The grand ballroom shimmered with an almost unbearable excess. Chandeliers dripped light onto impeccably dressed bodies, the air thick with perfume, cigar smoke and unspoken deals. Jake, however, saw none of it clearly. Whiskey swam in his head, each sip blurring the already hazy edges of the evening. He was here for business, of course, but the deals could wait. Tonight, oblivion beckoned.
He stumbled towards the bar, a dark, polished expanse offering salvation in a glass. "Another," he slurred to the bartender, already reaching for the bottle.
He felt, more than saw, someone slide onto the stool beside him. A presence, warm and…intriguing.
"Rough night?" a voice asked, soft, cutting through the boisterous din.
Jake turned, focusing with difficulty. The man next to him was…beautiful.Eyes the color of warm honey, framed by thick, dark lashes. He was dressed impeccably, a dark suit clinging to a slender frame, but it was the subtle nervousness in his posture that caught Jake's attention. An almost palpable shyness radiating from him.
"You have no idea," Jake managed, forcing a grin. He took a large gulp of his whiskey, the burn a welcome sensation. "Just… politics, you know?"
The younger man chuckled, a surprisingly deep sound. "Politics always makes for a long night." He offered a hand. "Sammy."
"Jake," he responded, grasping the offered hand. Sammy's grip was surprisingly strong. He lingered, holding on a beat longer than necessary. A jolt, electric and unexpected, shot through Jake's arm.
"So, Jake," Sammy began, tilting his head slightly, "what kind of politics makes a man need that much whiskey?"
Jake found himself wanting to confide, to spill the weight of his responsibilities, the endless betrayals, the constant threat that clung to him like a second skin. But something stopped him. Instead, he just shrugged. "The kind you wouldn't want to know about."
Sammy's eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. "Maybe I would."
The challenge hung in the air, laced with a potent undercurrent of something else, something far more primal. Jake felt his blood stirring, the alcohol-induced haze lifting slightly. He hadn't felt this…alive in months. Years, maybe.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You don't know what you're asking for, sweetheart."
Sammy didn't flinch. If anything, he seemed to lean in further, his gaze locked on Jake's. "I think I do," he breathed, his voice barely audible above the music.
The air crackled between them. The noise of the ballroom faded, the faces blurred into a sea of meaningless shapes. All that mattered was Sammy, his scent of sandalwood and something subtly…animalistic.
Jake ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat slicking his palms. "This isn't a game, kid."
"Who said anything about games?" Sammy countered, a playful glint in his honey-colored eyes. He reached out, his fingers tracing a line along Jake's jawline. The touch was light, tentative, yet it sent a wave of heat crashing through him.
He knew he should walk away. Sammy was young, innocent in some way Jake couldn't quite decipher. He didn't belong in Jake's world, a world of blood and shadows. But he couldn't. He was trapped, caught in Sammy's magnetic pull.
He shouldn't…but God, he wanted him.
"Come with me," Jake said, the words rough, barely a whisper. He wasn't asking.
Sammy's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a hint of surprise flashing across his features. Then, a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. "Lead the way."
Jake grabbed his hand, pulling him through the throng of bodies, oblivious to the stares they were attracting. He navigated through a maze of corridors, his only goal to get away from the prying eyes, the suffocating expectations.
He led Sammy to a private study a quiet haven tucked away from the main ballroom. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent room. He turned to Sammy, his cock already dripping with wetness.
"Show me," Jake says, his voice low and steady.
Sammy looks up from his knees, eyes wide but steady. He doesn't flinch under Jake's gaze. There's tension in the air like a violin string pulled too tight.
"Show you… what, Sir?" he asks, voice soft.
Jake moves his boot between Sammy's legs: a slow, deliberate gesture. The tall leather shines under the low light, polished to perfection. "Show me how much you want me."
A breath escapes Sammy's lips. He presses his palms into Jake's calf for balance, grounding himself as he shifts his weight, letting his hips rock forward, guided by instinct and trust.
