ could almost taste.
JJ cracked an eye open. “You staring at me like you’re about to abduct me again.” Rafe snorted. “Get dressed. I wanna show you something.” JJ stretched deliberately, hips rolling as he sat up. Rafe’s jaw tightened. Yeah. JJ had missed that reaction.
JJ drove the van, blasting old surf punk, tapping the wheel. Rafe rode shotgun on his bike, weaving through the early traffic to meet him there. JJ pulled up to the riding school site and immediately felt it, the scale of it. Wide dirt trail carved in the hillside, the beginning of a tarmac loop gleaming under the sun, portable buildings already assembled.
This was happening. This was real. And Rafe had done all of it while barely sleeping and obsessing over JJ. He walked over from his bike, sunglasses low on his nose, wind still in his hair. JJ grinned. “Look at you. Foreman Daddy.” “Don’t call me that,” Rafe muttered, but he didn’t hate it.
Two contractors argued over gravel placement until they noticed Rafe approaching and promptly shut the hell up. “Morning,” Rafe said, voice deceptively casual. “Who signed off on the wrong aggregate?” Both men swallowed at once.
JJ whispered to himself, “Oh my god…” Rafe continued, “Fix it. Today. And stop cutting the inside corners on the dirt track, I can see the divots from fifty feet away.” The men nodded rapidly and took off.
JJ crossed his arms. “They scared of you or into you?”
“Yes,” Rafe said. JJ burst out laughing. They walked the half-finished dirt loop, boots kicking up dust. JJ jogged a few steps ahead to test his leg, brace finally gone and hopped onto a chunk of compacted earth. It held. He held. He turned back, smiling wide. “See that? I can land again.” Rafe stopped in the middle of the track like someone had punched him in the chest. Not the old panic. Not fear. Something sharper. Hotter. Predatory. JJ felt a ripple down his spine.
Rafe stepped closer, fingers brushing JJ’s hip. “Do that again.” JJ pushed off the dirt and landed lightly, body fluid, loose, strong. Rafe exhaled like it was a threat. JJ swallowed. “You good?” Rafe didn’t answer. He just looked at him- really looked, like he was recalculating every detail of what he could do with JJ’s body now that it could move again.
JJ’s pulse kicked. “Hey. Don’t go quiet psycho on me.” Still nothing. Just heat and calculation. JJ stepped closer, invading Rafe’s space on purpose. “You planning something?” Rafe’s fingers slid around JJ’s wrist. “Yeah.” JJ felt his stomach flip. “Soon?”
“Soon.”
“Define ‘soon.’”
“No.”
JJ’s breath hitched.
They reached the tarmac portion, black, perfect curves Rafe had obsessed over for weeks. JJ stepped onto the pavement, turned his back to Rafe, and stretched again, deeper this time, bending forward until his palms touched the track. He did it slowly. He knew exactly what he was doing. Behind him, Rafe went silent again.
JJ straightened and glanced over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You okay back there?” “Keep testing me,” Rafe said quietly, “and I’m not waiting.” JJ’s mouth went dry. “Not waiting for what?” he whispered. Rafe didn’t blink. “You know.” JJ swallowed. “Say it.”
Rafe stepped in, crowding him back until JJ’s spine touched the portable building wall. “I’ll take you out here,” Rafe murmured, voice low and hot. “Right now. Construction crew ten feet away. Dust on your knees. My hand over your mouth so they don’t hear you.” JJ’s whole body lit up. He laughed breathless. “You won’t.” Rafe leaned in, nose brushing JJ’s cheek. “Try me.”
JJ’s knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t a bluff. Not today. The shift JJ had been feeling all morning settled into something unmistakable: Rafe’s restraint was hanging by a thread.
And JJ was the one plucking it.
JJ went back to HQ for the lunch shift. Rafe stayed at the site, terrorizing contractors with clipboard precision.
But the texts started immediately:
Rafe: You shouldn’t have done that stretch.
Rafe: I almost grabbed you by the back of your shirt.
Rafe: You’re pushing me on purpose.
Rafe: Keep doing it.
JJ grinned so hard Cassie noticed. “You sexting?” she accused. “No,” JJ lied.
His phone buzzed again:
Rafe: Don’t plan anything Thursday night.
Rafe: And don’t pretend you don’t know why.
JJ sat down because his knees actually went weak.
When JJ clocked out, he sent one message:
JJ: What if I want it sooner?
Rafe replied instantly:
Rafe: Then come home right now.
Rafe: And don’t lock the door behind you.
JJ stared at the screen, pulse racing.
He didn’t reply. He just grabbed his keys.
And drove.
Chapter Text
The second the front door shut behind them, Rafe knew JJ was still riding the high from the night out. Too bold.
Too mouthy. Too proud of himself for walking without the brace. Rafe hung up his jacket. JJ grinned at him from the middle of the living room. “You look like you wanna say something.”
Rafe crossed his arms. “Yeah. I do.” JJ’s smirk wavered, just a little. “Uh… okay.” “You’ve been a brat all day,” Rafe said. “Testing limits. Testing me.” JJ lifted both brows. “Maybe.”
“Not maybe,” Rafe said. “Definitely.” JJ opened his mouth to sass back Rafe, could see it forming but he cut him off with one low, quiet command. “Come here.” JJ froze. Rafe sat on the edge of the couch, posture perfectly controlled, legs spread just enough. JJ’s eyes widened. “Wait… are we-”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “We are.” JJ swallowed hard and walked over. Rafe took his wrist gently but firmly, guiding him between his knees. “You want to play Daddy’s boy?” Rafe asked softly. “Then you follow Daddy’s rules. And today? You broke all of them.” JJ’s breath hitched. “I… okay.”
“No. Not okay.” Rafe’s voice dropped. “Over my lap.” JJ blinked, startled, aroused, unsure but obedient. He climbed across Rafe’s thighs slowly, settling his hips where Rafe guided him. Rafe rested one broad, warm hand on JJ’s lower back before pulling his pants and boxers down. JJ shivered. “Good boy,” Rafe murmured. “Now listen carefully.” JJ nodded against the couch cushion.
Rafe lifted the hem of JJ’s shirt, exposing the small of his back, his hips. Smooth. Strong again. “You don’t get to push me in front of other people,” Rafe said. “Not like that. Not to get a reaction.” JJ whispered, “Yes, Daddy.” Rafe’s hand tightened slightly. “And you don’t get to ignore me when I tell you to slow down. That leg’s getting better, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”
“I know,” JJ said softly. “No,” Rafe corrected. “You don’t. But I’m going to help you remember.” He let his hand rise not high, just enough and brought it down on JJ’s ass. A clean smack. Firm. Not cruel. Perfect. JJ gasped, hips jerking.
“Daddy-”
“Uh-uh,” Rafe said, hand smoothing over the warm spot. “Stay still.”
Another smack. Then another. Not fast. Measured, controlled, each one punctuating a sentence.
“You don’t get to act out because you miss the attention.” Smack.
“You don’t get to tease me until you’re shaking and then pretend it’s a joke.” Smack.
“You don’t get to walk around all loose and smug and expect Daddy not to notice.” Smack.
Rafe eyed JJ’s thighs and delivered a series of six fast smacks that JJ gasping. “Do you have something to say to Daddy or do you need another six?” JJ’s breath was ragged. His fingers curled tightly into the cushion. “Daddy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” Rafe said, rubbing circles on his lower back again. “But you’re also mine. And when you act out, Daddy corrects you.” JJ made a small, desperate sound, the kind Rafe hadn’t heard since before the accident. Rafe softened then, hand on JJ’s hip, thumb stroking the sensitive dip there. “You’re doing so good for me,” Rafe said quietly. “So good. You hear me?”
“Yes,” JJ breathed. Rafe gave him one last firm smack across both cheeks, not harder, just final. JJ exhaled like a man letting go of a week’s worth of tension. Rafe helped him up carefully, pulling JJ into his lap instead of letting him stand. JJ curled into him instinctively, arms around Rafe’s shoulders, face tucked into his neck. Rafe held him close, hand warm on the back of his head. “That’s my boy,” Rafe whispered, kissing his temple. “You’re alright.” JJ nodded against him. “I needed that.”
“I know you did.” JJ shifted a little in Rafe’s lap, eyes fluttering open, wrecked and affectionate. “Daddy?” Rafe brushed his thumb over JJ’s cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart.” JJ blinked slowly. “Can you… hold me awhile?” Rafe smiled softly, real and gathered him in fully, leaning back on the couch with JJ straddling him, head on his chest. “As long as you want,” Rafe murmured. “You’re not going anywhere.”
JJ melted against him, warm and loose and perfectly corrected. Rafe stroked his back until JJ’s breathing evened out, his body relaxing completely in Rafe’s arms. The scene wasn’t rough. It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t part of the upcoming plan. It was Daddy. It was boy. It was theirs. And JJ needed it just as much as Rafe needed to give it.
The aftercare glow from the spanking scene still clung to the room like warmth off a banked fire. JJ was damp with sweat and loose-limbed, his smile lopsided in that fucked-up, post-brat bliss Rafe never got tired of seeing. Rafe cradled him close, wiping the last sheen off his forehead with a warm cloth, kissing the corner of his mouth. JJ melted more with each pass, quiet, pliant, not the feral little menace who’d pushed him earlier.
“You good?” Rafe murmured. JJ nodded against his neck. “Yeah. Kinda… floaty. In a good way.” “Good.” Rafe stroked his back, slow, soothing circles. “Scenes don’t always have to rip you apart. Not everything’s the van and the woods.” JJ made a soft noise. “I know. Just… needed this one.” Rafe did too. He wouldn’t say it out loud yet, but he did.
Eventually JJ yawned so hard it shook the bed. Rafe laughed and tucked him in, JJ curling into him like something small and exhausted and safe. The dark psychological stuff; the kidnapping setups, the hunting, the zip ties, the kneeling in the dirt with JJ begging was the backbone of the planned scenes they did. That was what rewired Rafe’s brain. That was their shared madness.
But this? A spanking. A stern voice. A brat corrected. Soft aftercare and warm hands? This was something else. Something steadier. A pressure valve. The dynamic they used when everything else was too sharp. Not their identity. Just a tool. And JJ clearly loved it.
At dawn, JJ woke up practically draped over him, full octopus mode: one leg over Rafe’s hip, one arm across his chest, face buried against his collarbone. “Morning,” Rafe whispered, brushing his hair back. JJ whined and pulled him closer like Rafe was the only heating source on earth. Rafe smiled. “Someone’s needy.” JJ’s voice was muffled.
“Daddy?” His face went red instantly. “I mean..shit -ignore that. Brain glitch.” Rafe kissed the top of his head. “Hey. You can ask for that dynamic whenever you want. Doesn’t mean we’re switching full time.” JJ nodded, relieved. “Yeah. I don’t want it to replace all the other stuff. I like… the heavy shit too.”
“I know you do.” “Just… nice sometimes. Not being hunted. Just held.” Rafe’s chest tightened. “You’ll always get both.” JJ smiled into his skin. “Good.”
After JJ fell back asleep for a bit, Rafe lay awake thinking. He wasn’t shifting their whole dynamic. He wasn’t becoming a full-time Daddy Dom. But he was adding it to the arsenal not as a fallback, but as a grounding scene before the extreme stuff. A structure JJ could request when he was spiralling. A way to bring JJ down from adrenaline. A shorter, safer dynamic between the big scenes.
And now? JJ wanted to integrate it into their scenes. Not replacing the violence, the chase, the psychological collapse. Just threaded into it. Permission. Correction. Authority. Daddy wasn’t the fantasy. Daddy was the anchor. Rafe could work with that.
JJ eventually rolled over onto his stomach, face half in the pillow, hair sticking everywhere. “Hey,” he mumbled. Rafe smoothed a hand over his back. “Hey.” JJ hesitated. “Can I ask for something?” “Always.” JJ chewed his lip. “In the next… big scene? The one you’re planning?” Rafe’s pulse jumped. “Yeah?” JJ swallowed hard. “Can Daddy be the one who finds me? Not just… Rafe. I mean like-” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Like I’ve been bad. And Daddy’s coming to take me home.”
Rafe felt something cold and hot at the same time spread through his chest. “You want to be retrieved,” he said quietly, “and corrected.” JJ nodded. “Yeah.” “And you want Daddy’s voice in your ear when I grab you.” JJ nodded again, breathing faster now. “Yes.” Rafe slid his hand up the back of JJ’s neck and held him still.
“Okay,” he said. “Not always. Not even often. But this time? Yeah. Daddy can take you.” JJ shivered. “Fuck.” Rafe’s mouth curved. “Thought so.” JJ peeked at him. “You’re really gonna do it?” “You asked for it,” Rafe murmured, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. “And I don’t half-ass anything you ask for.”
JJ flushed straight down to his stomach. Rafe kissed his ear. “Now get some food in you. You’re gonna need strength.” JJ groaned dramatically. “Why.” Rafe grinned darkly. “Because next time Daddy comes for you, you’re not getting away.” JJ hid his face in the pillow and let out the most flustered noise Rafe had ever heard.
Rafe wasn’t ready for another CNC scene. He needed a pause in the hard stuff for a few weeks. But he could give JJ this and they would both like it. So he started drafting some house rules for JJ he hadn’t finished or shown JJ yet.
JJ was still enjoying this new lighter dynamic and initiated that evening. He asked Daddy if he could go out with his friends if he promised to only have two drinks and be home by ten. Rafe had work to do and assented, half hard because he knew what how they were going to play later that night.
Rafe didn’t mind spreadsheets. He minded the twenty-six minutes past curfew blinking in the corner of his phone. He refreshed JJ’s location again. Still at the bar. Still with Cassie, Walt, and Marcy. Still definitely not heading home.
He stared at the clock. 10:26 PM.
JJ had left the house at 7 with a kiss to Rafe’s cheek, smelling like weed and cologne and trouble, promising: “Two drinks only, Daddy. I swear. Home by ten.” Rafe had held his chin and said, “Good boy. Don’t make me come get you.” JJ had grinned like he absolutely wanted Rafe to come get him.
Now? Rafe stood from the table and picked up his keys.
Before he even put on his jacket, he texted.
Daddy:
You’re late.
You’ve broken your rule.
I’m on my way.
You’ll be waiting outside in ten minutes.
You’re in trouble, boy.
Read: delivered.
Read: seen.
JJ didn’t reply. Which was fine. Daddy hadn’t asked for a reply.
He’d given an instruction.
JJ was mid-laugh, head thrown back at something Walt said, when his phone buzzed.
He checked it. His eyes widened. He made a strangled noise. Cassie immediately leaned over. “Oh god. Is that Daddy?” “Cass,” JJ hissed, shoving his phone to his chest. Marcy blinked. “Daddy who?” Walt snorted beer out his nose trying not to laugh. “Oh my god… this is better than television.” JJ’s hands shook as he typed out NOTHING and then gave up.
Cassie grinned feral. “Let me guess. You’re late?” JJ groaned. “Twenty six minutes.” Walt whistled. “You’re fucked.” JJ ran both hands through his hair. “I told him two drinks and home by ten!”
“How many did you have?” Marcy asked. JJ stared at his empty glasses. “…I stopped counting.” Cassie howled. Then she shoved JJ toward the door. “Go. Before he gets here and carries you out.”
JJ stumbled outside into the cool air, adrenaline hitting his bloodstream like a slap. He positioned himself by the wall exactly where Rafe would see him. Boy mode activated. Full panic. Full thrill.
He checked the street. No van yet. He swallowed hard and straightened his shirt. He was in so much trouble.
The van rolled up silent and slow, Rafe behind the wheel wearing that expression, the one JJ called “tax-return murder face.” JJ’s stomach dropped in a straight line. Rafe parked. Got out. Shut the door with a soft click that sounded more dangerous than a slam. He didn’t yell. He didn’t rush. He just walked to JJ, stopped right in front of him, and said in a quiet, controlled voice: “You broke your rule.”
JJ’s mouth opened. “Daddy, I…” “Don’t.” JJ shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. Rafe reached out and took JJ’s chin between two fingers, turning his face up gently. “You were supposed to be home by ten.” JJ nodded miserably. “You were supposed to stop at two drinks.” JJ nodded again. “You were supposed to tell me if plans changed.” JJ winced. “…yeah.” Rafe’s jaw shifted. JJ braced.
“Get in the van.” JJ obeyed so fast it was honestly embarrassing.
Rafe didn’t speak the whole way. He didn’t even look at JJ. JJ sat in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, sweating, heart pounding, thighs pressed together like he was trying not to shake. Every time Rafe’s fingers flexed on the wheel, JJ flinched.
Fucking hell. He was so far gone.
When they pulled into the driveway, Rafe finally spoke. “Inside. Bedroom.” JJ practically sprinted with the dignity of a baby deer.
