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Lyney flopped onto his bed with an exaggerated groan, kicking off his slippers as he grabbed his phone. Sleep had been elusive for weeks now. He didn’t know what was worse—the endless nights of tossing and turning or the pitiful two hours of shut-eye he’d get before his alarm screamed him back to life. It was getting ridiculous.

Tonight, his plan was to drown himself in some ASMR videos. Maybe some whispered affirmations or the classic “gentle tapping on glass” nonsense would lull him to sleep. His search began with the usual suspects: “10 Hours of Rain on a Tin Roof” and “Whispered Stories for Sleep.” But then, he stumbled across it.

The thumbnail caught his eye—a man leaning over a washing machine, his shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, biceps bulging against rolled-up sleeves. The title read, "Fix Your Washing Machine in 10 Minutes or Less!" It wasn’t ASMR, but Lyney figured it couldn’t hurt to watch. Anything was better than lying in the dark with his own thoughts.

The man on the screen—God, where to start? His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, though a few rebellious strands fell over his forehead as he worked. His beard, slightly messy but clearly cared for, framed a face that could’ve graced magazine covers if mechanics ever got that kind of spotlight. And the shirt… oh, the shirt. It clung to him in all the right places, hugging a soft belly that Lyney found oddly endearing and biceps that could probably bench-press Lyney without breaking a sweat.

“Alright,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice that sent a shiver down Lyney’s spine. “Let’s talk about why your washing machine might be acting up.”

Lyney barely registered the words. He was too busy staring at the graying curls peeking out from the collar of the guy’s shirt. The way his hands—large, calloused, and unfairly attractive—moved with ease as he unscrewed the machine’s panel made Lyney’s breath hitch.

“See this part here?” the man said, pointing to some random gadget Lyney didn’t even know existed. “If this is loose, your machine’s gonna make that horrible banging noise. Tighten it up like so.”

Lyney watched, mesmerized. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—admiration? Curiosity? Maybe a touch of thirst he’d never admit to out loud. Whatever it was, sleep was officially out of the question.

By the time the video ended, Lyney’s cheeks were warm, and his heart was doing this weird fluttery thing. He immediately scrolled to the channel’s homepage. It was called Wriothesley’s Workshop. Classy. Practical. Hot.

“Oh no,” Lyney muttered as he clicked on another video, this one titled 'How to Replace a Car Battery Without Losing Your Mind.'

The camera angle was a little different this time, giving Lyney a perfect view of the man’s profile as he leaned over a car hood. The man—Wriothesley, apparently—pushed up his sleeves further, exposing forearms that could’ve belonged to a Greek god. Lyney almost dropped his phone.

“I don’t even own a car,” he mumbled to himself.

As Wriothesley talked about cables and terminals, Lyney found himself hanging onto every word—not because he cared about the mechanics, but because the man’s voice was like a warm blanket on a cold night.

By 3 a.m., Lyney had watched at least six videos and was no closer to falling asleep. Instead, he was Googling the channel name and wondering if Wriothesley had an Instagram.

Lyney didn’t hesitate—he opened Instagram and typed “Wriothesley’s Workshop” into the search bar. To his mild surprise and overwhelming delight, there it was: a profile with a modest following, a bio that simply read, "Mechanic. Dog lover. Occasional tea enthusiast." Classic Gen X energy.

He tapped on the profile picture—just a cropped shot of Wriothesley’s face with the same ruggedly handsome expression he wore in his videos—and began scrolling.

The feed was… well, it was exactly what Lyney had imagined. A mix of work-related posts, casual photos, and the occasional artsy shot that felt very “cool dad who’s still figuring out filters.” One post showed a sleek car engine mid-repair, with the caption, "This one was a beast to fix, but she purrs now." Another was a picture of Wriothesley crouching next to an old golden retriever, his arm slung around the dog like they were lifelong pals. The caption simply read, "Good boy." Lyney felt a pang of jealousy.

