Beckett stood motionless beside the idling U-Haul, his black robe hanging open at the chest, pale skin catching the weak morning light. The truck's engine rumbled low, exhaust curling lazily into the cool air. Kota approached warily, hands in his hoodie pockets, still processing the absurd text about the eight-foot onyx crystal. Before he could even open his mouth to complain, Beckett stepped forward—smooth, silent, unnervingly close.
He leaned in without warning and sniffed. Once. Twice. A slow, deliberate inhale along the side of Kota's neck, then down toward his collarbone. Kota froze, skin prickling.
"You released sperm recently," Beckett stated, voice flat as always. His blank face showed nothing—no anger, no judgment, just clinical observation. "The scent is unmistakable. Saline undertones mixed with Theo's residual pheromones. Faint dried blood on your upper back—scratches from his nails during climax, I hypothesize. The copper trace is distinct."
Kota's stomach dropped. He hadn't even showered properly after the construction site "work" with Theo; the sweat and remnants had lingered. Heat flooded his face. "What the—"
"I am pissed," Beckett continued, expression unchanging, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. "You were instructed to abstain for peak seminal potency. The tether requires disciplined essence. Yet you spilled it into another vessel."
He tilted his head slightly. "You will not cum at all from this moment forward. No self-release. No external outlets. Your sperm belongs to the fellowship's rituals."
Kota opened his mouth to argue, but Beckett kept going in that same emotionless tone.
"Should I hide in your closet to enforce compliance? I can monitor through the slats. Remain perfectly still for hours. My presence would deter any unauthorized sperm release. Yes or no."
Kota stared at him for a long second, then shook his head hard. "No. Absolutely not. Stay the hell out of my closet."
He turned away, ignoring the rest of whatever Beckett was about to say, and walked to the back of the U-Haul. The rear doors were already open. Inside sat the black velvet couch—plush, oversized, clearly expensive—and behind it, the tall wrapped shape of the onyx crystal. Kota grabbed one end of the couch without waiting. "Let's just get this upstairs. Grab the other side."
Beckett joined him silently. Together they lifted. The couch was heavier than it looked—solid wood frame under all that velvet—but Kota's muscles, still warm from yesterday's real and improvised labor, handled most of the weight. Beckett's contribution was minimal; his slender arms trembled slightly under the load, though his face remained perfectly blank.
They maneuvered it out of the truck and across the sidewalk toward the apartment building's entrance. Neighbors glanced over but quickly looked away—Houston had seen stranger Sunday mornings. Inside the lobby, the ancient elevator waited with its scuffed doors. Kota backed in first, guiding the couch through the narrow opening while Beckett pushed from the front. The fit was tight; one of the couch's arms scraped the wall, leaving a faint black smudge on the paint.
The doors closed. The elevator lurched upward with a groan.
Beckett immediately started talking, voice steady and clinical as the car ascended.
"This sofa is multifunctional. The seat cushions detach via concealed zippers along the inner seams. Beneath them are modular compartments—three on the left, two on the right—lined with vibration-dampening foam. These can be reconfigured into a full-size bed platform. Pull the hidden lever under the right armrest; the backrest folds flat in a 180-degree rotation, supported by internal hydraulic struts rated for 450 pounds distributed load. The compartments then serve dual purpose: storage for ritual artifacts during non-sleep configurations, or extended surface area when converted. Alignment with lunar phases is optimal when the bed faces true north—magnetic north adjustment via the built-in compass in the left leg. I have already mapped the 11th floor unit's cardinal directions. The sofa will facilitate proper energy flow during congress. Additional features include hidden restraint loops sewn into the velvet piping and a waterproof underlayer for fluid containment. Efficiency rating: 92% superior to standard pull-out models due to the compartmentalized design."
Kota tuned him out completely. He stared at the glowing floor numbers—3… 4… 5—letting Beckett's endless monologue wash over him like static. The couch pressed heavy against his chest; sweat prickled along his spine again. He thought about the lie he'd sold Khalil yesterday, the freedom of the new phone, Theo's flustered hug in the car, anything except the weirdo beside him droning on about hydraulic struts and lunar alignment. The elevator smelled like old metal and faint incense drifting from Beckett's robe.
By the time the doors dinged open on the 11th floor, Kota's arms burned. They carried the couch down the short hallway to Unit 11D. Beckett produced a sleek black keycard from his robe and tapped it against the lock. The door clicked open.
The apartment was massive—an open-concept space that felt more like a loft than anything in this building. High ceilings, huge windows overlooking the alley and distant rooftops, polished concrete floors, exposed brick on one wall, and a kitchen island big enough to seat eight. Sunlight poured in, making the empty rooms look even larger. A single black velvet chaise already sat in the center like a throne, surrounded by a few small boxes of crystals.
Kota set his end of the couch down and straightened, breathing hard. A sharp pang of jealousy hit him. His own apartment was cramped—two tiny bedrooms, a kitchen you could barely turn around in, chain-link balcony barely wide enough for one chair. This place was easily three times the size. Open, airy, expensive. For a moment he imagined what it would be like to have this much space, no father breathing down his neck about every little thing.
Beckett's blank voice cut through the thought like a knife. "Focus. Jealousy disrupts vibrational harmony. Follow me back to the ground floor. The onyx monolith requires immediate transport before solar interference peaks at midday."
He turned on his heel and started walking toward the elevator without waiting, robe swishing around his ankles.
Kota exhaled, wiped sweat from his brow, and followed. They stepped back into the elevator together. The doors closed. The car began its descent.