Rafe closed the door behind them and pointed to the bed. “Jeans off. Shirt off. Now.” JJ swallowed, stripping fast enough to trip over himself. He expected Rafe to push him down. Instead, Rafe sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh. “Over my knee.”
JJ’s breath hitched. Jesus. He crawled across Rafe’s lap, settling belly-down, chest rising and falling against Rafe’s leg. Rafe placed a steady hand on JJ’s lower back. Slowly lowered JJ’s boxer briefs to mid-thigh.
“Do you know why you’re here?” JJ nodded against Rafe’s thigh. “Yes, Daddy.” “Say it.”
“I broke my rule. I didn’t come home. I didn’t check in. I didn’t count my drinks” “And?” JJ’s voice cracked. “I made you worry.” Rafe exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. You did.” His palm slid down JJ’s ass, slow and warm and possessive.
“This isn’t because I’m angry,” Rafe said quietly. “This is because you need to learn to be responsible. And because this is what happens when a boy breaks his promises.” JJ whimpered. “Yes Daddy.”
Rafe raised his hand and brought it down firm. JJ gasped. Not brutal. Not sadistic. Just sharp. Corrective. A reminder. Rafe spanked him again. And again. And again. A steady rhythm. Measured. Controlled. Daddy discipline, not punishment. JJ’s breathing turned shaky and soft. He melted over Rafe’s knee, hands gripping the blanket. Rafe paused, rubbed gentle circles on the sore skin.
“You will not disappear on me,” he murmured.
“You won’t lie about how much you’ve had to drink.”
“You won’t ignore your curfew.”
“You won’t make me come find you.”
JJ trembled. “I won’t, Daddy.” Rafe delivered three more firm smacks across his thighs for emphasis. JJ gasped loud into the blankets, thighs shaking. Then Rafe soothed him with warm hands, tracing down the back of his legs. “You’re a good boy,” he murmured. “You just need reminders.” JJ melted instantly. “I’m sorry Daddy.”
“I know. Come here.” Rafe lifted him upright, pulled him into his lap, held him tight. JJ buried his face in Rafe’s neck, completely undone. Rafe kissed his temple. “You scared me tonight.” JJ clung harder. “I won’t do it again. I just…time got away from me.” “Then next time you text me.” Rafe cupped the back of his head. “No disappearing acts. Not ever.” JJ nodded fast. “Never.”
Rafe stroked his spine until the tension seeped out. “You’re home,” Rafe whispered. “Yeah,” JJ breathed. “Daddy came for me.” Rafe closed his eyes. “Always.”
JJ stayed curled in Rafe’s lap after the reminder spanking, warm and pliant, cheek against Rafe’s collarbone. Rafe stroked his hair, thinking. Daddy rules weren’t supposed to take over their lives. They were supposed to: ground JJ when he spiralled, stabilize Rafe when he got too sharp, keep their home from turning into a brat tornado, make scenes smoother, add a structure that JJ secretly craved. But right now? JJ needed clarity. “Hey,” Rafe murmured, tapping JJ’s lower back. “Sit up. I want to tell you something.” JJ lifted his head, eyes still glassy and soft. “Am I in trouble again?”
“No. This is about expectations.” JJ perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag. “Rules?” “Yeah. But not heavy ones. Stuff you can actually do.” JJ’s face went from nervous to mischief in three seconds. “Hit me.” Rafe took a slow breath and held his boy’s gaze.
“These aren’t punishments. They’re guide rails. Things that keep you safe, keep the house functional, and keep me from losing my mind.” JJ grinned. “So… Daddy’s pet peeves list?” Rafe smacked his thigh lightly. “Behave. Listen.” JJ obeyed immediately, tucking his legs under himself and sitting straighter. Rafe brushed a thumb over his jaw. “These are things that activate Daddy mode. If you break them, you earn a conversation. Or a consequence. Or my hand. Or my belt.” JJ shivered. “Okay.”
Rafe started counting on his fingers.
“First. You get up by seven on weekdays. No closing your eyes after the alarm.”
JJ groaned. “But I…” Rafe raised a brow. JJ shut up. “Yes Daddy.”
“Second. You wash your cereal bowl instead of leaving it in the sink until lunchtime.” JJ muttered into his shoulder. “It feels so optional.”
“It isn’t. It annoys me.”
“Fine.”
“Third. Dry the bathroom floor after you shower. I almost slipped last week.” JJ winced. “Yeah. That one’s fair.”
“Fourth. You don’t talk back when you’re frustrated. Ask for space. Don’t snap.” JJ swallowed. “Okay.”
“Fifth. No rolling your eyes at me.” JJ blinked, genuinely shocked. “That was a rule?” “It is now.” JJ hid a smile.
“Sixth. If you’re going out, Daddy gets the plan. If the plan changes, you text. Safety.” JJ nodded fast. “Yep.”
“Seventh. Curfew means curfew.” JJ’s whole face heated. “I said I was sorry about last night.”
“And you got corrected for it. But it stays on the list.” JJ groaned. “Daddy.”
“Eighth. You make your side of the bed every morning. No dumping your clothes on my chair.” JJ blinked. “Your chair is very dumpable.” Rafe pinched his hip. “I swear to god.” “Okay okay! No chair dumping.”
“Ninth. You stop climbing things. No ladders. No top shelves. No balancing on furniture to ‘reach stuff.’ You ask. Every time.” JJ’s cheeks turned pink. “That one is reasonable.”
“And tenth,” Rafe said quietly, “you tell Daddy when you need attention instead of acting out.” JJ looked down at his hands. “Even when it’s embarrassing?”
“Especially then.” JJ nodded slowly. “Okay.” Rafe cupped his cheek. “If you follow these, Daddy stays soft. If you break them, Daddy gets involved.”
JJ’s breath caught. “So… if I forget to dry the floor or talk back or roll my eyes… I get taken over your knee?” Rafe smiled. “Sometimes. Or you get a talking-to. Or you get my hand around your jaw reminding you who you belong to.” JJ visibly melted. “Daddy,” he whispered, almost reverent, “these are so doable.”
“That’s the point.” “And what if I break one because I’m being a little shit on purpose?” “You won’t like the version of Daddy you get then,” Rafe said, stern but affectionate.
JJ beamed. “So I should test them.” Rafe glared. “No.” JJ leaned forward and kissed him anyway, soft and grateful. “Thank you. I needed structure. I didn’t know how much until just now.” Rafe pulled him in close. “You needed someone watching you. Really watching you. And I like doing that.” JJ curled into his chest. “I like being watched.”
Rafe tightened his arms around him. “I know.” JJ’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And… Daddy?” “Yeah.”
“I’m gonna fail at least two of these tomorrow.” Rafe groaned and kissed his forehead. “I know that too.”
JJ broke the first rule at 7:01 a.m. Not even dramatically. Not even rebelliously. He just hit snooze. Once. Rafe heard the alarm through the wall, then the silence, then the soft thump of JJ rolling over. He gave it thirty seconds. Then he walked in. JJ was sprawled under the blankets, hair everywhere, breathing soft and slow. Rafe sat on the edge of the bed and tapped his thigh. “Boy.”
JJ froze like prey spotting a shadow. His eyes opened. His mouth opened. His mouth immediately closed again because Daddy was looming over him with a very specific expression. “Time?” Rafe asked. JJ stared at the alarm clock. “Seven… oh-one?”
“Seven oh-one,” Rafe repeated calmly. JJ swallowed. “I can explain.” “No you can’t.” “Just one snooze.”
“One snooze is still late.” Rafe folded his arms. “Rule one. Broken.” JJ groaned into his pillow. “I thought you meant like… spiritually seven. Not literally seven.” “Up,” Rafe said. JJ climbed out of bed, hair sticking up like a startled dandelion.
Rafe leaned in, kissed him once, slow and warm, before murmuring “You’ll get a reminder tonight.” JJ shivered. “Fuck. Okay. Yes Daddy.”
“Good. Breakfast. Then HQ.” JJ fled the bedroom with the enthusiasm of someone avoiding further charges.
JJ made cereal. JJ ate cereal. JJ kissed Rafe’s cheek. JJ put the bowl in the sink and walked away like a man who had never in his life been told a rule. Rafe watched him from the hallway. Silently. Patiently. JJ froze mid-step, turned around slow, and saw Rafe staring directly at the dirty bowl. JJ inhaled like he’d been stabbed.
“I forgot,” he whispered. Rafe raised one brow. “You forgot the thing we talked about eight hours ago.”
“I have a condition,” JJ said. “Yes. It’s called bratting.” JJ whimpered. “Daddy…” “You’ll wash it after work,” Rafe said. “And you’ll do it with attitude correction.” JJ whimpered again. “I’m gonna die.”
“Probably,” Rafe said dryly. “Shoes on. Time to go.”
At HQ, JJ lasted twelve minutes before Cassie cornered him. She walked up behind him silently, stared at his face, then at his posture, then at the way he kept checking his phone like his parole officer might text any second. “Oh my god,” she said loudly. JJ flinched. “What?”
Cassie pointed at him. “You broke something. Daddy gave you rules and you already broke one.” JJ sputtered. “I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t have to. You have the exact facial expression of a man who knows he’s gonna get spanked at 7 p.m.” Walt, overhearing, leaned out from the grow room. “Did he roll his eyes again?” JJ choked. “No!”
Cassie grinned. “Then it was dishes.” JJ turned purple. “Oh my god,” Cassie howled. “It was dishes.” JJ dropped his head onto the table. “Cassie please. I am so tired.” Walt sipped his coffee with deep satisfaction. “Daddy’s rulebook didn’t even last one morning.”
JJ groaned. “You don’t understand. There’s ten.” Cassie sat next to him, eyes gleaming. “Tell me every one.”
“No.” Cassie leaned forward. “I’ll trade you a pre-roll.” JJ sighed heavily. “Fine. But don’t tell Marcy.” Cassie crossed her heart. “I won’t. I’ll tell Walt.”
“Hey,” Walt said.
JJ didn’t mean to break another rule. Truly. He just… rolled his eyes at Cassie during lunch. Rafe wasn’t even there. The universe simply took note. Karma filed paperwork. Because Cassie shouted across the entire grow floor: “He did it! Daddy rule number five! Eye roll!” JJ slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shut the hell up!” Cassie licked his palm. JJ screamed. Walt wheezed. “Ohhh he’s in so much trouble.”
JJ texted Rafe under the table.
JJ: In the interest of transparency
I may have accidentally rolled my eyes at Cassie
Daddy: You did what
JJ: Not at you
At her
Totally different violation
Daddy: It counts
We will talk later
JJ honestly could have fainted.
When JJ got home, he walked in wearing the meekest expression he had ever worn in his life. Rafe stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, calm in a way that made JJ want to dissolve into atoms. “Come here,” Rafe said. JJ approached. “List them,” Rafe said. “All ten.” JJ recited every rule perfectly, stumbling twice.
Rafe nodded. “Good boy. Now I’m adding one more.” JJ blinked. “There’s an eleven?” “Yes. The secret rule.” JJ’s heartbeat tripped. “What is it.” Rafe stepped closer, thumb brushing JJ’s lower lip. “You do not knowingly break a rule and hide it.” JJ froze. “I didn’t hide anything today.”
“You didn’t,” Rafe agreed. “But the day will come when you’re tempted.” JJ swallowed hard. “And if I do hide something?” Rafe tilted his chin up. “The consequence is heavier.” JJ breathed out slow. “Okay. No hiding.”
“Good.” Rafe kissed him. Soft first. Then firmer. JJ melted against him helplessly. “Now,” Rafe said, lips brushing JJ’s cheek, “you’ve earned a conversation about getting up late. And about dishes. And about your eye roll.” JJ whimpered. “Daddy…”
“Upstairs,” Rafe said. “Clothes off. You’re getting corrected.” JJ practically sprinted, tripping halfway up the stairs because of course he did. Rafe followed, shaking his head affectionately. This boy was impossible. And perfect. And his.
When Rafe got upstairs JJ was standing in just his underwear blushing and looking embarrassed. Rafe raised an eyebrow and said “Take them off now.” JJ squirmed a fraction as he complied. Rafe pointed to the bed and told him to bend over and put his hands on the mattress. “You’ve broken three of Daddy’s rules today, and this is the third day in a row you have needed to be reminded.”
“ I want you to tell my all the reasons you have been spanked this week, in order.” JJ’s stomach dropped as he tried hard to remember every infraction while hard as a rock and bursting with anticipation.
“Uh… I teased you with my bending over at your work.. I was a brat to you all day. I broke curfew. I didn’t text you about changed plans and broke my promise about drinks..um…I..climbed a ladder…I got up late…my cereal bowl.. eyerolled Cassie.. I activated Daddy in public without permission-“ JJ scoured his memory to see if he had forgotten anything but couldn’t think of anything else Daddy might know about.
Rafe clicked his tongue. “All of this in three days, my boy.” JJ shivered. “I think you are going to need a stronger reminder tonight so you remember to be a very good boy for me tomorrow.”
Daddy gently stroked JJs lower back before the smacks began, each one loud and sharp and slow, alternating between each cheek and each thigh. After five to each spot, JJ had four pink roughly hand shaped marks warming ass and the backs of his thighs.
“I am going to give you one more hard one because I want you to know how important the rules are to Daddy. This is one is from my belt. I don’t want to take my belt off for you, my boy, but three days in a row and so many rules broken means I have to.”
Daddy took off his belt, doubled it once and then gave it to JJ hard across both cheeks before putting it down on the bed and gathering JJ into his arms. He sat JJ on his lap and held him, looking into his watery eyes and consoling him. “It’s over now, you took your punishment very well. I know you are going to try your hardest tomorrow for me, aren’t you?” “Yes Daddy, sorry Daddy. I will remember every rule and be honest if I break one. I will really try.”
“Good boy. That’s all Daddy wants. Keep you safe and well behaved. Daddy loves you.” Daddy turned JJ over on his lap to examine his ass and thighs. He rubbed the sore spots as JJ decompressed and his soft gasps turned into blissed out sighs. “Time for bed now. What time do you have to get up?”
“Seven, Daddy. I promise.” Daddy tucked JJ into bed and gave him some gentle kisses. He stripped down to his boxers and curled up behind JJ, holding him tight to his chest. “ Goodnight sweet boy.”
“Goodnight Daddy.”
Chapter Text
JJ woke up at 6:59 a.m. He literally sat bolt upright in bed and slapped his phone like it owed him money. “Six. Five. Nine,” he whispered triumphantly. Rafe, half-asleep, cracked one eye. “Oh God.” JJ flung himself across Rafe’s chest. “I DIDN’T BREAK THE FIRST RULE.” Rafe stroked his hair lazily. “Baby, you need to stop treating the rulebook like the Olympics.” “It IS the Olympics,” JJ insisted. “Gold medal boy behaviour.”
He jumped out of bed, strutted to the kitchen. Then Rafe heard it: A spoon hitting the sink. A bowl hitting the sink. Running water. No scrubbing. JJ reappeared, beaming. “Coffee?” Rafe stared at him. “Did you wash your bowl?” JJ froze mid-pour. “I rinsed it.”
“Did you wash it.” JJ whispered, “…I… rinsed it… passionately?” Rafe sighed into his coffee. “Baby.” JJ slumped. “Minus one point?” “You never had points,” Rafe muttered. “The system isn’t real.” JJ dramatically collapsed onto the kitchen bench. “I’m failing.” Rafe leaned in, kissed the top of his head, and murmured, “You’re not failing. You’re bratting.”
JJ brightened instantly. “Oh thank God. Because that’s my specialty.”
JJ and Rafe arrived at HQ around nine. Cassie was waiting. Standing in front of the grow room doors with a clipboard. A literal clipboard. “Morning,” she said. “I’ve prepared an agenda.” JJ's eyes went wide. “No. No agendas.” Rafe sighed deeply. “Cassie.”
Cassie clicked her pen. “As JJ’s union representative, I require a briefing on his working conditions, specifically: the rulebook.” JJ hid behind Rafe. “Daddy, do something!” Cassie raised a palm. “And don’t call him Daddy at work. HR nightmare.” Rafe rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Cassie… what do you want.”
“Transparency,” she said. “Updates. Amendments. Worker protections.” JJ groaned. “I don’t need protections.” Cassie gave him a flat look. “You got spanked for cereal.” JJ gasped. “That was consensual workplace discipline!” “STOP TALKING,” Rafe begged. Cassie marched on. “I want to know the full list.” Rafe crossed his arms. “Why.”
“So I can help JJ break them in clever ways.” JJ perked up. “Wait-” Rafe cut in, horrified. “Absolutely not.” Cassie scribbled something. “Noted. Management refuses collaboration.” JJ whispered, “She terrifies me.” Rafe whispered back, “She terrifies everyone.”