Jake watches. The way Sammy moves isn't desperate -it's intentional. Honest.
"You don't have to say anything," Jake murmurs. "Just let me see the truth."
Sammy closes his eyes, rocking again, pressing into the toe of Jake's boot. A low sound escapes him, full of tension and longing. Jake places a hand on the back of his head-not controlling, just there, steady, present.
"That's it," Jake says. "Let yourself feel it."
There's no mockery in his tone. Only heat. Admiration. A quiet possessiveness that feels more like protection than control.
Sammy's breathing deepens as he moves, slowly, rhythmically. Jake stays still, his presence solid and grounding.
"You've been holding back all night," Jake says, thumb brushing along the edge of Sammy's jaw. "But this… this is real. This is you."
Sammy opens his eyes again-bright, glassy, vulnerable. "I want you," he whispers. "I don't want to pretend I don't."
Jake cups his face gently, lifting him just enough to see the trace of warmth spreading across his cheek. "I know. And you have me."
He tilts Sammy's chin, kisses him. It's firm but not rough. Intimate. Their mouths fit together with surprising ease, like a door unlocking.
When Jake pulls back, his hand slides to rest against Sammy's chest, feeling his heartbeat.
"Clean up, then come back to me," Jake says, voice low but kind.
Sammy nods. There's no shame in the way he bends, no command in Jake's posture-just understanding. The ritual of it, the quiet tension, is part of how they see each other: raw, wanting, and safe.
The Night Before: A Fever of Skin and Shadows
The night had been a blur of golden lights, vintage champagne, and masked faces. The gala roared behind velvet curtains-satin gowns, sharp suits, whispers, power games.
But Jake didn't remember leaving the ballroom.
He remembered heat. A corridor dimly lit. Laughter, maybe. A whisper in his ear. A hand slipping into his, pulling him somewhere private.
A hotel room? A penthouse suite?
He remembered urgency. A mouth that knew what it wanted. Fingers undoing buttons. A soft gasp against his chest. Jake's hands, rough and steady, cupping warm skin. A body under his, alive, responsive, hungry. Skin against skin. Nails-short or long? He couldn't recall. A moan, high-pitched… or low? Both?
The memory was fragmented. Nothing clear. Only touch. Only the rhythm of hips. The breathless pleading. The way his name sounded in the dark.
And how it all felt real.
Like something more than sex.
Then, sleep. Deep and dreamless.
Morning After: The Hollow Room
Jake woke to sunlight pouring in through sheer curtains, slicing across the wide bed like a blade.
His first thought: I'm alone.
The second: I don't remember.
The space beside him was cold. Sheets were still wrinkled, twisted in the vague shape of a body now long gone.
He sat up slowly. His temples throbbed from too much whiskey, but that wasn't what made his chest tight.
He scanned the room.
No clothes on the floor. No note. No scent he could place. The room had been wiped clean. Whoever they were… they left without a sound.
He dragged a hand down his face, replaying broken pieces. There'd been lips -soft? Or rough? A hand sliding down his spine. A voice, breathy, desperate. Calling him Sir. Or maybe Jake.
He didn't know if the voice had been deep or delicate. Didn't know if he'd been inside a man or a woman.
And for a man who controlled cities, bloodlines, and fates… not knowing was a kind of agony.
Who were you?
He stood, pulling on his shirt slowly. Every move made him feel heavier. As if something vital had slipped through his fingers.
It hadn't just been sex. He knew that.
It was the way it made him feel seen. Known. Unmade.
And now? Gone.
No name. No face. No gender. Just the ghost of a night that had burned too bright.
Later That Day: The Unanswered Question
Back in his office, Jake stared out the window, cigarette between his fingers.
He'd slept with someone who had given him something real and left him with nothing but questions.
Man or woman?
He didn't know.
He only knew that they had mattered.
And that he wanted, no, needed to find them.
Even if he couldn't explain why.
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