But it was the personal photos that really did him in.

First, there was a picture of Wriothesley at the beach, wearing a black tank top and swim shorts. His salt-and-pepper hair was damp, his skin sun-kissed, and his muscles… Lyney swallowed hard. His pants were suddenly uncomfortable, and he shifted awkwardly on his bed, adjusting himself with a frustrated sigh. “This is fine,” he muttered. “Totally fine. Not weird at all.”

As he scrolled further, his gaze landed on a photo of Wriothesley flanked by two women. One was a blonde with a radiant smile, the other a fair-skinned brunette with sharp features and a confident air. They all looked cozy together, like family—or worse, like they weren’t family.

Lyney’s brows knit together. Who were they? Sisters? Friends? Something more? His thumb hovered over the comment section, debating whether to do some light internet sleuthing, but he stopped himself. What was he even doing? Stalking a random mechanic’s Instagram at three in the morning because he was hot?

He groaned, flopping back onto his pillow. “Get a grip, Lyney,” he scolded himself. “He’s just a guy. A ridiculously attractive guy with a great voice and perfect forearms and—oh, come on!”

Still, he couldn’t help but return to the tank top photo, his eyes tracing every detail. The way Wriothesley’s hair curled at the ends, the slight scruff on his jaw, the way his arms looked strong but not overly defined, like someone who worked with his hands every day.

Lyney sighed again, this time more wistfully. Sleep was officially a lost cause. Instead, he opened the Instagram DM feature, stared at the blank message field for a solid minute, then exited the app entirely.

“Nope,” he said, tossing his phone onto the bed. “Absolutely not. I am not becoming that guy.”

And yet, even as he tried to close his eyes and think of something else, his mind wandered back to Wriothesley’s husky voice and the way his shirt hugged his soft belly. He groaned into his pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

The next night, Lyney was back at it again. After a long, grueling shift—he worked as a prop designer, piecing together elaborate set pieces and illusions for theater productions—he collapsed onto his couch with his laptop perched precariously on his knees. He didn’t bother turning on the lights; the glow of the screen was all he needed.

He opened YouTube, and his homepage immediately betrayed him. There it was: another Wriothesley video, the man’s familiar face staring back at him with a caption that read, “How to Fix a Leaking Sink Pipe in 15 Minutes!”

Lyney’s lips twitched into a smile. “Well, if it’s only fifteen minutes,” he muttered, clicking the video without hesitation.

As the video started, Wriothesley greeted his viewers with his usual easy-going charm, rolling up his sleeves to reveal those same unfairly attractive forearms. “Alright, folks, let’s talk about sink pipes. If yours is leaking, don’t panic—it’s an easy fix. All you need are a few basic tools and a little patience.”

Lyney leaned forward, genuinely intrigued for once. His own sink had been dripping for weeks now, and he’d been too lazy (or too cheap) to call a plumber. Maybe this would actually be useful.

Wriothesley made it look effortless. He unscrewed a pipe, wiped down some gasket thing, and replaced it with what he called “a good ol’ washer.” Lyney followed along in his head, mouthing the instructions as if he were memorizing them for a test.

After the video ended, Lyney closed his laptop and marched straight to his kitchen. Armed with a wrench and a roll of plumber’s tape he found in the back of a drawer, he crouched under the sink, muttering to himself, “If Wriothesley can do it, so can I.”

It wasn’t as smooth as Wriothesley made it look—Lyney dropped the wrench twice, got water all over his shirt, and cursed loudly enough for his downstairs neighbor to bang on the ceiling—but an hour later, the leak was gone. He stared at the now-dry pipe with a mix of pride and disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “It actually worked.”

He straightened up, wiping his hands on a dish towel as a grin spread across his face. “Thanks, Wriothesley,” he said to no one in particular, feeling oddly accomplished.