After lunch, JJ wandered into Rafe’s office and dropped onto the couch. “Daddy,” he said quietly, “can we talk about the next dark scene?” Rafe stiffened. not from fear, but from the gear-shift in dynamic. “Of course,” he said gently. “What do you need?” JJ kicked his feet up. “I want to know if you’ve picked a date. For the pursuit and capture one.” Rafe sat back, watching him. “I’m still refining the route.” JJ perked up. “So you have a route.” Rafe nodded. “Multiple.”
“Are there… blindfolds?” JJ asked, chewing his lip the way that ruined Rafe’s self-control. “Yeah,” Rafe murmured. “And rope. And the hood if you want it.” JJ shivered. “Daddy, I…” And then both of them froze.
Because JJ had said “Daddy” talking about their darkest scene. Rafe exhaled slowly. “That’s not a Daddy scene, baby.” JJ swallowed. “I know. I just… slipped.” Rafe got up, crossed the room, and tipped JJ’s chin up with two fingers.
“That version of me?” he said softly. “In the woods? In the van? He’s not Daddy.” JJ nodded, eyes half-lidded. “He’s the man who takes you,” Rafe said. “Not the man who corrects you.” JJ whispered, “Right.” Rafe kissed him once, slow and reassuring. “We keep them separate,” he murmured. “Daddy is for grounding. CNC is for burning.” JJ exhaled like his lungs had been tight for weeks. “Okay.”
“And right now?” Rafe added. “Right now I’m not Daddy.” JJ blinked up at him. “No?” he whispered. Rafe grinned. “Right now I’m your boyfriend who wants you on his lap.”
JJ launched himself at him.
JJ ended up exactly where he belonged, straddling Rafe’s lap on the office couch. Rafe cupped his jaw. “You tried this morning.” JJ pouted. “I failed.”
“You tried,” Rafe corrected. “And that matters.” JJ’s throat bobbed. “Does that mean I get a reward?” Rafe nodded, slow and generous. “Yeah, baby. You do.” He slid a hand under JJ’s shirt, rubbing slow circles up his spine until JJ melted boneless against him, head tucked under Rafe’s chin. Rafe whispered You’re my good boy. Even when you mess up.” JJ whimpered, softly, privately.
Rafe kissed his forehead. “Colour?” JJ breathed, “Green. Daddy, I’m so green.” Rafe hummed. “I told you. I’m not Daddy right now.” JJ lifted his head, eyes glassy. “Then be.” Rafe’s breath stuttered. He nodded once. “Okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here.” JJ curled into him like warmth itself.
Rafe guided JJ’s hips in slow, lazy grinding, nothing rough, nothing sharp, just enough to make JJ tremble and cling. A reward. A reminder. A reset button. JJ whispered into his neck, “Daddy… I wanna be good today.”
“You already are.”
That evening, JJ made a heroic attempt to follow every house rule. He washed his bowl. He dried the bathroom floor. He didn’t roll his eyes. He even set an alarm for 6:55 a.m. Then while brushing his teeth, he got cocky. He looked Rafe dead in the eye in the bathroom mirror and said “I bet Daddy won’t spank me once tomorrow.” Rafe paused mid-shave. JJ froze, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth. Rafe lowered the razor. “No?” he murmured.JJ’s eyes went wide. “I- I didn’t mean-”
“You challenging me?” JJ spat, wiped his mouth, shook his head violently. “NO. No sir. No Daddy. I’m good. I’m a sweet respectful boy-” Rafe stepped toward him, slow, deliberate. JJ backed into the counter. Rafe braced a hand beside JJ’s hip and whispered “You just earned tomorrow’s warm-up.” JJ whimpered. “I’m so stupid.” Rafe kissed him slow. “Yeah. But you’re mine. So it’s fine.” JJ melted into him completely.
JJ followed Rafe around the kitchen like a golden retriever with ADHD. Rafe was loading the dishwasher. JJ was loading him. “Hey,” JJ said, bumping his hip. “Hey, you know Daddy mode is over but I could still…” Rafe didn’t even look up. “No.” JJ blinked. “You didn’t let me finish-”
“You were gonna ask for more Daddy,” Rafe said, shutting the dishwasher with his knee. “And the answer’s no.” JJ pouted. “How do you know what I was gonna say?”
“Because you’ve been doing your ‘please give me rules’ voice since breakfast.” JJ made a wounded noise. “I do not have a voice.” “You do. And I’m not doing that tonight.” JJ leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “So what are you doing tonight?” Rafe looked at him. Just looked. Slow, heated, deliberate.
“I’m gonna spank you,” he said. “As your boyfriend. Not your Daddy.” JJ’s breath caught. “Oh.” “And then,” Rafe continued, stepping into JJ’s space, “I’m gonna take you upstairs and fuck you the way I want. No scenes. No roles. No rules.” JJ swallowed. “Oh.”
“Still wanna argue?” JJ shook his head so fast his hair flew. “Absolutely not.”
Rafe closed the bedroom door behind them. JJ was already climbing onto the bed, face down like an overeager idiot, pulling his sweats down to mid-thigh. “No warmup?” Rafe asked, amused. JJ wiggled his hips. “Warm me up then.” Rafe huffed a laugh; that soft, private one JJ only got when Rafe was fond in a way he didn’t admit out loud. “On your stomach,” Rafe said. “Arms under the pillow. I wanna see your back relax for me.”
JJ obeyed instantly, body settling, shoulders loose, breath deepening. Rafe sat beside him on the bed and rubbed slow circles over JJ’s lower back. “You doing okay?” Rafe murmured. JJ nodded, voice muffled. “Yeah. You?”
“Better now.” He palmed JJ’s ass, squeezed once, then raised his hand and brought it down with a sharp smack. JJ gasped. “Fuck.”
“Good?” “So good.” Rafe did it again, not too hard, just enough to remind JJ who he belonged to, who touched him, who got him pliant and trembling whenever he wanted. “This,” Rafe said quietly, smacking him again, “isn’t Daddy. You get that, right?”
“Yes,” JJ breathed, pushing back into his hand. “This is me. Just me. Your boyfriend who loves spanking your ass before he fucks you.” JJ moaned into the pillow. Rafe gave him a few more; slow, rhythmically, deliberately. Enough to make JJ whine, not enough to mark. Enough for blood to warm under the skin. Enough to make JJ melt.
Rafe’s hand slid between JJ’s thighs. JJ gasped again, arching. “Oh fuck, Rafe…” “Yeah,” Rafe murmured. “That’s all I wanna hear tonight. My name.” Rafe stripped, climbed between JJ’s legs, and pulled him up onto his knees gently. “Colour?” he asked. JJ twisted his head to look back at him, eyes blown wide. “Green. Fucking neon.” Rafe smiled real and crooked. “Good.”
He didn’t rush. He didn’t bark orders. He didn’t drag JJ into a fantasy. He just touched him. Slow, hungry, reverent. JJ’s breath hitched with every pass of Rafe’s hands over his hips, his thighs, his waist. Every kiss to his shoulder. Every grind of Rafe’s body against his. “Missed you like this,” JJ whispered, voice cracking with something raw. “Missed just… us.” Rafe pressed his forehead between JJ’s shoulders. “Yeah. Me too.”
And then he pushed in slowly, steady, careful, deep and JJ shuddered like he was coming apart at the seams. No Daddy. No captor. No keeper. No boundaries except the ones they built together. Just two men, in love, fucking in their bed.
JJ came first, with a sharp gasp and a trembling exhale. Rafe followed soon after, burying his face against JJ’s neck, hands gripping tight but not controlling. Holding. Anchoring. The room went quiet except for their breathing. JJ collapsed sideways, dragging Rafe with him until they were tangled together on their sides, sheets a mess, both sweaty and panting.
JJ whispered, “Thanks for saying no.” Rafe brushed hair off JJ’s forehead. “You okay?” JJ nodded. “Yeah. I just… sometimes I want everything at once. All the dynamics. All the roles. All of you.” Rafe smiled softly. “You get all of me. Just not all at once.” JJ nuzzled into his chest. “I know. That’s why I trust you.” Rafe kissed his temple. “Good.”
JJ’s voice was sleepy but sure. “Tomorrow can we do a scene talk? Not Daddy. The other thing. The… woods one.” Rafe stroked his back. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” “Okay.” JJ yawned.
“I like all our versions. But this one..” He curled closer. “This one is my favourite.” Rafe squeezed him gently. “Mine too.” JJ fell asleep minutes later, wrapped around him, brace long gone, body strong again, exactly where he belonged. Rafe stayed awake a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, the weight of JJ warm against him. No roles. No games. No shadows. Just love.
And tomorrow they could go dark again.
Rafe wasn’t ready. He hated admitting it, even to himself, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t ready to chase JJ barefoot through the woods. Wasn’t ready to drag him over tree roots or pin him to the forest floor. Wasn’t ready to risk JJ tripping, twisting something, hitting his head on a branch.
Every time he pictured it- JJ sprinting ahead of him, Rafe tackling him from behind, the fantasy crashed into a wall of reality. JJ’s barely healed leg. JJ’s arm that still ached when he slept weird. JJ’s ribs that lit up sometimes if he turned too fast.
Rafe dropped the pen he’d been chewing on and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Fuck.” He wanted it.
He wanted the feral chase, the panic in JJ’s breath, the moment he caught him and forced him down. He wanted the full pursuit-and-capture scene they’d talked about before the accident. But he wouldn’t risk JJ’s safety.
Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever the same way again. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “Okay,” he muttered. “Think. You need something dark. Heavy. Contained. Safe.” His brain threw up ideas like a malfunctioning slot machine.
Home invasion.
They’d done one nearly a year ago: Rafe breaking in, waiting for him in the dark, using him like stolen property.
JJ had practically glowed during aftercare. Possible. Definitely possible.
But Rafe wanted something new. Something that hit as hard but in a different direction.
“Prison scene?” he muttered. Instant stomach flip. God, the prison scene had wrecked JJ in the best way last time.
JJ begging. JJ crying. JJ saying please sir please sir – Rafe shut his eyes and breathed out slow. But he couldn’t throw him. Couldn’t slam him into walls. Couldn’t lift and pin him the way that fantasy needed. “Fuck,” he whispered again. “Okay. No prison.”
What else?
What else?
He flipped through their old scene notes on his phone.
Kidnap van: done.
Closed-room interrogation: too similar to the prison scene, plus he isn’t ready for a torture scene.
Pogue-and-Kook: that was more nostalgic fantasy than darkness.
He needed impact, not literal impact. He needed power, not injury risk. He needed fear, but the kind JJ loved, the kind he sank into like a warm bath.
JJ came down the stairs, hair damp from a shower, wearing Rafe’s hoodie and no pants. “Why do you look like you’re working on a calculus problem?” JJ asked, hopping onto the couch beside him. Rafe stared at him. “That bad?” “You look constipated,” JJ confirmed. “Emotionally, I mean.” Rafe snorted, despite himself. Then sighed.
“I’m trying to figure out our next CNC,” he admitted. “And I keep hitting walls.”
JJ raised a brow. “Because of my body?” Rafe didn’t sugarcoat. “Yeah.” JJ nodded like he already knew. Then leaned on Rafe’s shoulder. “So don’t chase me through the woods yet,” JJ said. “Do something else. Keep me indoors and ruin me that way.”
Rafe stared at the ceiling again. Indoors. Contained. Controlled.
Something clicked. No chase. Not kidnapping. Not prison.
Intruder.
Not Rafe breaking in. Not JJ being the stolen one. The opposite. JJ sneaking into Rafe’s house in the middle of the night, thinking it was empty. Rafe catching him. And the “homeowner” believing in his own brand of justice. Rafe felt his pulse spike.
Oh.
Oh, that was good.
JJ noticed immediately. “Babe. What?” Rafe turned, slow, predatory, the idea blooming like fire behind his ribs. “You,” he said softly, “breaking into the wrong house.” JJ blinked. “Uh…what?”
“And me,” Rafe murmured, leaning closer, “finding you in the dark.” JJ swallowed. Rafe kept going. “Sneaking in through the window. Thinking you’re stealing cash. Maybe pills. Whatever story you want.” JJ’s breath trembled. “And I grab you,” Rafe said, voice low, “before you can run. Tie you up. Tell you that you picked the wrong fucking house to break into.” JJ flushed head to toe.
“That hits the spot for you?” he whispered. Rafe nodded once. “Hard.” JJ grinned slow, wicked. “Okay. Yeah. I love that. Homeowner justice. Menace Rafe. Angry Rafe. I want all of it.” Rafe exhaled, relief and desire twisting together. “And you wouldn’t have to chase me,” JJ said, touching Rafe’s thigh. “Just overpower me. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous. You’re sick enough to pull that off without throwing me around.”
Rafe grabbed JJ’s wrist. “Don’t call me sick.”
JJ smirked. “Then stop looking like you’re about to lock me in a basement.” Rafe’s eyes darkened. “Don’t give me ideas.” JJ shivered. “God, I fucking missed this.” Rafe kissed him hard, relieved, starving. The scene was back. The darkness was back.
They were back.
And JJ, recovering, healing, stronger every day, had just handed Rafe the perfect solution: A burglar. A homeowner. A punishment that wasn’t legal, wasn’t gentle, wasn’t anything except the exact shade of twisted they both needed. Rafe’s voice dropped to a whisper at JJ’s ear. “You break into my house,” he murmured. “And I’ll show you exactly what happens.”
JJ’s breath caught. “Say when.”
JJ spent the whole afternoon pretending not to vibrate with anticipation.
He did the stupid little “practice burglary” routine in the kitchen again, balancing on a counter stool like a chaotic menace, screwdriver in one hand, completely missing the vent he was trying to pry open. Rafe watched for a full thirty seconds before saying, “That’s not stealth. That’s an OSHA violation.” JJ nearly fell off the stool. “I’m practicing my entry.”
“For what,” Rafe asked. “Breaking and entering into a retirement home?” JJ scowled and hopped down. “You’re just scared because tonight I’m gonna be good at crime.” Rafe stepped up close enough to pin JJ against the fridge with a single lean of his body. “You’re not getting good at crime,” he murmured. “You’re getting caught. By me.”
JJ swallowed, pupils dilating. “Promise?” Rafe kissed him once, hard, like sealing an agreement. JJ was doomed from that moment.
At three in the afternoon, Cassie strolled in without knocking and immediately froze. JJ was halfway through the living room window backwards, ass in the air, one leg inside, one leg outside, trying to figure out how burglars angle their hips when entering a residence. Cassie blinked. “So it’s sex burglary night.”
“Don’t say that,” JJ groaned, nearly falling out the window. “Please. Don’t ever say that again.” Cassie pointed at Rafe without looking away from JJ’s contorted body. “He planned this down to the lamp lighting and prop placement, didn’t he.” Rafe did not answer. Which was the answer.
Cassie shook her head. “You two are deranged. I’m going home. Do not text me details or hints or emojis.” JJ yelled after her, “Then knock!” Cassie waved dismissively. “I never will.” JJ face-planted into the couch. “I’m never recovering from this.” Rafe smirked down at him. “You shouldn’t.”
Midnight. The house felt different at night. Quieter. Hungrier. Rafe dimmed the lamp. Checked the window JJ would climb through. Placed the unloaded pistol on the end table, half in shadow, exactly where his hand would fall without looking. He didn’t do it to scare JJ. He did it to become the man JJ trusted him to be in these scenes. Sharp. Cold. Controlled. Dangerous only in the ways they had agreed on.
JJ crept down the stairs thirty minutes after midnight. He didn’t see Rafe in the shadows. JJ whispered to himself, “Okay. Cool. Totally normal burglary. No big deal.” He slid the window open with surprising quiet. He stepped inside. For a whole four seconds, JJ looked proud of himself.
Rafe stepped out of the dark. “Don’t move.” JJ froze so fast he actually squeaked. “I wasn’t.. I mean.. I didn’t- this isn’t-” Rafe lifted the pistol and rested the cool metal under JJ’s jaw. JJ went still all over, breath trapped in his chest. “You picked the wrong house,” Rafe said in a low, measured voice.
JJ’s lips parted. “Please. I didn’t know anyone was home.”
“You knew,” Rafe murmured, circling him slowly, gun grazing JJ’s cheekbone. “You knew someone like me lives here.” JJ shivered from scalp to spine. “You think you’re sneaky,” Rafe said. “You climbed through the windows. Creeping around my floorboards. Touching things that aren’t yours.”
“I wasn’t touching-” Rafe pressed the gun lightly to JJ’s mouth.
“Shut up.” JJ’s pulse throbbed visibly in his throat. Rafe grabbed the back of JJ’s neck and pushed him down onto his knees on the hardwood.
