***
3 months later!
The penthouse felt different now. Warmer. Leo traced the condensation on his coffee mug, watching David move through the sleek kitchen. Three months since that shattered night, since Thorne's violence and Leo's desperate flight ended here. Three months of quiet rebuilding. Thorne hadn't surfaced – no calls, no threats, just a chilling silence that hung over the city like smog. Leo had left the mansion's suffocating dread behind permanently, trading it for the cool, minimalist luxury of David's penthouse sanctuary. It wasn't just shelter; it was a shared orbit, a secret rhythm built on unspoken understanding and the profound intimacy forged in trauma's aftermath.
They knew each other now. Knew the way David's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly when stress coiled beneath his calm surface. Knew the exact cadence of Leo's breathing when nightmares threatened to pull him under. They moved around each other with a practiced ease – Leo sketching designs at the vast glass dining table while David reviewed encrypted security feeds, David's hand resting briefly on Leo's shoulder as he passed, a silent anchor. They shared meals, silences heavy with unspoken thoughts, and late-night talks bathed in city light where vulnerabilities were laid bare without judgment. The raw physical connection from Leo's arrival hadn't repeated; the urgency had bled into something deeper, quieter – a fierce protectiveness on David's part, a hard-won trust on Leo's. Sex felt secondary, almost intrusive, against the weight of what they'd survived and the fragile peace they guarded.
Tonight was different. David emerged from the bedroom, shrugging into a tailored charcoal jacket over a crisp white shirt. Leo, leaning against the kitchen counter in dark jeans and a soft navy sweater, watched him. "You ready?" David's voice was low, a familiar rumble. Leo nodded, pushing off the counter. David held out Leo's own leather jacket – the one he'd worn fleeing Thorne's mansion, now cleaned and smelling faintly of cedar. Leo slipped into it, the familiar weight settling around him like armor. David's hand lingered for a moment on his shoulder, a silent question in his grey eyes. Leo met his gaze, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. *Yes*.
The restaurant, *L'Étoile Filante*, was a world away from Burger Blitz. Nestled atop a boutique hotel, it offered panoramic views of the Strip's dazzling chaos, rendered distant and beautiful through floor-to-ceiling glass. Soft piano music wove through the murmur of conversation and the delicate clink of crystal. Leo felt a flicker of his old stage nerves – the awareness of being observed – but David's presence beside him, solid and calm, grounded him. The maître d' led them to a secluded corner table draped in crisp linen. A single white orchid bloomed in a slender vase. David pulled out Leo's chair, a gesture so old-fashioned it made Leo's throat tighten. "Two months," David murmured as they sat, his gaze sweeping the glittering vista before settling back on Leo. "Feels longer."
They ordered – seared scallops for Leo, a delicate fish dish for David. The conversation flowed easily, lighter than it had been in weeks. Leo talked about a new design idea, gesturing animatedly. David listened intently, a faint smile softening the usual sharp lines of his face. He shared a dryly humorous anecdote about a stubborn client. For a suspended hour, the shadows of Thorne, the penthouse's vigilance, even the ghost of Leo's past life, receded. They were just two men, celebrating a fragile milestone forged in fire. Leo reached across the small table, his fingers brushing the back of David's hand where it rested beside his water glass. David turned his hand, palm up, capturing Leo's fingers. His thumb traced a slow circle on Leo's knuckle, a silent affirmation in the candlelight. The world outside the glass shimmered, irrelevant.
The moment shattered with the sharp vibration of David's phone against the tablecloth. A single, insistent buzz. David's expression didn't change, but Leo felt the subtle shift – the predator instantly alert beneath the civilized veneer. He withdrew his hand slowly. David pulled the phone from his inner pocket, glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened, the faint lines around his eyes deepening. He didn't read the message aloud. He didn't need to. The look he gave Leo – a complex mix of apology, regret, and hardened resolve – said everything. The sanctuary of *L'Étoile Filante* evaporated. The hunt was back on. David's thumb hovered over the screen, his gaze already scanning the room's exits, the calculation returning to his eyes. Leo felt the familiar chill seep back in, colder now against the fading warmth of David's touch.