From that night on, Wriothesley’s channel became a ritual. Every evening after work, Lyney would grab a snack, settle onto his couch, and scroll through the endless library of videos. Each one was a new adventure.

There was “How to Change a Tire Without Losing Your Mind” (Again, Lyney didn’t own a car, but he watched anyway). Then came “Basic Electrical Repairs for Beginners” (Lyney was fairly certain he shouldn’t mess with his apartment’s wiring, but Wriothesley’s voice was too soothing to skip).

The best one, though, was “Common Tools Everyone Should Have at Home.” Not because Lyney cared about tools, but because Wriothesley filmed it in his garage. The camera caught glimpses of shelves lined with neatly organized boxes, a vintage motorbike in the corner, and, most importantly, Wriothesley himself in a plain gray t-shirt that clung to his chest like it was custom-made.

Lyney almost choked on his popcorn when Wriothesley casually bent over to pick up a toolbox.

“Okay, seriously,” Lyney muttered, pausing the video to collect himself. “Does this guy know what he’s doing to people? Is this intentional?!”

It was becoming a problem. A very specific, Wriothesley-shaped problem. But Lyney couldn’t stop. And honestly? He didn’t really want to.

Lyney tried to fight it. He really did. He told himself it was just an innocent fascination, maybe a little harmless crush, but it wasn’t anything serious. Except… it was starting to feel serious. Too serious.

The culmination of Wriothesley’s rugged charm, deep voice, and the casual way his shirt clung to his body had left Lyney restless, his thoughts swirling with images he couldn’t shake. He’d tried to focus on anything else—scrolling through his phone, tidying up his already pristine apartment, even attempting to sketch out new designs for his props—but nothing worked.

Eventually, he gave up. Flopping face-first onto his bed, he buried his face in his pillow with a frustrated groan. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

But the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He could see Wriothesley so clearly in his mind—the way his hands flexed when gripping a wrench, the rough timbre of his voice as he explained mechanical terms Lyney didn’t understand, the stray curl that fell across his forehead no matter how neatly he combed his hair.

Lyney rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Why does he have to be so—so—” He couldn’t even finish the thought. It felt absurd to say it out loud, even in the privacy of his own room.

Before he realized it, his hips were moving against the mattress, searching for some kind of relief from the tension coiling in his gut. He tried to stop, but his body wasn’t listening. The thought of Wriothesley—his broad shoulders, his easy smile, his strong hands—was too much.

“Oh, fuck,” Lyney whined, pressing his face into the pillow to muffle the sounds escaping him. His breaths were shallow, his thighs clenching as he rocked harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through him. “Wriothesley,” he groaned, the name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

His mind raced with fantasies: Wriothesley’s hands gripping his waist, his voice low and teasing as he whispered into Lyney’s ear. The thought made Lyney’s breath hitch, his hips moving faster against the pillow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, the words tumbling out in a desperate, breathy chant.

Every muscle in his body tensed as he reached the edge, his movements becoming frantic. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, muffling the guttural moan that escaped as pleasure washed over him in waves.

For a moment, all he could do was lie there, panting, his body trembling from the intensity of his release. Reality slowly seeped back in, and with it, a heavy dose of shame.

“Great,” Lyney muttered, rolling onto his side and glaring at the wall. “Now I’m really not going to be able to look at his videos the same way.”

But even as he said it, his fingers itched to grab his phone again, to see if Wriothesley had uploaded anything new.

A few days later, Lyney was back to his usual post-shift routine: sprawled on his couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, a bowl of popcorn precariously perched beside him. He opened YouTube and, as if the algorithm was conspiring against him, a notification popped up: "Wriothesley’s Workshop uploaded a new video: Fixing Things On a Budget – For When You’re Broke."

Lyney’s finger hovered over the play button. He knew this was a bad idea—his obsession had only grown over the past few days, and he was still reeling from the last time he let his mind wander too far. But curiosity, mixed with a masochistic desire, got the better of him.