JJ’s breath hitched. “Please… I wasn’t trying to-” Rafe tapped the pistol against JJ’s lower lip. “Open.” JJ opened immediately. Rafe replaced the muzzle with the head of his cock, holding JJ’s jaw in one hand, the pistol loose in the other. JJ gagged softly, eyes watering, hands trembling at his sides.
“That’s it,” Rafe murmured. “You wanna steal from me? You wanna sneak into my home and take things that aren’t yours? Then you earn the right to walk out.” JJ made a desperate sound around him, nodding, cheeks hollowing. “You’re pathetic,” Rafe said quietly. It wasn’t cruel. It was the language of the scene. “Pathetic little thief.” JJ moaned at the word pathetic.
Rafe’s grip tightened.
When JJ was shaking too hard to stay upright, Rafe hauled him up by his hair, dragged him to the couch, and shoved him forward over it. He cuffed JJ’s wrists behind his back. Checked his leg brace. Checked his arm. “You good,” Rafe asked. JJ breathed, “Green. Please don’t stop.”
Rafe leaned over him, lips brushing the shell of JJ’s ear. “I’m not stopping until you remember what house you broke into.” JJ’s whole body trembled. “I’m sorry man, I promise, I will never come back. I’ll do anything, please let me go.” Rafe laughed evilly as he set the gun down on the table. JJ shuddered.
Rafe fucked him. Hard enough to make JJ gasp. Slow enough to make him beg. Controlled enough to be safe.
Dark enough to scratch that place in both of them that only these scenes reached. “You break my rules,” Rafe growled against his throat, “you get punished.” JJ was half-sobbing into the cushions. “Yes sir. Please. Please.”
“You think you get away with crawling into my windows to steal my shit?! I don’t think so” Rafe said. “You think you can sneak around my house without me taking you apart.”
“Man please don’t do this, I promise I’m sorry and will never come back. I..you don’t need to do this to me..”
“Too late. Everything in this house is mine, and that includes you now. Say it.”
“Please let me go!” Rafe thrusted into JJ as hard as a prison scene until he came with a shout.
“….fuck! Everything in this house belongs to you and that includes me.” Rafe groaned like that sentence broke something open in him, as JJ fell apart beneath him.
JJ lay boneless on the couch afterward, wrists freed, breathing uneven. Rafe sat down and pulled him into his lap. Wrapped a blanket around both of them. JJ nuzzled into his chest. “That gun was… insane. In the best way.” “It wasn’t loaded,” Rafe said softly, kissing JJ’s temple. “You know I’d never risk you.” “I know,” JJ murmured. “Still. I felt it everywhere.”
Rafe smoothed his hand up JJ’s spine. “You ok?” JJ nodded with a sleepy little smile. “Better than ok.” They sat like that for a long time, just breathing each other in, bodies soft and warm and safe again. “I’m never breaking in for real,” JJ whispered. Rafe smirked. “You break enough rules inside the house.”
JJ laughed against his skin. “Yeah. You love it.”
He did. God, he did.
JJ woke first. Sore in the best way. Smug as hell. Rafe woke looking like he’d slept with sin and enjoyed it. JJ stretched on the couch and winced. “I feel like I got arrested and manhandled.” “You did,” Rafe said, kissing the back of his neck. JJ blushed. “You gonna arrest me again tonight?” Rafe’s voice dropped low and dark. “Try that window again and you’ll see.” JJ grinned wickedly. “Challenge accepted.”
Rafe pulled him into a kiss so deep it erased the word challenge from JJ’s vocabulary.
Chapter Text
The riding school didn’t look like a dream anymore. It looked like something Rafe built with his hands and brain and impossible standards. The dirt track curved smooth and clean. The tarmac was painted, polished by last night’s rain. The portables smelled faintly of fresh plaster and new wiring, stocked with Rafe’s laminated emergency procedure sheets and JJ’s motivational posters that were 70% jokes, 30% actually useful.
The equipment; cones, ramps, beginner markers-sat in precise rows because Rafe organized them himself after the contractors “didn’t understand spacing.” JJ wandered behind him with a camera, muttering, “Babe, you’re scaring the OSHA gods.” Rafe barely heard him.
Today was inspection day.
The inspector stepped out of his car looking bored and ,vaguely superior. By the ten-minute mark, he looked… intimidated. Rafe guided him through: track drainage, safety zones, emergency vehicle access, class management workflow, gear policies, a binder labelled CURRICULUM, VERSION 7.3 (because Rafe kept editing it)
JJ sat on a cone stack filming thirst footage of Rafe speaking with that crisp, controlled authority. Cassie whispered, “Look at him. He’s like if competency was hot.” JJ didn’t look away from the camera. “I know.” Marcy showed up late, helmet under one arm, nodding in quiet approval as she scanned the layout. “Told you he’d get it done.”
When the inspector finally closed his clipboard, he said, “This is one of the most thorough setups I’ve assessed. Approval granted immediately.” Rafe blinked once. JJ whooped loud enough to startle the man. Cassie threw her arms around Marcy. Marcy slapped Rafe’s shoulder in her version of affection.
Rafe let out a breath he’d been holding for months.
A school couldn’t run with a handful of bikes. So the four of them went to the storage yard behind the mechanic shop where Marcy worked. Marcy strode down the rows like a hunter. “Alright. You’re gonna need at least as a bare minimum: six scooters, four small dirt bikes, maybe three mid-power options for advanced classes, and something fun as hell for the adult sessions.”
Cassie raised her hand. “Is fun as hell a safety category?” Marcy nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
Rafe inspected frames, brakes, tire condition, valve stems, throttle response. JJ filmed him checking each bike like he was evaluating soldiers for battle. Marcy crouched beside him. “This Yamaha’s clean. Good for teen lessons.” Rafe nodded. “And that Honda?”
“Reliable enough to survive a zombie apocalypse,” Marcy said. Cassie tugged JJ’s sleeve. “We get to ride these, right?” JJ whispered, “Only once you pass instructor daddy’s vibe check.” Cassie shoved him.
By the end, they’d secured: six scooters, four dirt bikes, three mid-power training bikes, one advanced adult-training model. Marcy leaned on a handlebar and grinned. “Your school’s legit now.”
Rafe didn’t smile often, but he did then.
JJ insisted they film more content for marketing. Rafe insisted it was “for educational engagement.”
JJ set up shots around the tarmac: Rafe demonstrating tight turns, Rafe explaining gear checks, Rafe doing a “slow walk to the bike” that JJ filmed in slow-mo for maximum chaos, Rafe giving a stern pointer to the camera that had Cassie giggling, “Okay daddy, damn.”
Rafe threatened to leave.
JJ did not stop filming.
On the way home, JJ convinced Rafe to take the long route through the bluffs around a narrow mountain road with views that looked like CGI. Rafe didn’t need convincing. He wanted to ride his own bike. Hard.
Marcy rode beside him, GoPro mounted, capturing side-by-side footage of Rafe cutting through the curves like he’d been carved out of speed. Rafe leaned into the turns with lethal precision, throttle humming, engine roaring beautifully.
Marcy’s mic picked up her whispering, “Holy shit… you’re unreal.” The footage was obscene in a fully clothed, nonsexual way. Cassie would later comment, “This is porn for lesbians.”
JJ would post it with:
my boyfriend rides like a god. no refunds.
Rafe pretended not to like that. Privately, he watched it three times.
They got home late, the house warm with quiet. JJ followed Rafe upstairs, closing the door behind them.
There was a tightness in his chest, a mix of pride and hunger and something that had been missing for too long. He moved close, hands on Rafe’s waist. “Hey.” Rafe touched JJ’s jaw, thumb gentle. “You tired?”
JJ shook his head. “Not for this.” Rafe went still. JJ hadn’t topped since before the accident. He’d refused every time Rafe asked. Not until he felt strong enough. Not until he felt safe doing it. JJ stepped back just enough to look Rafe in the eye. “I’m ready,” he said softly. Rafe’s breath caught.
JJ guided him backward to the bed. “Lie down.” Rafe did slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on JJ like he didn’t dare speak. JJ climbed over him, settling on top, kissing him slow. “I’m not breakable anymore.” “You never were,” Rafe whispered. JJ smiled against his lips. “Then let me remind you.”
Clothes came off in quiet, steady movements. JJ’s hands were sure again. Strong again. Confident in a way he hadn’t been since the injury. He sank into Rafe in a slow, controlled slide that had Rafe choking out his name. JJ pressed a hand to Rafe’s chest. “Don’t move.” Rafe obeyed instantly.
JJ set the pace as deep, deliberate, steady, relearning the rhythm he’d missed, rediscovering the power of watching Rafe unravel beneath him. Rafe’s hands clutched the sheets. His jaw clenched. His breath stuttered. “Fuck,” Rafe whispered, meeting JJ’s eyes. “I missed you like this.” JJ leaned down, kissing him softly. “Good.” He moved harder then, and Rafe broke loudly, beautifully, helpless in the way only JJ ever got to see.
When JJ finally collapsed against him, both of them shaking, Rafe wrapped his arms tight and held him like something returned. “You okay?” JJ whispered. Rafe kissed the side of his throat. “I’m perfect.” JJ smiled into his shoulder. So did Rafe.
It had been time.
Rafe was already outside when JJ stepped onto the porch, boots half-laced and coffee in hand. He had that look- focused, a little manic, vibrating with purpose the way he only did when he could smell a challenge. JJ yawned and leaned into his shoulder. “Morning, Coach.” Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Don’t start.” JJ grinned into his coffee. He absolutely would start.
By the time eight o’clock hit, the gravel lot was coming alive with first-day nerves. Two older ladies, Helen and Joyce, arrived together on matching Vespas in pastel helmets decorated with stickers of cats and wine bottles. They both waved at JJ like he was a celebrity, which he pretended to hate. The two dirt-bike teens, Milo and Ash, were barely keeping still, bouncing on their toes and whispering strategies for convincing Rafe to let them onto the dirt track today. Cassie rolled in last, already wearing her helmet backwards.
Marcy caught it mid-turn and corrected it for her. “Jesus Christ, Cass.” Cassie shrugged. “It’s day one!” JJ raised a brow. “And you already trying to die?”
Rafe stepped out of the portable classroom and everyone fell quiet.
He didn’t do anything dramatic, he just gave them all a once-over with that evaluating stare that suggested he knew exactly which of them needed saving from themselves.
“Let’s head inside,” he said. “Helmets off for now.”
JJ bit back a whistle. He was so screwed.
The portable building was warm, sunlit, and stocked with rows of laminated handouts Rafe had spent three nights perfecting. He stood at the front of the room like he’d been training people his whole life. “This first week is about safety, control, and confidence,” he said, clicking to the first slide. “If you leave here thinking you’re invincible on a bike, then I’ve failed.”
Helen immediately nodded. “We would never assume that, dear.”
Joyce patted her hand. “We’re old. We’re humble.”
Cassie raised her hand. “What if I panic?”
“You stop,” Rafe said simply. “Both feet down. Eyes forward. You don’t move until I tell you to.” Cassie flushed like he’d complimented her.
JJ crossed his arms and muttered, “Unbelievable.” Milo whispered to Ash, “Dude, he’s kinda terrifying.” Ash whispered back, “I want him to yell at me.”
JJ elbowed both of them as he passed. “Back off. I saw him first.”
Rafe continued unfazed, pacing slowly in front of the projector. JJ watched the way he gestured with his hands, steady and precise. The tone he used, deep, calm, unshakeable- was the exact tone he used in their most intense scenes. JJ shifted in his seat.
Marcy leaned over and whispered, “He really is built for this.”
JJ hissed, “Shut up, don’t talk about it.”
Marcy smirked.
Lunch ended with everyone buzzing.
Rafe sent the teens to fetch the cones and beginner bikes. He assigned Marcy to run equipment checks.
He escorted Helen and Joyce to their Vespas like they were royalty. “Eyes up. Both of you. Don’t look at the ground,” he coached, jogging beside them at an easy pace.
Joyce beamed. “He sounds like my Pilates instructor.” Helen whispered loudly, “Mine never looked like that.” JJ nearly choked.
Cassie stalled five times in a row and apologized after each one. Milo tried to sneak toward the dirt track and Rafe cut him off with a single raised eyebrow. The kid deflated instantly.
JJ was filming all of it as content for the website, clips for marketing, and a couple he was definitely keeping for private use. Rafe was in full command mode. Sharp. Beautiful. Serious. Confident. Painfully hot. Every time he barked an instruction, JJ felt it in his spine. Every time he corrected someone’s grip or posture by stepping behind them and adjusting their elbows, JJ thought he was going to combust. At one point Rafe kicked a cone out of the way with perfect accuracy without even looking. JJ had to turn away with his camera, pretending to get a different shot while he quietly died inside.
By the time Rafe wound them down for the day, everyone was exhausted and grinning. “Tomorrow we build on today,” he told them, hands on his hips. “Get sleep. Hydrate. Don’t show up hungover.”
Cassie saluted dramatically. The teens begged again for dirt-track time.
“No,” Rafe said.
JJ mouthed “I love you” behind their backs.
Once the last student had left and Marcy had locked up the tool shed, JJ cornered Rafe in the office like a man losing a fight with his own self-control. Rafe had barely stepped inside when JJ shoved him back against the desk. Rafe blinked. “What are you…”
“Nope,” JJ said, breath shaky but determined. “You don’t get to walk around all day being insanely good at your job and bossing everyone around like you invented motorcycles and then expect me to be normal. Pants off.” Rafe stared, stunned, cheeks going faintly pink. “JJ-”
“This isn’t a request.” Rafe swallowed hard. JJ pushed him down into the chair, climbed onto his lap, kissed him once—deep enough to drag a sound out of Rafe’s chest and whispered against his mouth “Let me fuck you, baby.” Rafe’s breath stuttered.
And that was it. That was all it took. He nodded.
JJ locked the door behind them.
Rafe was always hot to JJ, but his favourite outfits included his birthday suit, nothing but black jeans- and his motorcycle gear especially when the gloves are still on. Today had been insane, and JJ was ready to top him for the second time in 24 hours. Rafe had it coming and JJ was going to have it.
He kissed Rafe hard and deep, sucked on his neck and grinded against him. Rafe moaned and wrapped his arms around JJ, pressed his hips forward. JJ gripped Rafes cock outside his pants and squeezed then rubbed him.“I have been losing my mind all day watching you Rafe. You were made for this. And looked hot doing it.”
Rafe moaned and rubbed his cheek in JJs hair as he sucked his neck. The praise and touch was making him hard as a rock. JJ unzipped his fly and reached in to pull Rafes cock out. He stroked Rafe lightly keeping eye contact the whole time before carefully kneeling and taking him into his mouth.
The site of JJ on his knees with his mouth full of Rafes cock, his big blue eyes gazing up at him, nearly tipped Rafe over the edge immediately. He held his breath and tried to hold on. JJ worked his cock like he was born for it before he started to reach up and drag Rafes pants down to his thighs.
“Oh fuck,” gasped Rafe. Hold on. Let him fuck you.
JJ smirked as he rose and put his hands on Rafes waist, kissing him deeply once more before gently turning him around and bending him over the desk. JJ always carried a small bottle of lubes with him now because of their sex life, and slicked himself quickly before sliding in without prep.
The sudden intrusion was slightly painful which Rafe was grateful for because he needed to calm down a bit before he embarrassed himself on front of JJ. JJ was not in gentle mood and what started as moderate intensity quickly became high intensity fucking. Rafe took it and knew he was minutes away from coming on his desk.
“JJ…please..please….I am so fucking close, baby…I’m sorry…fuck me as hard and fast as you want and come with me” JJ obliged and gave Rafe everything he had. It was loud when they came together, and then quieted as their shouts became panting and then heavy breathing as they embraced.
Rafe dropped his forehead to JJ’s and whispered with the little energy he had left “lets go home baby.”
Rafe was still catching his breath when he finally sat up, hair sticking in every direction, shirt half-unbuttoned like someone had fought it off him and won. JJ was already leaning against the desk, legs wobbly but smug as hell, running a hand through his own hair like he’d just completed a triathlon and wanted a medal for it. Rafe dragged a hand down his face. “We can’t keep doing this at work.”
“Uh-huh,” JJ said, kicking the door shut with his heel to hide the disaster inside. “Say it again. Maybe you’ll believe it.” Rafe glared, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Just a tiny curve, soft and helpless.
JJ bumped his shoulder as they straightened the room; pulling blinds back up, smoothing out the couch cushions, fixing the papers Rafe had sent flying with his elbow. A few cones had somehow rolled inside during the chaos; JJ kicked them under the desk.
Rafe found his hair tie, snapped it around his wrist, then grabbed JJ’s chin gently and kissed him, slow and grounding. “Next time we’re locking the door before you get ideas,” Rafe murmured. JJ swatted his chest. “I didn’t get ideas. I executed flawlessly.” Rafe huffed a laugh, quiet and warm, and reached for the light switch.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home before I lose whatever professionalism I have left.”