They settled the bill with quiet efficiency, the easy camaraderie replaced by a focused silence. The descent in the plush elevator felt oppressive. The lobby was a cavern of polished marble and hushed luxury, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low thrum of discreet activity. Leo kept pace beside David, the borrowed confidence of the evening already fraying at the edges. They were steps from the revolving doors leading to the valet stand when a voice, smooth and unnervingly familiar, cut through the ambient noise. "Leo Lust? Is that you under all that… civility?" Leo froze. The blood drained from his face. He turned slowly.
Standing before them, impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, was Silas Vance. Leo's former manager. The architect of "Leo Lust." Silas's smile was a razor blade, his eyes sweeping Leo from head to toe with predatory appraisal. He ignored David completely. "My, my. You clean up surprisingly well. Though," he added, his gaze lingering pointedly on Leo's throat, "I see you haven't entirely abandoned the… accessories." He meant the faint, silvery scar Thorne's ring had left, usually hidden by a collar. Leo's hand flew to his neck instinctively. Silas chuckled, a low, oily sound. "Still skittish. Some things never change, do they? Heard you'd vanished. Imagine my surprise finding you here, playing house with…" He finally flicked a dismissive glance at David. "...this." David didn't move, didn't speak. But the air around him crackled, a sudden, lethal stillness radiating outwards, making even Silas hesitate for a fraction of a second. The lobby's ambient sounds seemed to mute, the space narrowing to the three of them. Leo felt the old panic clawing at his throat, the ghost of Burger Blitz and a thousand degrading performances flooding back. Silas Vance was a walking reminder of everything he'd fled, a specter from the life Thorne had almost destroyed him for leaving. And now he stood between Leo and the fragile safety David represented.
David saw it all – the blood draining from Leo's face, the tremor in the hand clutching his neck, the way his body instinctively recoiled half a step back. The sheer, visceral terror that transformed Leo in an instant from someone finding his footing back into a cornered animal. That reaction, more than Silas's words, ignited something cold and furious within David. He moved with startling speed, a blur of controlled violence. Before Silas could register the threat, David's hand shot out, not to strike, but to seize. His fingers locked like steel bands into the expensive silk of Silas Vance's collar, twisting it viciously tight, hauling the man up onto his toes. Silas choked, his eyes bulging, his manicured hands flailing uselessly at David's immovable forearm. David leaned in, his voice a low, guttural rasp that carried only to Silas's ear, yet vibrated with enough menace to freeze Leo where he stood. "You look at him again," David hissed, the words sharp and deadly, "you speak his name again, you even *breathe* in his direction… I will dismantle you. Piece. By. Piece. And make you beg for the end. Do you comprehend?"
Silas gagged, his face purpling, his polished veneer utterly shattered by raw, animal fear. He managed a frantic, strangled nod, his eyes wide and terrified, fixed on David's utterly expressionless face. David held him there for a heartbeat longer, letting the promise of annihilation sink in, letting Silas feel the absolute certainty of it. Then, with a contemptuous shove, he released him. Silas stumbled backwards, gasping, clutching his ruined collar, his composure obliterated. He didn't dare look at Leo again. His gaze darted between David's icy, unreadable stare and the suddenly very interested doorman nearby. With a final, strangled sound, he turned and practically fled towards the exit, his expensive shoes slipping on the polished marble in his haste. David watched him go, his posture radiating coiled tension. He didn't look at Leo immediately, taking a slow, deliberate breath, visibly reining in the killing fury that had surged forth. The lobby felt charged, the other guests subtly averting their eyes. When David finally turned to Leo, his expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes held a fierce, protective intensity. "Come on," he said quietly, his voice rough but controlled. He placed a hand firmly, reassuringly, on Leo's lower back, guiding him towards the revolving doors and the waiting car beyond. The sanctuary had been breached, but the fortress remained.