The video started like always, with Wriothesley’s rich, gravelly voice greeting his audience. “Alright, folks, today we’re diving into some low-budget fixes. Because, let’s be honest, not all of us have cash to throw at fancy tools or new appliances.”

The camera wasn’t on his face this time. Instead, it focused on his hands, calloused yet steady, working with precision as he assembled a simple, makeshift repair. He was demonstrating how to patch up a broken cabinet hinge using nothing more than a paperclip and some duct tape.

It should’ve been boring. Normal, even. But Lyney was anything but normal when it came to Wriothesley.

The way those thick fingers moved—deftly twisting the paperclip into shape, pressing the tape firmly into place—had Lyney biting his lip. His mind betrayed him almost instantly, conjuring images that made his cheeks burn.

He imagined those hands on him, gripping his hips, sliding down his sides. He could almost feel the weight of those fingers pressing against his skin, teasing him, stretching him. Lyney’s breath hitched as he stared at the screen, completely enraptured.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. The video continued, Wriothesley’s voice a steady hum in the background, but Lyney could hardly focus on the words. His imagination had run wild, filling in the gaps with fantasies that left him squirming on the couch.

At one point, Wriothesley chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Lyney’s spine. “Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best ones,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

Lyney let out a shaky breath, his face burning. “Why does he have to sound like that?” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the actual repair, but it was no use. All he could see were those hands—rough, capable, and entirely too enticing.

By the time the video ended, Lyney was a mess. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, and his mind filled with thoughts he’d never dare to say out loud.

He slammed his laptop shut, throwing his head back against the couch with a frustrated sigh. “I need help,” he muttered, covering his face with his hands.

But even as he said it, he knew he’d be back. Wriothesley’s next upload was only a matter of time, and Lyney had no intention of resisting.

A few days later, Lyney found himself scrolling through Instagram during his lunch break. It was an effort to distract himself from the fact that he’d been thinking about Wriothesley’s hands for three days straight. His feed was full of the usual: friends posting blurry selfies, influencers showing off overpriced clothes, and ads for things he didn’t need.

And then he saw it.

Wriothesley had posted a new photo.

Lyney’s thumb hovered over the screen as his heart skipped a beat. Against his better judgment, he tapped the image to enlarge it.

It was a clumsy selfie, the kind that looked like it had been taken hastily and without much thought. Wriothesley was in the foreground, his face partially visible, the salt-and-pepper strands of his hair looking slightly tousled. His expression was relaxed, a soft smile playing on his lips that sent a wave of warmth through Lyney.

But it wasn’t just Wriothesley in the picture.

The photo was of a cozy Christmas dinner table, complete with a roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the festive trimmings. Fairy lights twinkled in the background, and two familiar women were seated across the table.

Lyney recognized them immediately: the blonde and the fair-skinned brunette from Wriothesley’s earlier posts. They were smiling brightly, leaning close to each other as they held hands on the table.

Lyney’s stomach twisted. His eyes darted between the women and Wriothesley’s caption: “Merry Christmas in advance from my little family to yours!”

“Little family?” Lyney muttered, his brows knitting together. His thumb hovered over the screen as he stared at the image, scrutinizing every detail.

The blonde woman had her hair styled in loose waves, her smile warm and radiant. The brunette, with her fair skin and sharp features, had a quiet elegance about her. They looked… happy. And together.

“Are they… his family?” Lyney asked the empty room, frowning. His mind immediately went into overdrive, piecing together scenarios. Were they friends? Sisters? Or something else entirely? Did they live in another state? Maybe that was why they celebrated early.

The fact that the women were holding hands made his stomach clench uncomfortably. The way Wriothesley had called them his “little family” only added to the confusion.

And why did it bother him so much?

Lyney set his phone down on the table, staring at it like it had personally offended him. He crossed his arms, chewing on his bottom lip as jealousy simmered just beneath the surface.