They walked the length of the training yard together, JJ limping just a little. nothing serious, just pleased soreness and ego. Rafe locked the portable, checked the equipment shed, looked over the fencing like a military commander performing perimeter checks. JJ followed behind tapping his phone, rewatching footage of Rafe being perfect and gorgeous and effortlessly competent.
“Stop watching me ride,” Rafe called without turning. JJ nearly dropped the phone. “How the hell did you know-”
“You get quiet,” Rafe said. “Only time you ever stop running your mouth.” JJ stuck his tongue out at him. Rafe, without seeing, pointed at him sharply. “Don’t.” JJ put his tongue back in like a scolded dog.
Marcy hollered from her truck, “Bye lovers! Try not to scandalize the workplace tomorrow!”
JJ saluted. Rafe pretended he didn’t know either of them.
The sun was low when they got into the van, heavy golden light washing over JJ’s face. Rafe started the engine, his hand dropping automatically to JJ’s thigh, thumb stroking a line without thinking. JJ leaned into it. “You were really good today,” he said. Rafe kept his eyes on the road. “So were you.”
“No,” JJ said, turning fully toward him. “I mean..you were really good. Like… I get why you wanted this school so bad. You’re made for it.” Rafe’s throat bobbed once. He squeezed JJ’s leg. “Thanks,” he said quietly. JJ grinned, then tried not to melt when Rafe’s hand drifted higher, just enough to promise things later, not enough to distract him on the road.
They drove home with the windows cracked, warm wind threading through Rafe’s hair. JJ watched him like he couldn’t help it. Rafe noticed, shook his head fondly, and muttered, “You’re a menace.”
JJ beamed. “Your menace.”
Rafe didn’t argue.
As soon as they got inside, JJ let himself sag against Rafe, head on his shoulder, body going loose with post-teaching exhaustion and residual lust. Rafe wrapped an arm around him automatically, nose pressing into JJ’s hair. “You hungry?” he asked. “Starving.”
“You sore?” JJ smirked. “A little.”
“You complaining?” JJ shook his head. “Not even close.”
Rafe kissed the top of his head. “That’s my boy.” JJ made a soft noise, barely audible, and curled even closer.
The office scene wasn’t the climax of the day, it was the spark. The charging point. The reminder of how much life they still had ahead of them now that JJ was healing, now that the school existed, now that they had a new rhythm forming between them. Rafe exhaled into JJ’s hair. “Let’s shower,” he murmured. “Then food.” JJ hummed agreement against his neck. And just like that, the day settled around them; warm, content, intimate.
JJ woke up before Rafe for the first time in weeks. His whole body hurt in the best way. Not injured-hurt. Not recovery-hurt. Just finally-fucked-Rafe-again-hurt. Rafe was facedown beside him, breathing slow, lips parted, hair a mess. JJ reached out and brushed a thumb across his cheek. Rafe didn’t wake, just turned toward the touch instinctively. JJ smiled like an idiot.
He needed coffee, badly, but he also needed to rewatch the footage he’d taken yesterday because, holy shit, he hadn’t even processed how insanely good Rafe looked riding that mountain stretch. He slid out of bed carefully, grabbed his laptop, and tiptoed out to the porch. And there it was. The clip.
Rafe on his bike, leaning down into a curve like the road worshipped him. Wind tearing his shirt open. Face set in determination. Jawline sharp enough to cut glass. A god on two wheels. JJ exhaled, “Jesus Christ.”
He cut the clip down to a clean ten seconds, added some slow zoom, colour corrected, slapped a dramatic audio track under it, and posted it with the caption:
The instructor you WISH you had.
He didn’t think about it again.
Rafe stumbled out onto the porch thirty minutes later, hair still rumpled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Why’re you smiling like that,” he mumbled. JJ handed him the phone. Rafe stared. JJ watched the exact moment consciousness, horror, pride, and confusion hit him all at once. “What…” Rafe blinked. “What is this number.”JJ cackled. “That, babe, is five hundred thousand views.”
“Five hundred thou- JJ, what did you do?” JJ leaned back, smug as hell. “I let the world see my hot biker boyfriend. You’re welcome.”
Rafe scrolled through the comments.
Thirst.
Violence.
Unholy emojis.
Declarations of worship.
A woman demanding to know if he was single and if not, could she fight the boyfriend.
Rafe turned slowly toward JJ. “You posted me on the internet like I’m…” He gestured helplessly. “…bait.” JJ nodded. “Correct.”
“I’m literally trying to run a professional school.”
“You’re welcome.” Rafe dragged both hands down his face. “Your entire generation is sick.” JJ kissed his cheek. “And you love us.”
Rafe didn’t answer, but he did lean into the kiss.
The five students showed up buzzing with nervous excitement, some because they saw the viral clip, some because Helen brought pastries, and one because Milo had apparently decided it was his life mission to befriend JJ. “You editing again today?” Milo asked, following JJ like a duckling. “Yeah,” JJ said, setting up the tripod. “We’re doing starter turns and braking drills.”
Milo grinned. “Cool. Hey uh… relationship advice?” JJ nearly dropped the camera. “Dude, I’m thirty seconds into my workday.”
“It’s important,” Milo insisted, dragging Ash with him. “Ash likes Cassie.” “I do not,” Ash said immediately, face bright red.
Cassie, walking by with a helmet, called out, “I’m gay!”
Milo whispered, “Yeah but I think he’s into the chaos.” Ash sputtered. JJ rubbed his forehead. “Listen. You two are adorable. But you do not want to date Cassie. Walt barely survives her.”
Cassie shouted from ten feet away, “Coward!” JJ ignored her, finishing the setup.
When Rafe stepped outside of the portable classroom, helmet under one arm, entire presence screaming authority, JJ forgot how to breathe for a second. Even the students straightened. “Alright,” Rafe called, “we’re doing slow-speed control today. Follow my lead.”
JJ filmed him mounting the bike- controlled, precise, every movement crisp. He looked every bit the viral sensation JJ accidentally made him. JJ swallowed hard.
He was going to climb that man like a jungle gym later.
During the cone drill, Milo jogged over again. “So you think Cassie’s too much chaos for Ash?”
“A hundred percent,” JJ said. Ash groaned, “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
“You’re fine,” JJ said. “She’ll eat you alive.” Milo said, “But what about power dynamics…?”
JJ shut him down instantly. “Absolutely not. She’s worse than me.” Milo gasped. “No one’s worse than you.” JJ smacked him lightly. “Get back to drills.” Rafe looked up from across the field just in time to see Milo touching JJ’s shoulder and JJ leaning in conspiratorially. Rafe’s face went hard.
JJ saw it, blinked, and mouthed: Babe. Chill. They’re children. Rafe pointed at him with two fingers in an “I’m watching you” gesture. JJ rolled his eyes. Marcy smirked from the shade. “He’s jealous of a sixteen-year-old.”JJ groaned. “I’m never going to live this down.”
At lunch, JJ uploaded another clip; this one of Rafe demonstrating emergency stops, thighs flexing, gravel spraying under the tyres.
He captioned it: Our Daddy Instructor says wear your gear.
He felt slightly guilty when he saw Rafe’s soul leave his body. “Why would you write that,” Rafe whispered, horrified. JJ licked the rim of his soda can. “Truth in advertising.” One of the older ladies giggled behind them.
Rafe glared at everyone. JJ was delighted.
Chapter Text
Cassie sprinted out of the portable the moment the van door opened. Sprinting was unusual for her. Sprinting with panic on her face was unheard of. “Don’t be mad,” she said, holding her laptop like it was a bomb. Rafe frowned. “Cass, what did you do.”
“I didn’t do anything. TikTok did. JJ did. The internet did.” JJ blinked. “Uh… what did I do.” Cassie shoved the screen toward them. The clip he had filmed yesterday of Rafe riding the mountain road was at six hundred thousand views and climbing. Comments were… a problem. JJ cracked up. Rafe did not.
Cassie fanned herself dramatically. “Babe, they think you’re a bike daddy. With a capital D.” Rafe’s eye twitched. JJ wheezed into his hands. “Oh my god, they’re in your DMs.” Cassie nodded, scrolling. “They want lessons, Rafe. Some of them don’t even have licenses. Some of them want different lessons. JJ, I genuinely think a few want you to share him.” JJ doubled over laughing. Rafe did not laugh. He said nothing, but the temperature dropped five degrees around him.
Cassie closed the laptop slowly. “So… um. Small hitch. The state licensing board saw it too.” “What,” Rafe said flatly. “They love it. And they want you to film official PSAs because apparently you’re ‘an ideal spokesperson for youth motorcycle safety’.” Rafe looked like someone had told him he’d been drafted into a beauty pageant. JJ had tears in his eyes from laughing. “Baby, congratulations. You’re a safety pinup.”Rafe stared into the void.
Cassie patted his shoulder. “They emailed the forms already. You have forty eight hours to respond.”
They didn’t even make it into the yard before the teenagers found them. The two dirt bike teens, Riley and Mateo, stopped dead when they saw Rafe. One actually gasped. Mateo whispered, “Dude. He’s even hotter in person.” JJ turned around slowly. “I’m sorry?”
Riley shoved her phone forward. It was open to the viral clip. “This is my new religion.” Rafe rubbed his face. “Please don’t say that.” Riley turned the phone on JJ. “How did you get him.” JJ blinked. “Uh… what?” “How did you get Rafe Cameron to look at you like that. You must know tricks. Give us something. Anything.”
Mateo nodded seriously. “Yeah. He gave you his jacket in that other video. That wasn’t normal. Tell us how to get his attention.” JJ looked like he’d been slapped by God. Rafe’s jaw locked. “Nobody is getting my attention.”
Riley elbowed JJ. “Come on. Please. We won’t tell anyone.” JJ leaned back, smug as hell. “Sorry. Trade secret.” Rafe grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him toward the training area faster than JJ could think up a follow up line. Mateo whispered behind them, “That’s insane. He’s so obsessed with you. Teach me.”
The older ladies were already waiting by the Vespas, smiling politely. Milo, on the other hand, was bouncing with the chaotic joy of a fifteen year old who might explode at any moment. “Mr Cameron,” Milo said, waving like he’d been waiting all night. “I saw your video. You should do thirst traps professionally.” Rafe closed his eyes. JJ wheezed again.
Milo wasn’t done. “JJ, did you film that. It was hot. I didn’t even know I was into dudes like that but now every time I think about motorcycles I get weird feelings in my stomach.” Rafe’s head snapped up. “Milo.” Milo held up both hands. “I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend. I’m just saying if he ever dies tragically or leaves you for a hotter guy, call me because I’d totally be a rebound if you needed one.”
JJ clapped both hands over his face. Cassie screamed into a traffic cone. Rafe stared at Milo with the cold patience of someone calculating legal consequences. “Milo, please go put on your helmet and stop talking.”
Milo saluted and ran.
They got home still buzzing from the third day of class. Rafe made dinner because JJ kept wandering around shirtless and smug, brushing his hand over the small of Rafe’s back like he was deliberately trying to break the man’s concentration. They ate on the couch with the door open to catch the evening breeze. Rafe had his legs kicked out on the coffee table. JJ was sideways on the cushions, feet in Rafe’s lap. Domestic. Warm. Stupidly peaceful.
JJ was on his phone, scrolling. He hadn’t laughed in ten minutes which was already suspicious. Then he hissed through his teeth. Rafe looked over. “What.” JJ zoomed in on a comment under the viral TikTok. He didn’t speak, just turned the phone so Rafe could read it.
Some girl had written: If I had an instructor like this I would show up early and stay late
Reply below it: Ruin me please motorcycle man
A wave of heat shot up JJ’s neck. “These… these people have no respect.” Rafe choked on his water. “Baby, chill.” JJ kept scrolling. “No I won’t chill. Look at this. Look. She said she wants to sit on your tank. I don’t know who she is but I want her banned from the internet.” Rafe rubbed his face, trying not to laugh. “It’s a bike fan account. JJ, come on.”
JJ jabbed the screen. “That girl said she wants to ride you raw. Raw, Rafe. She put three winky faces. She’s a threat.” Rafe grabbed his calves and pulled him closer, forcing the meltdown into his lap. “Nobody’s riding me. Except you.” JJ blinked up at him, dazed by how fast he folded. “Well. Good.” Rafe kissed his forehead. “Feel better.” JJ shrugged dramatically. “Maybe.”
Rafe smirked. “Maybe I should read some of the comments. See what other fantasies they have.” JJ gasped, full betrayal. “Try me. Try me right now.” Rafe kissed him to shut him up, hands sliding under his shirt until JJ forgot that the entire internet wanted to climb his boyfriend like a tree.
Or at least forgot enough to let himself be kissed stupid.
The next morning Rafe tried to film the state mandated PSA in the portable classroom. He stood by the whiteboard with a clean button-up shirt that JJ insisted he wear. Cassie sat cross-legged on a desk eating a granola bar like she was judging a talent show.
Rafe cleared his throat. “Motorcycle safety starts before you even touch the handlebars. Proper gear, proper training, and a respectful attitude toward the road will save your life.”
Cassie snorted. Rafe frowned. “What.”
“That voice,” she said. “You sound like a hot camp counsellor trying to stop kids from sneaking out at night.”
Rafe glared. “This is my normal voice.” “No it’s not,” Cassie said. “You’re using your safety daddy voice.” Rafe dropped his head back with an unholy groan. “Why does everyone keep saying daddy.” JJ yelled from outside, “Because Cassie’s right.” Cassie nodded like she’d solved a murder. “Say the line again but pretend you’re not trying to seduce half the state.”
“I’m not trying to seduce anyone.” Cassie waved dramatically. “Then stop talking like that.” Rafe restarted the take. He couldn’t avoid the firm tone even when he tried. It was just his teaching voice. JJ wandered in halfway through, leaned against the door frame, and smiled like the cat who owned the sun.
Cassie pointed at JJ. “Look at him. That’s the face of someone who has absolutely been lectured in that exact tone.” JJ didn’t deny it. Rafe turned pink.
The PSA took three times longer than it should have, but eventually Cassie gave a thumbs-up and declared it “acceptable for broadcast as long as nobody tried to fuck their screen.” Rafe hid his face in JJ’s shoulder. JJ patted his back gently. “You’re doing amazing sweetie.”
Cassie threw a pencil at JJ. “Shut up. I’m leaving. You two are disgusting.”
After Cassie left, JJ stayed leaning against the whiteboard, arms crossed loosely, watching Rafe clean up equipment. Something coiled in that watchfulness. Something heavier. Something that wasn’t about TikTok clowns or horny teenagers or Cassie’s chaos.
Rafe felt the shift before JJ said a word. JJ finally spoke. “Rafe.” Rafe straightened slowly. “Yeah.” JJ’s tone was careful. “So… when is the next heavy one.” Rafe’s breath caught. “The next what.” “You know,” JJ said softly. “One of the big ones.” Rafe closed the distance in two steps, fingers hooking in JJ’s belt loops without thinking. “Baby. You just started walking without pain.”
JJ shrugged. “I’m fine.” “You’re not cleared for anything that risks throws or impact.” JJ nodded. “I know.” Silence grew between them. Not tense. Not uncomfortable. Just thick with truth. JJ swallowed. “I miss it.” Rafe pressed his forehead to JJ’s. “I know.” JJ’s voice dropped even lower. “And you miss it too.” Rafe didn’t deny it. He wrapped a hand around the back of JJ’s neck, thumb brushing the soft hair there.
“You want the dark stuff,” Rafe murmured. JJ nodded. “You want me mean,” Rafe said. “You want me loud. You want the fear again.” JJ’s breath hitched. “Yeah.” Rafe dragged his fingers down JJ’s spine, slow and deliberate. “And you want to feel helpless.”
JJ pushed into the touch. “Not helpless helpless. Just… overwhelmed. You know. The way you hold me. The way you take control. The way it shuts my brain off.” Rafe kissed him once, slow and sure. He tasted want on JJ’s mouth. Need. Trust. “I hear you,” Rafe whispered. JJ opened his eyes. “So… soon?”
Rafe nodded. “Soon. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But soon. The next one has to be perfect. And safe. And something that won’t wreck your leg.” JJ exhaled in relief like he’d been holding that breath all week. Rafe kissed the line of his jaw. “Tell me exactly what you’re craving.”
JJ smiled a little. “Well. No forest. No running. No kidnapping me out of bed again unless you warn me first. No throwing me on concrete. No impact on the leg. But… maybe something like the home invasion. Or something new. Something inside. Something where you can pin me and make me shut up.”
Rafe’s eyes darkened. “Baby, you never shut up.” JJ grinned. “Exactly.” Rafe pressed him back against the whiteboard with careful hands. “I’ll come up with something. Something heavy and filthy and all ours.”
JJ wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him like he believed it.
