The first thing Ethan noticed about his new roommate wasn't the guitar slung against the wall or the books stacked unevenly on the shelf. It was the silver handcuffs clipped carelessly to the bedpost.
"Nice accessory," Ethan said with a raised brow as he set his duffel down. The guy barely looked up.
Ryder was tall, inked across his forearm, and wore a smirk that made everything he said feel like a dare. "They're not for decoration," he replied, tossing his hoodie on the back of a chair. "Unless you want them to be."
Ethan pretended to scoff. "Kinky."
Ryder's eyes flicked up, locking with Ethan's for just a second too long. "Only if you ask nicely."
That first week passed in a blur of syllabus packets, cheap cafeteria coffee, and stolen glances. Ethan didn't know why he kept noticing things. How Ryder always slept shirtless, the way he bit his lip when focusing on homework, or how his voice dropped when he said Ethan's name.
They weren't friends not exactly. But there was something between them. Something unsaid. Unnamed.
And Ethan couldn't stop thinking about those handcuffs.
It was Friday night when everything shifted.
The campus buzzed with parties, music bleeding from every dorm. But Ethan had stayed in, pretending to study while Ryder sat on his bed, flipping through some worn paperback with a whiskey bottle between his legs.
"You've been staring at those pages for twenty minutes," Ryder muttered without looking up. "Is it the book, or are you thinking about the cuffs?"
Ethan froze. Ryder grinned, like he'd been waiting for that exact reaction.
"You're not subtle," Ryder added, tossing the book aside. "You're curious."
Ethan swallowed hard. "And if I am?"
Ryder stood. He moved slowly, like a predator who knew his prey wouldn't run. "Then you should stop wondering."
Before Ethan could speak, Ryder reached behind him and unclipped the cuffs from the bedpost. They dangled between his fingers with a metallic promise.
"You ever been cuffed, Ethan?"
Ethan shook his head.
Ryder's voice dipped. "Want to be?"
He should've said no. He should've turned and walked out. But instead, Ethan nodded once, twice, his pulse loud in his ears.
Ryder crossed the room, unhurried. He stopped in front of Ethan, eyes searching his face. "Safe word?"
"Sunflower," Ethan said, heart racing.
Ryder smiled. "Cute. Hands?"
Ethan offered them.
The cold bite of steel was sharp at first. Then thrilling. Ryder clicked them shut, tested the resistance, then looked Ethan square in the eye.
"You're not scared."
Ethan's voice was hoarse. "Should I be?"
Ryder stepped closer. "Only if I decide to be cruel."
The tension stretched like pulled silk.
Ryder didn't touch him at first, he just watched. Circled. Teased Ethan with every glance, every inch of distance closed and opened again. And Ethan felt stripped. Not of clothing, but of control. Of masks. Of expectations.
"You like this," Ryder murmured as he brushed past Ethan's shoulder.
Ethan didn't deny it. He couldn't.
Every second was electric the clink of the cuffs, the warmth of Ryder's body nearby, the soft drag of breath across his neck. Ryder wasn't in a rush, and that made it worse. Or better. Ethan wasn't sure anymore.
Then Ryder's fingers grazed Ethan's jaw. Not demanding. Just there. Present. The touch was light, reverent even, but it stole Ethan's breath more than anything else had.
"You're shaking," Ryder whispered.
"I don't want you to stop."
Ryder exhaled slowly, lips barely brushing Ethan's temple. "Then I won't."
What followed wasn't just physical.
It was emotional unraveling. It was secrets bleeding out between touches and murmured breath. Ryder never pushed, but he knew how to pull. How to look at Ethan like he saw straight through the walls he'd built.
When Ryder finally kissed him, it wasn't lust that hit hardest.
It was relief.
It was surrender.
Ethan melted into it, cuffed hands behind him, chest pressed tight to Ryder's. His body burned with need, yes but deeper than that, he felt safe in his vulnerability. Ryder didn't rush the moment. He explored it, slow and sure, like they had all night.
And maybe they did.
Later, when the cuffs came off and Ethan sank onto the bed, dizzy with sensation and softness, Ryder joined him. No jokes. No games.
Just silence.
And the weight of something real, settling between them.
Ethan glanced sideways. "Is this a one-time thing?"
Ryder shrugged. "Do you want it to be?"
Ethan looked at the discarded cuffs, then at Ryder's eyes no longer teasing, but thoughtful.
"No," he said softly. "I don't."
Ryder reached over, threading their fingers together. "Then we'll figure it out."