“It’s none of your business,” he told himself firmly. “You don’t even know him. He’s just some guy on the internet.”

But the words felt hollow. Because deep down, Lyney knew it wasn’t just that. Wriothesley wasn’t just “some guy” anymore.

He sighed, grabbing his phone again to look at the photo one more time. He couldn’t help it—his eyes were drawn back to Wriothesley, to the way his broad shoulders framed the shot, to the subtle lines of his face, to the little crinkle at the corner of his eye as he smiled.

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” Lyney muttered, shutting off his phone and leaning back in his chair. He was in deep, and there was no digging himself out now.

Lyney hated Christmas shopping. The crowded aisles, the incessant holiday music, the pressure to find the “perfect” gifts—it was all a nightmare. But he couldn’t avoid it forever, and with only a couple of days left until Christmas, he’d reluctantly dragged himself to the nearest grocery store.

He was scanning the aisle for pre-packaged cookies when fate decided to ruin him.

There, in the frozen section, stood Wriothesley.

Lyney almost dropped the basket in his hand. Time seemed to slow as his brain registered the sight before him. Wriothesley was standing in front of the open freezer, his broad frame making the cold air look warm and inviting. He was staring intently at the shelves, his thick brows furrowed, the gears in his head almost visibly turning as he debated between two packages in his hands.

One was a bag of chicken legs. The other, chicken wings.

Lyney’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t ready for this. Seeing Wriothesley through a screen was one thing—he could admire him from a safe distance, far removed from any potential embarrassment. But this? This was too real.

He ducked behind a nearby display of holiday-themed ice cream, peeking out like a criminal casing a joint. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure the entire store could hear it.

“What is he doing here?” Lyney whispered to himself, his voice frantic. He glanced at the chicken in Wriothesley’s hands, as if that would answer the question. Of course he’s here—he’s grocery shopping like a normal person, because he is a normal person. But that didn’t make it any easier to process.

Wriothesley scratched the back of his neck, his sleeves riding up just enough to reveal a hint of his forearm. Lyney had to bite his lip to keep from making an undignified sound. He was wearing a simple jacket and jeans, nothing remarkable, but somehow he looked better than any man had a right to in such basic clothing.

Lyney’s internal monologue spiraled out of control. Why does he look so good in jeans? Why does he care so much about chicken? Oh God, I hope he doesn’t see me. Wait, no, maybe I want him to see me? No, that’s a terrible idea. What would I even say?

Before Lyney could decide whether to flee or face his fate, Wriothesley moved. He set the wings back on the shelf, holding onto the chicken legs with a triumphant nod. Lyney couldn’t help but admire the way his expression shifted—serious deliberation melting into quiet satisfaction.

And then, as if the universe wanted to make things worse, Wriothesley turned his head.

Lyney froze.

For a horrifying moment, he thought Wriothesley’s icy blue eyes had locked onto his. But no—he was just glancing around, completely unaware of Lyney’s panicked presence.

Lyney ducked lower behind the ice cream display, clutching his basket like it was a lifeline. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty, and he was pretty sure he was about to spontaneously combust.

“This was a mistake,” he whispered to himself, wishing he could disappear. But despite his mortification, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Something about Wriothesley—his casual ease, his quiet confidence—kept him rooted to the spot, no matter how much his brain screamed at him to run.

He peeked out again, watching as Wriothesley tossed the chicken legs into his cart and began pushing it toward the checkout line. Lyney let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him as the man disappeared from view.

And yet, even as he stood there, trying to calm his nerves, a small part of him wished he’d had the courage to say something. To do something. Anything.

Instead, he was left clutching a box of holiday cookies, his face burning, and his mind replaying the image of Wriothesley debating over chicken like it was the most important decision in the world.

After an agonizing eternity navigating the Christmas chaos, Lyney had finally checked out and was making his way to the subway station. His arms throbbed under the weight of the paper grocery bags, and the straps were digging into his fingers, threatening to rip through them entirely. All he wanted was to get home, flop onto the couch, and eat something sweet to soothe his bruised ego.