They ate leftovers. They argued about whether Cassie should be banned from the training yard for excessive commentary. JJ sat cross-legged on the couch while Rafe graded paperwork. They watched half a movie and forgot what was happening because JJ kept rubbing Rafe’s thigh with his foot.
Eventually Rafe put the laptop down and crawled onto the couch, dragging JJ into his lap. JJ threaded his fingers in Rafe’s hair and kissed him slow. Comforting. Hungry. Somewhere between domestic love and something much darker.
JJ whispered, “You coming to bed.” Rafe kissed the corner of his mouth. “Lead the way.” They didn’t do a scene. They didn’t do a roleplay. They didn’t do anything rough or planned. JJ topped him like they were twenty again. Slow and deep and grounding and real. Rafe held on tight and didn’t try to take control for once. JJ kissed him through every breath and whispered every filthy thing he’d wanted to say since the accident.
When it was over, Rafe pulled JJ against his chest, arm locked around his waist. JJ tucked his face into Rafe’s throat. “Hey.” Rafe hummed in response. “You don’t have to plan the heavy one alone,” JJ said. “I can help. Or at least… talk it out with you.”
Rafe kissed the back of his neck. “I know. But I like planning them.” JJ smiled against his skin. “Yeah. I know.” Rafe shut his eyes. “Soon.” JJ nodded sleepily. “Soon.” They drifted off like that. Warm. Sated. A little dangerous. A little in love.
And very much ready for whatever came next.
The next morning Rafe woke up too early and too alert, the way he always did when something in his brain was gearing up to obsess. JJ was draped across him, mouth open, drooling on his chest in a way that would’ve been illegal levels of cute if Rafe ever admitted it.
Rafe eased out from under him, kissed his hair, and padded to the kitchen. The laptop went on. Coffee brewed. The early sun hit the floor in pale stripes. Rafe opened his email. Then immediately shut his eyes. Then reopened them because denial wasn’t helping. The subject line from the state licensing board read:
We love your PSA. Can you film ten more. Rafe stared. He clicked it open.
They wanted PSAs for everything. Helmet fitting. Pre-ride inspection. Alcohol risks. Passenger safety. Even scooter basics. They said his “approachable tone” made him an ideal public safety spokesperson. Rafe rubbed his temples. Approachable. Nobody in his entire life had ever called him that before yesterday.
He heard footsteps. JJ wandered in, hair sticking up in every direction, shirt halfway off one shoulder, blinking like a confused woodland creature. “Morning,” JJ mumbled, yawning. “Baby,” Rafe said. “The state wants more PSAs.” JJ froze mid-yawn. “More. Like… how many.” “Ten.”
JJ blinked once, then started laughing so hard he had to lean on the counter. “Ten. They want you in ten different safety lessons. Rafe, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me personally.” Rafe groaned. “This is humiliating.”
“No it’s not. It’s amazing.” JJ grabbed his waist and kissed him. “They basically said, hey, we’ve seen the videos and we’ve decided you’re America’s motorcycle dad.”
“Stop calling me dad.” JJ kissed him again. “Make me.”
Rafe shut him up with a kiss that meant danger, but then pulled away with a sigh. “I have to respond before noon.” JJ shrugged. “Do it. Cash the cheque. Use it to buy more school bikes.” Rafe paused. “Yeah. Actually that’s not a bad idea.” JJ put his head on Rafe’s shoulder. “I’m full of good ideas. Even before caffeine.” Rafe kissed the top of his head. He would’ve stayed there all morning, but JJ spotted something strange on the dining table.
A notebook. Black cover. Closed… but not fully shut. A sheet sticking out. JJ reached. “What’s this?” Rafe froze. Too late. JJ pulled the sheet free. His eyebrows rose. “Uh… babe.” Rafe felt the cold rush of oh no. He stepped forward. “Give me that.” JJ stepped back with the grace of a man who knew he was holding something powerful. “So. We’re naming scenes now.” Rafe reached again. “JJ.”
But JJ flipped the page up out of reach. JJ stepped onto a chair, grinning like the devil. “This says: Scenario draft: intruder punished by homeowner. Babe. Are we doing home invasion part two? ”Rafe dragged a hand down his face. “I literally wrote one draft note. One.” JJ flipped to the next page. “Oh my god there are diagrams.”
Rafe lunged. JJ shriek-laughed, leaping off the chair and running like a menace. Rafe caught him by the waist in two seconds, lifted him, stole the notebook, and tossed it onto the counter. JJ hung sideways in his arms, kicking weakly. “You were gonna ambush me again.” Rafe lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go. “Not an ambush. A plan.”
JJ wrapped his arms around Rafe’s shoulders and smirked. “A plan that included… handcuffs, a blind corner, and something labelled strategic power imbalance. What does that even mean?” Rafe kissed him, sharp and warning. “Means you’re not the one writing it.” JJ kissed him back, softening a little. “I didn’t know you’d already started sketching ideas.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for days,” Rafe admitted. “I want the next one to hit harder. But safer. Controlled. Heavy, but not a hunting scene.” JJ bit Rafe’s jaw. “So. The intruder thing really is happening.” “Maybe,” Rafe murmured. “If you stop snooping.” JJ laughed and tucked himself closer. “You’re cute when you’re caught.”
Rafe nudged his forehead gently. “You scared me. I thought you were gonna find the other page.” JJ perked up instantly. “Other page.” “Forget I said anything.”
“Show me,” JJ demanded. “No.”
“Show me or I’ll post another TikTok.” “You wouldn’t.” JJ grinned. “Try me.” Rafe kissed him hard enough to shut him up. JJ melted instantly.
Problem deferred. Not solved.
Cassie barged through the front door without knocking. “Emergency.” JJ yelled from the kitchen, “If you’re here to talk about comments thirsting over Rafe, join the line.”
Cassie held up her phone. “No. This is worse.” Rafe braced himself. “What now.” “The PSA. The official one. The board posted it. It has four hundred thousand views in two hours.” Rafe made a sound that was not human.
Cassie shoved the screen in his face. “Look. People are duetting your safety lecture. Someone turned your voice into an audio mix. I think it’s trending under the hashtag motorcycle mentorship daddy.” JJ burst out laughing so hard he slid down the wall.
Cassie patted Rafe’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. This was inevitable.” Rafe sat down at the table, defeated by the entire world. “I hate this town. I hate the internet. I hate everything.” JJ crawled over and pulled himself into Rafe’s lap, still laughing. He cupped Rafe’s face with both hands. “Baby. You’re iconic.”
Cassie nodded. “Honestly, this is good for business. I saw three emails asking when the next class opens.” Rafe looked tortured. “Can the internet stop sexualizing me.” JJ kissed his cheek. “Absolutely not.”
Cassie sat on the couch, still scrolling. “Okay. But real talk. JJ. You’re trending too.” JJ blinked. “Me.”
Cassie nodded. “Someone posted a compilation of you watching Rafe ride. It’s literally just clips of you staring at him like he hung the stars.” JJ turned red. “Delete it.” Cassie cackled. “Too late. It’s called when you’re in love with the motorcycle instructor and it’s at a hundred thousand likes.”
Rafe froze. Then smiled. Slow and dangerous. “Oh,” Rafe said quietly. “Is that how you look at me.” JJ shoved at his chest. “Shut up.” Rafe pulled him in by the back of the neck and kissed him in a way Cassie had to look away from.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave. I’m uncomfortable. Also this is the living room.”
After Cassie left, JJ sprawled on the couch in a nest of blankets. Rafe cleaned the kitchen, then sat beside him with the notebook in hand. JJ immediately rolled onto his stomach like a kid waiting for a bedtime story. “Show me.” Rafe ran his thumb over the cover. “Only if you’re ready to talk about it seriously. No teasing.” JJ nodded fast. “Dead serious. I want to hear it.”
Rafe opened to a clean page. “Alright. Here’s the thought. No running. No forest. No cold water. No restraints that put weight on your leg. No blind shoves. No shoulder use that risks re-injury. So I’m thinking something indoors. Controlled. Something psychological.”
“I can manhandle you safely now. Not throws. But pins. Holds. Dragging. And it lets me talk to you through the whole thing.” JJ was breathing shallow. “I want that.” Rafe nodded. “I know.” JJ reached out and put his hand over Rafe’s. “Show me the other idea you didn’t want me to see.” Rafe hesitated.
JJ squeezed lightly. “Let me in.” Rafe flipped to the page he’d hidden earlier: Bike thief breaks into the riding school tripping the alarm and Rafe shows up to teach him a lesson. JJ grins. “That one please.” Rafe nodded once and said soon.
JJ stifled his smile.
Actually, tomorrow, big guy.
JJ woke up draped over Rafe like he’d grown there. Leg tossed over Rafe’s thigh. Face buried in his chest. Hand wrapped in the chain at Rafe’s neck like he’d pull him back in his sleep if he tried to move. “You’re not going anywhere,” JJ mumbled into his sternum. Rafe huffed a laugh, smoothing a hand over JJ’s back. “I wasn’t trying.” JJ tightened his grip anyway. But eventually, the alarm they absolutely didn’t need went off, and JJ groaned loud enough to scare the dog that wasn’t even there. Rafe tilted his chin down. “You working today?”
“Yeah,” JJ sighed, rolling off him and stretching like a cat. “Cassie needs help filming new strain content. Marcy’s doing repairs. Walt’s doing… Walt things.” Rafe smirked. “And you’re doing hot-boy marketing?” JJ grinned. “Always.” They kissed slow, soft, warm from the night before.
But when they finally pulled apart, JJ had that restless look, healed enough to move, hungry enough to work, that bright spark back in his chest now that the brace was gone. “You driving yourself?” Rafe asked.
JJ nodded proudly. “Yeah. I can handle the van today.” Rafe didn’t like it but he also liked that he didn’t like it. JJ saw the flicker in his eyes and nudged him. “Don’t start. I’m good.” Rafe exhaled through his nose and kissed his temple. “Fine. But text me when you get there.” JJ laughed. “I always do.” He did. Every day. Even when Rafe didn’t ask. Rafe liked that more than he’d ever admit.
JJ limped only slightly into the bathroom, just stiffness now, nothing dangerous and Rafe watched him go with a low hum of satisfaction. Moving well. Stronger. Loose and bendy and smug about it.
Good.
He needed him that way. When JJ came out dressed, he pressed a quick kiss to Rafe’s mouth. “See you later, babe.” Rafe caught his wrist before he could walk away. “I’m taking the bike today.” JJ smiled like it pleased him. “Yeah? Missed her?”
“You,” Rafe corrected quietly. “Riding with me.” The words hit JJ harder than Rafe expected. He softened. Really softened. “I miss that too,” JJ said. Neither mentioned the months Rafe hadn’t taken the bike out because he’d been driving JJ everywhere. Because he’d been scared to be too far from him. Because he’d built a life entirely around JJ’s pain scale and mobility.
But today JJ was healed enough that Rafe swung his leg over the bike with a lightness he hadn’t felt since before the accident. He revved the engine. JJ leaned from the van window and whistled. “Show-off.” Rafe smirked. “Maybe.”
“You better text me when you get there,” JJ shot back, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Rafe’s smirk dropped into something warmer. “Yeah. I will.” They pulled out of the driveway in opposite directions, JJ toward Magical HQ, Rafe toward the school build and both of them felt the separation like a physical pull.
Rafe realized halfway down the road that he was riding too fast. He dialled it down. A little. He missed JJ already. Ridiculous. True.
At Magical HQ, JJ walked in and Cassie threw an apple at him. “You’re late.” “I’m literally on time,” JJ said. Cassie shrugged. “Rafe isn’t here, so I need someone to bully.” JJ laughed but felt the empty spot at his hip where Rafe’s hand usually rested. It was stupid. They were fine. They were both working.
But he still checked his phone every five minutes until Rafe’s text came in:
Made it.
Didn’t die.
Miss you.
JJ bit his lip and typed back:
Miss you too, psycho.
At the riding school, Rafe stood in the middle of the finished tracks, the air smelling like new tarmac and potential. Contractors waved, gave him updates, deferred to him like he’d been in charge for years. But none of it hit right without JJ here. It wasn’t dependence. Or clinginess. It was something stranger: a shared orbit missing its other half.
Rafe kept checking his phone too. Pointlessly. Helplessly. Hungry in a way he refused to name aloud.
By midday, Rafe had corrected three layout errors in the maintenance bay, threatened a supplier over the phone, and still felt like something essential was missing. And later that afternoon, when JJ decided to swing by the riding school on impulse wanting to show off how well his leg handled stairs now, Rafe felt it before he heard the van door slam.
That spark. That shift. That pull. JJ climbed out smiling. Rafe’s hand tightened on the railing. Yeah. He’d missed him. JJ only came to drop something off. He only stayed a few minutes. He only walked the tarmac with Rafe and kissed him quick before going back to HQ. But it was enough to prime something.
Enough to plant a seed. Enough to make Rafe think:
If JJ could walk that well…
If JJ could handle stairs…
If JJ could bend and twist and flirt like that…
Then he could handle being pinned. Dragged. Bent over. Pressed down. Talked through a scene until he was shaking.
Rafe felt it bloom in his chest.
The sun had barely dipped behind the tree line when JJ texted:
“Heading home soon.”
Except he didn’t head home. Rafe saw the little blue dot on the tracker stop at the riding school instead. Then he got a security alarm alert from the riding school on his phone.
He didn’t move at first, just sat there at the kitchen counter, lips curling slowly, thoughtfully, like a man savouring a flavour he’d been waiting to taste. So his boy wanted to play.
And at his school, of all places. Instructor Cameron could handle that.
He didn’t announce himself didn’t send a warning text didn’t even turn on the headlights when he drove up the gravel path. He wanted JJ to think he was alone. Wanted him to get bold.
The portable classroom door was cracked open by barely half an inch and a sliver of lamplight cut across the dirt. Rafe stepped into the shadows at the corner of the building and listened. JJ inside, muttering to himself. A laugh. The shuffle of boots on lino. And then the words that sealed JJ’s fate for the rest of the night: “Bet I could sneak a bike out before he ever noticed.”
Rafe’s pulse slowed. Deepened. Cantered. He opened the door without a sound. JJ didn’t even turn around at first, too busy looking at the bike keys hanging on the wall behind the desk. Rafe shut the door behind him deliberately. The click was soft. Quiet. Deadly.
JJ froze. Then turned, slow as guilt. Rafe didn’t say a word. Just looked at him. JJ swallowed. “Hey, babe… I was just-” Rafe closed the distance in three steps, one hand sliding into JJ’s hair and yanking his head back just enough to bare his throat. JJ’s breath punched out of him.
Rafe’s voice was a low, lethal whisper against his ear: “Unauthorized entry.” Another tug. “Unauthorized equipment access.” A slow drag of his thumb along JJ’s lower lip. “Unauthorized breathing in my classroom, far as I’m concerned.” JJ shivered. Rafe smirked against his jaw.
“You came here for this.” He didn’t phrase it like a question.
He dragged JJ by the hair, slow and controlled, across the small room until JJ stumbled against the desk. Rafe pressed him down over it with a single hand between his shoulder blades- not hard, not fast, just inevitable. JJ inhaled sharply, hips pressed to the edge.
“You think you get to touch my bikes without my permission?” Rafe asked, leaning over him, chest against JJ’s back. “You think you get to sneak into my school and steal a lesson you didn’t earn?” JJ whimpered. “Maybe.” Rafe’s hand tightened in his hair and pulled his head back again so JJ had to look at him upside-down.
“Maybe,” Rafe repeated with disdain. “Try again.” JJ licked his lips. “Yes.” “That’s better.” Rafe stepped back just enough to haul JJ upright by the hair, then spun him and pinned him to the wall with one hand on his chest. The impact wasn’t rough, just firm, commanding, exactly calibrated. JJ melted immediately.
Rafe’s voice dropped even lower. “You want to learn from me, you ask. You want to get on one of my machines, you earn it. You don’t sneak.” He dragged JJ’s head to the side by a fistful of hair, exposing his neck. “You definitely don’t break into my school like some idiot teenager looking for trouble.”
JJ couldn’t stop the breathless laugh that escaped him. Rafe slapped a hand over his mouth.
Not hard, just silencing. “Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Don’t pretend you’re not here because you wanted me to handle you.” JJ’s eyes fluttered. Rafe lowered his hand from JJ’s mouth, replacing it with a thumb running along his bottom lip.
“You came here to get caught,” he murmured. “Didn’t you.” JJ nodded helplessly. Rafe’s grip slid from his mouth to his jaw, fingers pressing until JJ’s lips parted. Rafe stepped closer, close enough that JJ’s breath stuttered. “I should drag you out of here by the hair,” Rafe whispered. “Put you on your knees in the gravel for wasting my time.”