But fate had other plans.

As he trudged through the parking lot, muttering curses under his breath about the unfairness of life, he spotted him again.

The man was standing beside an old but sturdy-looking pickup truck, casually loading his own bags into the bed. Lyney stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding all over again. This wasn’t a coincidence—this was the universe challenging him.

Lyney’s grip on his bags tightened, the throbbing in his hands barely registering anymore as adrenaline surged through him. For a moment, he stood there, frozen, debating whether to approach or flee. Then, without fully thinking it through, he unhooked the paper bags from his aching fingers, setting them down on the ground.

It was now or never.

With a deep breath, he marched over to Wriothesley, his mind racing. What was he going to say? How was he going to say it? Was he about to make a complete fool of himself? Absolutely. But he couldn’t back down now.

“Uh, hi!” Lyney blurted out, startling even himself.

Wriothesley turned, his blue eyes meeting Lyney’s, and Lyney’s breath hitched. Up close, the man was even more devastatingly handsome, the kind of rugged charm that could make anyone weak in the knees.

“I—I’m Lyney,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I’m a big fan. Actually.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback but not unkind. “A fan?” he asked, his voice rich and husky, the kind of voice that could read a grocery list and still sound like poetry.

“Yes! Uh, your YouTube channel,” Lyney clarified, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I watch your videos all the time. The, uh, the washing machine tutorial? Genius. And the sink pipe thing? Saved my life. Literally. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it. And—and your Instagram! It’s so cool. I mean, the dogs? Adorable. And—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Wriothesley interrupted, holding up a hand as a hearty laugh rumbled out of him. “Slow down there, kid. You’re gonna pass out if you keep talking like that.”

Lyney’s face turned crimson. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his shoes. “I’m just… I didn’t think I’d ever actually meet you in person.”

Wriothesley smiled, his expression softening as he reached out and clapped a large, warm hand on Lyney’s back. The touch sent a shiver down Lyney’s spine, the weight of it both grounding and electrifying.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lyney,” Wriothesley said, his hand lingering on Lyney’s back just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m glad the videos helped. That’s what they’re there for, after all.”

Lyney nodded, his brain short-circuiting from the proximity and the sheer warmth radiating from Wriothesley. He smelled like cedarwood and a faint hint of motor oil, a combination that was unexpectedly intoxicating.

“I, uh, should let you get back to your shopping,” Lyney mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place.

Wriothesley chuckled again, the sound rich and inviting. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve made my day, honestly. It’s not every day someone says they’re a ‘big fan’ of a guy fixing washing machines on YouTube.”

Lyney couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Well, you make it look… really good,” he admitted, then immediately wanted to slap himself for how that sounded.

But Wriothesley didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave Lyney’s back one final pat before stepping back toward his truck.

“Take care, Lyney,” he said, his voice warm. “And happy holidays.”

“You too,” Lyney managed to say, his heart pounding as he watched Wriothesley climb into the driver’s seat.

As the truck pulled out of the parking lot, Lyney stood there, dumbfounded, the lingering warmth of Wriothesley’s hand still burning on his back.

He finally remembered his abandoned grocery bags and picked them up, a giddy grin spreading across his face. This was, without a doubt, the best Christmas shopping trip he’d ever had.

Lyney stumbled into his apartment, kicking the door shut with a little too much force. His bags were unceremoniously dumped onto the floor, a few precariously balanced cans rolling out and clinking against the tile. He couldn’t be bothered to care. His thoughts were elsewhere—dangerously, wickedly elsewhere.

The moment Wriothesley’s voice replayed in his head, rich and deep, a delicious chill ran down Lyney’s spine. That hearty laugh, the way his hand lingered on Lyney’s back, the faint scent of cedarwood and motor oil—it all came rushing back like a tidal wave.