JJ’s spine bowed at the sound of it. Rafe smirked. “But that’d be too easy.”
He turned JJ by the shoulders and walked him backward, pinning him against the portable’s far wall. JJ hit it with a breathy sound, hands already curling in Rafe’s shirt, but Rafe grabbed his wrists and slammed them above his head, pinning them with one hand. JJ gasped.
Rafe leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “You don’t move unless I say so.” JJ nodded hard.
“Words.” “Yes,” JJ whispered.
“Yes what.” “Yes, sir.”
Rafe groaned, low and feral. “That’s right.”
He released one wrist long enough to grab JJ’s belt and drag him two steps sideways, then forward, then sideways again a controlled manhandling path until JJ was bent over the instructor’s desk again. Rafe pressed him down with a palm between the shoulder blades. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Playing burglar again. Didn’t learn last time?” JJ whimpered into the wood.
Rafe’s hand knotted in his hair and pulled his head back so JJ had to arch, throat exposed, back bowed. “I should fail you right now,” Rafe whispered. “Kick you out of the program.” Another tug. “But you love when I make examples out of you.” JJ’s hips jerked involuntarily.
Rafe laughed softly. Dark. Amused. Possessive. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He bent lower, mouth brushing JJ’s neck without kissing it. “You’re in my school,” he said. “My classroom. My rules.”
He pulled JJ’s head back a little harder. “And right now you’re going to take whatever I give you.”
JJ’s breath came out broken. Rafe’s hand stroked the back of his neck almost gently before tightening again. “You earn every lesson here, pretty boy,” he murmured. “And tonight… you earned this.” JJ didn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Didn’t dare. Rafe held his gaze, then smiled slow and ruined and hungry. “Good student.”
He dragged JJ upright by the hair, turned him, and kissed him like punishment; teeth, breath, dominance wrapped in heat, before pinning him to the wall again with his forearm across his chest. He nudged his knee between JJ’s legs and wedged his thigh into his crotch using his full height to intimidate JJ. He opened JJ’s mouth with his free hand and looked inside, inspecting. “Should be enough room for about half my cock, the rest is going down your throat.”
“Open my pants and take my cock out. Do it now.” JJ was shaking as he complied, and looked down at Rafes large and hard and mean cock by mistake. Rafe smirked coldly.
He released JJ momentarily to grab his good arm and put him into an arm lock, forcing him to walk over to one of the small student tables. He bent him over, keeping him in the arm lock and positioned him so his ass was high up on one side, and his head was over the edge of the other side.
“I am going to fuck you at both ends, JJ. Hard.”
He grabbed JJ’s other arm and placed his wrist at the base of his spine, releasing the locked arm and telling him to keep them there or things were going to get really rough. JJ’s eyes were blown and Rafe could tell he was already floating. He stalked around the desk and lifted JJ’s head by his hair, opening his mouth with his fingers, and shoving his cock inside.
He paused for a moment and checked in with JJ who simply nodded around the cock in his mouth, looking up at Rafe with big eyes. Rafe started to fuck his mouth, every few thrusts going deeper and touching the back of his throat.
JJ was almost choking before Rafe pulled out for a brief moment to let him breathe. His good arm slipped out of position, and Rafe reached over and pulled it back into an arm lock from above. He thrust back into JJ’s mouth and used his hand in his as leverage.
Rafes gaze flicked between JJ’s mouth and his ass bent over the other side of the table. He pulled out suddenly and moved around behind JJ, pulling his pants and boxers down before returning to his mouth.
“I want to look at your ass while I fuck your mouth, Pogue thief.”
He fucked JJ’s mouth for a few more minutes until JJ had tears streaming down his face and saliva down his chin. Perfect.
“Good. Now my cock is wet, I’m going to fuck your ass so hard you couldn’t possibly steal one of my bikes and ride it home.”
JJ was shaking at this point, and gripped the edge of the desk knowing what was coming next. Rafe quickly shoved two fingers into JJ’s wet mouth and then stalked back behind him. With his dry hand he delivered a volley of hard slaps to JJ’s ass and thighs, making JJ cry out and clench his thighs together. He tried to dodge the smacks, but Rafe used his considerable strength to push him down by the base of his spine as a warning.
He gave him two more very hard smacks before using his wet fingers to open JJ up, roughly. He used his knee to open JJ’s thighs again and the thrust inside him in one brutal stroke that made JJ shout.
He held himself deep inside. “Colour.”
“Green,” JJ gasped.
Yes. Here it comes JJ.
Rafe fucked JJ without mercy but with consideration to not knocking his bad leg as he pounded him. He had his good arm wrist locked and his other hand moved between his waist and his hair as he wanted him flat or arched.
He pulled out and picked JJ up by the waist, flipping him over onto his back over the desk and lifting his legs around his waist. He slammed back into him, and wrapped his hand around his throat to keep him in place. The new angle plunged him even deeper into JJ who was about to drop into subspace.
Rafe reached forward with his free hand and pinched one of JJ’s nipples so hard JJ screamed. He held the pinched nipple like a clamp for three seconds as JJ writhed and whimpered before releasing it and then roughly stroking JJ’s cock like he was angry with him.
When one of JJ’s legs slipped from its grasp around Rafes waist, Rafe released his throat and pulled it back up and around his waist, reaching down and slapping the underside sharply. “You stay where I put you and you take what I give you. Understood?”
JJ could only nod and grunt and gasp from the space he had entered.
There was more Rafe wanted to do to JJ, but he was already in subspace and so he made a decision. He would finish fucking JJ into the wall, fast and brutal, and then bring him back safely.
He pulled out again, and picked JJ up under his armpits. Grabbed him by the back of his neck once vertical, and dragged him to the nearest wall. He placed JJ’s hands on the wall at shoulder height and told him to leave them there.
He kicked JJ’s legs apart gently and lowered himself slightly so he could aim up and into his ass again with his height difference. Then he stood at his full height, forcing JJ up onto his toes by the force of his dick and hips pressuring JJ upwards.
He fucked him ruthlessly as JJ panted and floated, and came shortly after. He flipped JJ around and looked into his eyes which were no longer focused. He stroked JJ’s cock and stared into his dreamy eyes, and JJ came with a whimper.
Rafe stepped back for a moment to look at JJ’s state and his pliant body.
Perfect
He grabbed JJ into his arms and carried him to his instructors desk chair, sitting him in his lap and holding him, murmuring words about love and bravery and trust.
Love you so much blonde miracle
Rafe held JJ on his lap stroking his hair and his back and neck, planting soft kisses where ever he could reach and nuzzling him until he came back into the room from subspace. JJ returned the nuzzle into Rafes neck and whispered his name letting him know he was back. “… holy fuck Rafe…” Rafe smiled.
Yes
He felt exhausted from the manhandling and power fucking, but it has all been worth it. No one got hurt. Exactly what they both wanted. Controlled, dark, safe. Exciting. He whispered against his temple “Next time you want my attention, you don’t sneak.” A kiss behind JJ’s ear. “You ask. And I’ll give you everything you came here for.”
JJ shivered, then nodded against him, breath shaking. And Rafe smiled. Because he already had the next lesson planned.
Chapter Text
JJ woke up to the sound of rain on the van roof and the ache of being used everywhere Rafe had had hands the night before. He blinked. Van ceiling. Blankets tangled around his waist. A pillow under his shoulder he didn’t remember being given.Rafe’s hand curved over his ribs, heavy, warm, anchoring him to the earth.
JJ swallowed. His throat hurt. His legs trembled if he even thought about moving. His back felt hot in two places from where Rafe had held him down against the desk. “Fuck,” he whispered. Rafe stirred beside him, breath warm on JJ’s shoulder. “You good?” JJ laughed weakly. “You broke me.”
“You started it,” Rafe said, voice rough as hell. “Triggering my alarm like a fucking Pogue thief.” JJ nudged him. “You promised no more Pogue slurs.” “Fine,” Rafe said. “Like a dumbass.” JJ snorted and immediately groaned because his abs were also sore. “You manhandled me so hard I think I lost a shoe.” “It’s still in the office,” Rafe murmured. Then he lifted his head enough to look at JJ properly. “Any real pain?”
“No,” JJ said. “Just… fuck me, Rafe. You pushed me around and held me down like you’d been waiting years.” Rafe kissed him softly, an apology and a claim in one. “I carried you out because you couldn’t stand after the wall.” JJ flushed so fast he thought he’d combust. He remembered it in a flash: Rafe pinning him against the wall by the neck, lifting him a few inches off the ground, whispering something so filthy he’d come almost immediately.
They lay there for a while, JJ curled into him, Rafe stroking his shoulder slowly. The storm wasn’t easing. JJ was grateful. He didn’t think he could walk yet anyway. Eventually Rafe said, “We should pretend we’ve been here since early morning.” JJ groaned into his chest. “Cassie’s gonna know.”
“She always knows,” Rafe sighed.
They cleaned up as best they could, splashed water on their faces, but they were still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They walked into the office at a time that might’ve been believable if not for the glowing, stupidly satisfied expression on JJ’s face and the fact his hair looked like he’d been dragged backward across a desk.
Cassie arrived at eight sharp. She stood in the doorway. Looked at JJ. Looked at Rafe. Looked at JJ again. “Oh my god.” JJ panicked instantly. “Hey, Cass, good morning.”
“Oh my god,” she repeated. “You two look like you filmed a porno in here last night.” JJ nearly dropped his coffee. Rafe crossed his arms, attempting professionalism. “We’re working.” Cassie pointed aggressively at JJ’s collarbone. “You have a desk-edge bruise shaped like an apology.”
JJ covered it with his hand. “I tripped.” Cassie looked at Rafe. “And you tripped mouth-first onto his cock?” “I don’t like where this is going,” Rafe muttered. Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you at least disinfect the desk?”
JJ blushed so hard he looked sunburned. “We… wiped it.” Cassie stared at him. “You wiped it.” “Yeah.” “With what?” JJ glanced at Rafe, wide-eyed.
Rafe said, “Let’s move on.”
Cassie groaned. “You feral idiots. You absolute wild animals. If you get cum on my Excel sheets again, I swear to god-” “Cass,” JJ pleaded. She shook her head like a disappointed aunt. “I’m going to Magical HQ. You two need Jesus.”
JJ fled with her, desperate to escape Rafe’s office before she noticed anything else.
Walt looked up from trimming buds when JJ limped in, all loose-limbed and dreamy and definitely still floating. “Dude,” Walt said, “you look like you got hit by a truck. But like… happily.” JJ waved a hand. “I’m fine.”
Walt raised an eyebrow. “Where were you?” JJ considered the truth. Did not speak it. He instead said, “Rafe and I… uh… stayed late at the school.” Walt blinked. “Doing what?”
“Admin,” JJ lied. Walt stared at him. JJ panicked. “Very intense admin.” Walt held in a laugh. “Bro… you can’t look like that and say admin. Your hair looks like you got held upside down.” JJ covered his face. “I’m gonna die.”
“I’m not judging,” Walt said reassuringly. “I’m just saying Rafe probably annihilated you last night and looks chill today.” JJ made a noise that was not English.
Back at the school, Rafe sat at his desk trying to do legitimate work. He failed. He opened the security footage instead.
There JJ was. Breaking in at seven thirty after closing. Hopping the low gate. Triggering the alarm deliberately.
Walking into the office wearing that stupid hoodie and that stupid smirk, pretending to check the drawers like a burglar who’d never committed a crime. Rafe watched himself storm in seconds later. The moment their eyes met. The way JJ’s smirk faltered into something hungry and reckless. The way Rafe grabbed him by the neck and shoved him against the wall while threatening him.
Rafe watched every second of it, pulse hitting the ceiling.
He watched himself drag JJ by the hair to the desk. He watched JJ bend over without being told.
He watched the exact moment JJ melted into it, when the scene swallowed them both whole.
He reran the clip. And again.And again.
By the sixth replay, he had to close his laptop and take a breath before he did something stupid like call JJ and tell him to come back immediately.
Cassie entered without knocking, which she always did when she felt like causing emotional damage. “Hey,” she said casually. “So. What are you planning next?” Rafe froze. “What?” She crossed her arms. “You look like you’re thinking about kidnapping him again.” Rafe said nothing. Cassie stepped closer. “You need to talk boundaries with him before you escalate. You understand that, right?”
“Yes,” Rafe snapped too fast. She stared. Rafe exhaled and softened a little. “I do. I promise. I’m being careful.”
“Good,” she said. “Because if JJ shows up limping again and it’s not because of sex, I’m kicking your ass.” Rafe smirked. “Noted.”
“So?” she said. “What’s the next scenario?” Rafe rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m… thinking.” Cassie eyed him, satisfied. “Just don’t make me be the one explaining to the ER why JJ’s wrists look like zip-tie art.”“Cass,” Rafe warned. She left cackling.
Rafe woke up with JJ wrapped around him. Usually that was sweet. Today… JJ had a plan. He kissed Rafe’s jaw. “Morning, Daddy.”
“No,” Rafe said immediately. JJ blinked up at him, fake hurt loading. “No?” he echoed. “No Daddy mode. Not today.” JJ pushed his lower lip out. “That’s rude.”
“It’s Wednesday,” Rafe said, getting up. “Your Daddy day was Sunday. One per week.”
“One per week is fascism.” Rafe pulled on his shirt. “Bratting isn’t gonna change my answer.”
JJ’s eyes lit in challenge. “What if I-”
“JJ,” Rafe warned. “If you brat to get it, I will spank you for real. Not the fun kind. The ‘you forgot to lock the front door’ kind.” JJ pouted harder. “…You’re literally Daddy right now.” Rafe groaned, grabbed his keys, kissed JJ’s forehead, and said, “Be good.”
JJ flopped back dramatically. “I’m always good.” Rafe shot him a look that said you are never good and walked out.
The second the door closed, JJ stared at the ceiling and whispered: “Fuck you, Kook.”
And the rebellion switch flipped.
Rafe left the house at 8:12 a.m.
JJ was still sprawled in bed, hair everywhere, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. JJ waited three seconds.And rolled out of bed.
At 9am he called in sick and cracked a beer.
Cassie replied instantly: U good?
JJ: yeah im dying
Cassie: of what
JJ: neglect
Cassie: lmao did rafe say no daddy today
JJ: FUCK U
Cassie: so that’s a yes
JJ threw the phone onto the couch like that solved something. Then grabbed Rafe’s weed pen and took a monster hit. Coughed so hard he saw colours. “Breakfast,” he declared, and opened another beer.
10:15 a.m
Cassie again: are you actually sick
JJ sent a picture of his stomach and wrote: sick abs
Cassie: oh you’re a menace today
JJ: watch this
He opened the small bottle of Rafe’s remaining oxys, plucked out one like a communion wafer, and downed it with warm beer.
Cassie texted: what did you just do
JJ: SELF CARE
Cassie: jj I swear to god
11:00 a.m.
He stumbled to the kitchen, found the bottle of mediocre whiskey Rafe kept for guests, and poured himself a shot. Then another. Then another.
Cassie: are u drinking
JJ: water
Cassie: what KIND of water
JJ took a picture of the whiskey bottle lying sideways on the counter.
JJ: hydration
Cassie: STOP
JJ: i do what i want im a free man
Cassie: sir you are a concubine at BEST
JJ laughed so hard he dropped his phone.
11:45 a.m.
He opened his laptop to look up recipes for something he would never cook. Instead, porn autoplayed from the last time he forgot to close his tabs. He shrugged. Left it on. Turned the volume up.
Cassie: why did you stop replying
JJ: im busy
Cassie: doing what
JJ sent a blurry picture that revealed nothing except a bare knee and the edge of Mortal Kombat on the TV.
Cassie: what am i looking at
JJ: art
12:30 p.m.
He ordered tacos. Forgot he ordered tacos.
Passed out on the couch for a bit.
Cassie: did you eat
JJ: yes
Cassie: liar
JJ: im in control of my destiny stop trying to muzzle me
Cassie: im calling rafe
JJ: BLOCKED
Cassie: you cannot block me we work together
JJ: BLOCKED IN MY HEART
1:10 p.m.
He sat on the floor, weed pen in one hand, whiskey in the other. Booted up Mario Kart. Selected Rainbow Road.
Then stared at it for ten straight minutes without pressing start.
Cassie: have u actually eaten
JJ: yeah
Cassie: jj
JJ: dont police my hero journey
Cassie: oh my god
2:00 p.m.
Rafe texted: You alive?
JJ ignored it. Took another shot.
Cassie: stop drinking
JJ: make me
Cassie: i WILL
JJ sent her a photo of his middle finger.
Cassie: wow
JJ: skills
Rafe texted again: Answer me.
JJ grinned, flipped the bird at the phone, took a picture, and sent it.
JJ: fuck you kook 😘
A reference. A callback to a scene they both knew.
Cassie: you are OUT OF CONTROL
JJ: u love it
Cassie: i fear for u
3:00 p.m
Weed.
Beer.
Oxy.
Whiskey.
JJ attempted to stand. Walking was theoretical. He stumbled into the bedroom, decided the bed was too far away, crawled the rest of the distance like a drunk soldier crossing enemy lines.
Laptop still blaring porn. JJ flopped onto the bed face first.
Cassie texted: where r u
JJ: heaven
Cassie: ur high
JJ: and drunk
Cassie: don’t die
JJ: no promises
4:00 p.m
He reached maximum sloppiness. Sweaty. Laughing at nothing. Porn still going. Mario Kart frozen permanently on Rainbow Road. The weed pen lying on his chest like a tiny life raft. He crawled fully onto the bed, curled around a pillow, and passed out cold with the laptop still moaning in the background.
UberEATS was still on the porch. Beer cans on the coffee table. Oxy bottle open. A whiskey shot glass tipped over. His cereal bowl still in the sink. One of Rafe’s hoodies on the floor.
Chaos Monkey had lived up to his name.
6:45 p.m
Rafe stepped inside and stopped. The smell of weed, whiskey, and stale tacos hit him. He scanned the room slowly: Beer. Weed pen. Open oxy bottle. Whiskey. Mario Kart frozen. Tacos untouched on the porch. He sighed. Not angry. Just tired. And… lonely.
He walked softly to the bedroom. JJ was sprawled sideways, one sock half-off, jeans unbuttoned, shirt twisted, laptop still playing porn way too loud. Rafe muted it. Closed it. Set it aside. He knelt beside the bed, brushing JJ’s hair back. “Monkey,” he whispered. “Jesus Christ.”
JJ didn’t move. Rafe pulled off his other sock, covered him with a blanket, and pressed a kiss to his temple. Tomorrow would be hell.
But tonight? There was no point waking him.
Not when JJ was so deeply gone he might not even know where he was. Rafe slid into bed beside him, resting a hand between JJ’s shoulder blades. Even unconscious, JJ leaned toward him. Rafe closed his eyes.He missed him today. Missed him a lot.
JJ woke up to the sound of Rafe throwing open the curtains like the world wasn’t ending. JJ groaned into the mattress. “Oh my god stop. I’m allergic to daylight.” Rafe crossed his arms. “Get up. You’re going to work.” JJ rolled over, hair in his eyes, shirt twisted, eyes bloodshot. “I’m dying.”
“You’re hungover,” Rafe corrected. “And additionally, you’re being punished with responsibility.” JJ’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t like responsibility.” “I know,” Rafe said dryly. “You demonstrated that yesterday.” JJ tried to hide under the blanket. Rafe snatched it off him. “Up. Shoes on. Toothbrush. We’re leaving in ten.” JJ blinked. “You’re… driving me.”
“Yes,” Rafe said. “Because I don’t trust you not to go missing again.” JJ sat up slowly, clutching his head like it was falling off. “Oh my god I hate this.” Rafe kissed the top of his head.
“Good. Suffer.”
JJ slumped into the passenger seat of the van like a corpse being transported across state lines. “I might puke,” he complained. “There’s a bucket in the footwell,” Rafe said without any sympathy.
“Why.”
“Because you.”
JJ whimpered pathetically. “What are you going to do to me tonight.” “We’re going to have a talk,” Rafe said, turning smoothly through traffic. JJ froze. “A talk.”
“A talk,” Rafe repeated, tone low. “About truancy. Day drinking. Oxy misuse. Smoking my vape. Ignoring my texts. General delinquency.” JJ swallowed. “That sounds like more than a talk.”
“We’ll see,” Rafe said, which was somehow worse.
When they pulled into HQ, Rafe put the van in park, turned toward him, and spoke very calmly. “You will go inside. You will work. You will not die on Cassie’s couch. You will hydrate. And when I pick you up tonight, we’re discussing yesterday. And the consequences.”
JJ stared at him, wide-eyed and doomed. “Are you mad?” “I’m not mad,” Rafe said. “I’m… calculating.” “That’s worse,” JJ whispered.
Rafe smirked. “Have a good day.”
JJ staggered inside Magical HQ wearing sunglasses indoors like a washed-up 90s rock star. Cassie looked up. Started laughing. “Oh my god. Look at you. You look like you died and were rehydrated with bong water.” JJ flopped onto the staff couch with a groan. “Please be nice to me.”
“You sent me fifteen drunk texts yesterday, including one that said- she held up her phone: fuck you kook “and a middle finger.” JJ slapped a hand over his face. “I meant to send that to Rafe.”
“Oh yes,” Cassie said. “I got that memo when Rafe replied to both of us saying ‘stop.’” JJ whined. “I hate everything.” Cassie sat on the arm of the couch and poked him in the thigh. “You called in sick because you were denied a Daddy day. You are the most chaos creature alive.” JJ moaned louder. “Stop saying Daddy.”
“I will absolutely not,” Cassie said. “In fact, I’m predicting you’re getting your hide tanned tonight.” JJ went crimson under his sunglasses. “Cassie.”
“Oh yeah,” she continued cheerfully. “He dropped you off like a parent dropping off a delinquent child. He looked like he was doing long division about how to punish you properly.” JJ buried his face deeper into the couch. Walt wandered in and blinked. “Oh hey, the ghost of alcoholism past.” JJ flipped him off without lifting his head.
Cassie cackled. “This is karma for ignoring Rafe’s texts all day and then sending him a photo of your middle finger with the caption ‘fuck you kook.’” JJ groaned. “It was a nostalgic kink thing from a year ago. I was being cute.”
“You were being stupid,” Cassie corrected. JJ cracked one eye open. “You think he’s actually going to… punish me.” Cassie nodded confidently. “Oh yeah. One hundred percent. You are absolutely getting discipline tonight.”
Walt nodded solemnly. “Thoughts and prayers.”
JJ moaned again and vaped heavily.
JJ’s accomplishments for the day included: lying on the couch, groaning, being roasted, pretending to trim buds but missing half the tray, drinking water Rafe mandated, sending Rafe one apologetic emoji, receiving a single reply:
we will talk tonight
Every time that text flashed on his screen, JJ felt both dread and a weird, warm curl in his stomach. Cassie saw the expression and threw a pen at him. “Oh my god. You like this.” JJ covered his face. “I’m going to die.”
At closing time, the van pulled up. JJ moved like he was walking toward the gallows. Cassie kissed his cheek and whispered, “Good luck, champ.” Walt saluted him.
JJ climbed into the passenger seat. Rafe looked him over slowly, from the sunglasses to the wilted posture to the empty water bottle. “You alive,” Rafe asked. “Barely.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Let’s go home.” JJ swallowed hard. Because that tone… That tone meant tonight was going to be a very, very long conversation.
And his ass was absolutely not making it out unscathed.
JJ tried to play it cool on the drive home. He sat stiffly in the passenger seat, sunglasses still on even though the sun was down, fingers twitching in his lap. Every time Rafe turned a corner, JJ peeked sideways, trying to read him. JJ cracked first. “Soooo… about this morning…”
Rafe didn’t look away from the road. “What about it.” JJ swallowed. “Just wondering… you know… where we’re… landing on consequences.” Rafe continued driving, expression unreadable.
“You day-drank whiskey at eleven a.m.,” Rafe said calmly. “You took one of my oxys. You smoked half our weed. You didn’t eat. You ignored my texts. You told me fuck you kook. And you called in sick because you didn’t get a Daddy day.” JJ winced so hard his sunglasses nearly fell off. “When you say it all at once like that, it sounds-” “Like what,” Rafe asked. JJ squeaked, “…bad.” Rafe hummed. “Yeah.”
JJ cleared his throat. “But listen, I’ve done some reflecting-”
“You were unconscious on the bed when I got home.” “Okay, but after that, in my dreams, I did a lot of reflecting.” “JJ.”
“And I’ve come to the conclusion,” JJ continued desperately, “that my biggest issue yesterday was not being supervised closely enough.” Rafe finally turned his head, slowly. “You’re negotiating for more Daddy days.”
“I’m offering you a solution,” JJ said, voice tiny. Rafe snorted. “No.” JJ gasped. “Why-”
“Because I set the limit. One day a week. You don’t get to brat your way into a second one. That defeats the entire point.” JJ sulked against the window. “I think the point of bratting is to overpower the restrictions.”
“The point of bratting,” Rafe said evenly, “is to get your ass spanked. Which is exactly what’s happening when we get home.” JJ went crimson. “But like… like a fun spanking, or like a-”
“A real one,” Rafe said. “The kind you won’t enjoy.” JJ’s throat clicked. He tried for one last pathetic attempt at mercy. “Maybe we could… negotiate?”
“No.”
“A warning?”
“You had twelve yesterday.”
“A coupon?”
“JJ.”
JJ deflated. “I hate this.” Rafe’s lips twitched. “I know.”
JJ followed Rafe inside like a miserable golden retriever. He tried to divert attention. “I could make you dinner-” “No.”
“I could give you a blowjob-” Rafe raised an eyebrow, amused but unmoved. “That’s not going to save you.” JJ stomped his foot. “I’m trying!”
Rafe took his jacket off, hung up his keys, and said, “Go to the bedroom. Pants down. Wait for me.” JJ’s whole body short-circuited. “WAIT- NOW??”
“Yes,” Rafe said. “Now.”
JJ dragged his feet down the hallway with the posture of a man walking toward the electric chair. He shuffled into the bedroom. Then stopped dead. Because there, on the bed, was the paddle. The one Rafe rarely used. The one reserved for “lessons.”
JJ made a weak dying noise. “Oh my god.” He touched it like it was a venomous animal. “I forgot you even owned this,” he whispered. From the hallway, Rafe called, “Good. Then it’ll make an impression.”
JJ panicked. Climbed onto the bed. Climbed off the bed. Considered the window. Remembered he was afraid of heights. Got back on the bed. By the time Rafe walked in, JJ was already pouting on his stomach with his pants down, kicking his feet miserably.
Rafe shut the door behind him. JJ whined, “Please be nice.” Rafe sat next to him, pushed JJ’s shirt up, and ran a hand over his lower back. “I am being nice,” he said softly. “You’re mine. And you scared the hell out of me yesterday.”
JJ froze. That tone. Serious. Quiet. Grounded. Rafe picked up the paddle.
JJ squeaked.
Rafe pressed a hand between JJ’s shoulder blades. “Count,” he said. JJ groaned into the pillow, “I knew you’d say that.”
Rafe brought the paddle down. A sharp crack. JJ jolted with a gasp. “One,” he hissed.
Rafe spanked him again, firmer. JJ yelped. “Two.”
The third one made JJ’s toes curl and his voice crack. “Three…”
Rafe rubbed his lower back. “Why are you getting spanked?” JJ mumbled, “Because I called you kook.” “Try again.” JJ bit his lip. “Because I ignored you.” “And?”
“Because I did drugs and didn’t eat and scared you.” Rafe delivered the fourth, slow and deliberate. JJ buried his face in the pillow. “Four.”
Rafe stroked him gently. “You don’t get to self-destruct because I set a boundary.” JJ’s breath hitched. “Say it,” Rafe murmured. JJ whispered, “I’m sorry.” “For what.”
“For being a brat yesterday… and today… and all the days before that.” Rafe smiled slightly. “Better.”
He gave him the last swat- firm, stinging, final. JJ gasped out, “Five.”
Then collapsed into the bed, panting. Rafe put the paddle aside and rubbed gentle circles over JJ’s hips and thighs until the tension left his body. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “It’s over.” JJ melted. “I hate you.” “You love me.” “…That too.”
Rafe kissed JJ’s shoulder. “Come here.” JJ rolled into his lap with a pout, eyes glossy but not sad. “You’re mean.” “You’re reckless.” JJ huffed. “I was having a moment.”
“You were having twelve whiskeys and Mario Kart and porn still playing on the laptop.” JJ covered his face. “Oh my god shut up.” Rafe held him tight. JJ whispered, “Daddy days are still one a week?” “Yes.” JJ groaned dramatically. “You’re the worst.” Rafe grinned against his cheek. “You wouldn’t survive two.” JJ blushed so red it hit his ears. He mumbled, “…maybe.” “Absolutely not.”
JJ sighed deeply, already sinking into Rafe’s chest like the punishment had reset every nerve in his body. Rafe stroked his hair. “You’re forgiven,” he murmured. “Just don’t scare me like that again.” JJ nodded against him, soft and small and safe. “I won’t,” he whispered. “Promise.” Rafe kissed the top of his head. “Good boy.” JJ melted. And the rest of the night was slow kisses, quiet touches, and no more punishment, just the warm, grounding love that made all their darker edges make sense.
JJ was dead asleep, mouth open, one arm thrown across Rafe’s chest like he’d fallen unconscious mid-cling. Rafe had barely slept. He’d lain awake half the night replaying the sound of JJ’s voice saying five… and the way he’d melted afterward, small and pliant in his hands. The sight of JJ’s pink punished skin kept flickering behind his eyes.
By dawn, Rafe was strung tight. He kissed JJ’s shoulder once, then spoke against his ear, low and warm. “Baby. Wake up.” JJ made a pitiful sound. A groan. A whine. A “why are you like this.”
Rafe didn’t move. “Roll over,” he murmured. JJ’s eyes fluttered open, squinting. He knew exactly what that meant. “No,” he croaked, immediately suspicious. “Absolutely not. My ass is-”
“I know.” Rafe’s voice was too steady. Too aware. Too hungry. JJ’s breath caught. Rafe nudged him again. “Roll over.”
JJ buried his face in the pillow. “Rafe, I’m sore.” “I know,” Rafe said again, softer this time. “I still want it.”
JJ froze. There was something about the way he said that; quiet, reverent, but edged that slid straight down JJ’s spine. Rafe tilted JJ’s chin until he met his eyes. “Roll over,” he repeated. “Now.”
JJ’s chest rose and fell, slow and shaky. He turned onto his stomach. The sheet slipped low. His hips followed. And there it was; the faint pink bloom across his ass from last night, faded at the edges but still warm-looking. Rafe inhaled like he’d been punched. “Christ,” he whispered.
JJ buried his face again. “Stop staring.”
“No.”
Rafe rested a hand on one cheek, thumb brushing the line of colour. JJ sucked in a breath, startled by the tenderness. “Hurts?” Rafe asked. JJ nodded into the pillow. “Good,” Rafe murmured. “Means you’ll feel me.” JJ’s exhale trembled.
Rafe wasn’t brutal, he wasn’t even rough. But he wasn’t soft either. He slid JJ’s knees apart slowly. Lowered himself over JJ’s back. Let JJ feel the weight of him, the intent, the hunger. This wasn’t a punishment. This wasn’t Daddy mode. This wasn’t a scene.
This was Rafe waking up wanting him. Wanting him sore. Wanting to use the echo of last night’s marks without adding to them. “Hold the pillow,” Rafe murmured. JJ grabbed it with both hands, already shaking. “Rafe…”
“I’ve got you,” he said, voice dipping lower. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just… going to take what I need.” JJ whimpered into the pillow at that- helpless and flustered and turned on as hell. Rafe kissed the back of his neck. Then his shoulder. Then the faintest kiss to the top of his spine.
And then he was moving, slow, deep, deliberate, just enough pressure to make JJ gasp, not enough to make him flinch. JJ clutched the pillow tighter. “Oh my god…” Rafe held his hips steady, thumbs tracing circles over the edges of the bruised skin. “You feel that?” he whispered. JJ nodded frantically.
“That’s from last night,” Rafe murmured. “And I get to enjoy it today.” JJ’s whole body shuddered. Rafe pressed his forehead to JJ’s shoulder. “This feeds something in my head,” he breathed. “Seeing you like this. Taking you like this. You okay with that?”
JJ’s answer wasn’t a word. It was a desperate, needy sound that made Rafe grip him harder. “Good,” Rafe whispered. He didn’t last long, he hadn’t expected to, but the way JJ shook under him, the way he arched, the way his breath kept breaking… it was enough to push him right to the edge. When it was over, Rafe stayed on him a moment, breathing hard against JJ’s skin.
Then he eased off, careful, gentle, stroking JJ’s hip as if he hadn’t just lit him up from the inside. JJ rolled sideways slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes half-closed, wrecked in the softest way. “That was mean,” he said weakly. Rafe kissed him, quick and claiming. “You loved it.” JJ glared. Then smiled. Then pulled Rafe closer. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”
Rafe smirked and tucked the sheet over them both. “Good. Because next time you brat about Daddy mode again, that’s what you’re getting.” JJ squeaked. “What do you mean next time-” But Rafe just pulled him in, kissed his forehead, and lay back with JJ stretched across his chest, content in a way that buzzed all the way through him.
Their darker scenes, their heavy play- all of it could wait. This morning? This was enough.
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