“God, what is wrong with me?” Lyney groaned, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to the bedroom. His entire body felt like it was on fire, his skin buzzing with pent-up energy he didn’t know how to handle.

Before he could think twice, he collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow as his hips instinctively pressed against it. His breathing was ragged, each exhale shaky as his imagination spiraled out of control.

He could hear Wriothesley’s voice in his mind, low and teasing, saying things that made Lyney’s stomach flip and his body tremble. “What do you want, Lyney?” the imaginary Wriothesley murmured, his tone dark and edged with humor. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

Lyney whimpered, his back arching as his hand slipped down, his fingers moving with an almost frantic urgency. He was a mess, a desperate mess, his pillow barely muffling the noises spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, Wriothesley,” he gasped, his voice muffled but still audible. His hips moved in rhythm with his thoughts, grinding against the pillow as if it were Wriothesley himself. He imagined those large, calloused hands gripping his hips, that rough voice whispering filthy promises into his ear.

His free hand clenched the sheets, his head spinning with images of Wriothesley pinning him down, that broad chest pressing against his back, those strong fingers stretching him as he begged for more.

“Please,” Lyney whined, his voice high and breathless. “More… oh God, more.”

It was overwhelming—the heat, the pressure, the sheer want. He was caught between shame and need, his mind unable to think of anything but Wriothesley. The man’s voice, his hands, the way his shirt hugged his chest, the soft curve of his belly—it all drove Lyney to the brink of madness.

His body trembled, his heart racing as he buried his face deeper into the pillow, muffling the sounds of his desperation. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but imagine Wriothesley’s voice, Wriothesley’s hands, Wriothesley’s everything.

And when he finally reached his breaking point, it was with Wriothesley’s name falling from his lips, a soft, breathless cry that echoed in the silence of his empty apartment.

Lyney lay there for a long moment afterward, his body limp and his mind hazy. The reality of what he’d just done began to sink in, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he groaned into the pillow.

“I’m so screwed,” he muttered, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his heart still racing.

But even as embarrassment threatened to consume him, a small, secretive smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Screwed? Definitely.

But he wasn’t sure he cared.

Lyney woke up the next morning still riding the high of his grocery store encounter with Wriothesley. His mind replayed every detail like a favorite scene from a movie—the way Wriothesley’s laugh had sounded, the weight of his hand on Lyney’s back, and that lingering, gentle warmth that seemed to radiate from him. It was enough to make Lyney grin into his coffee like a lovesick fool.

When he got home from work later that evening, he immediately refreshed Wriothesley’s YouTube page, hoping for a new video. The second he saw the bright thumbnail pop up, excitement coursed through him. It was titled: “How to Winterize Your Pipes—Simple Tips to Avoid Frozen Disasters!”

Lyney hit play faster than his brain could catch up.

Wriothesley’s face filled the screen, and Lyney’s stomach did that stupid little flip again. The man looked as effortlessly rugged as ever—salt-and-pepper hair combed back, a few rebellious strands falling onto his forehead, and his stubble looking a touch heavier today. He wore a gray thermal shirt that clung to his broad chest, and the sleeves were pushed up to reveal forearms dusted with light hair.

“Alright, folks,” Wriothesley started, his voice as deep and warm as always. “Winter’s here, and we all know what that means—frozen pipes if you’re not careful. Trust me, I’ve seen too many busted systems because people don’t take a little preventative action.”

Lyney leaned forward on his couch, practically hanging on every word. But then Wriothesley paused, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Before we get started, I’ve gotta say something. Ran into someone at the store the other day—apparently a fan of the channel.” His grin widened, a soft laugh escaping him. “You know who you are, and if you’re watching this, just wanna say thanks. You made my day.”

Lyney froze, his mouth dropping open.

Oh. My. God.

He replayed the segment, his heart beating faster each time he heard Wriothesley’s laugh and the teasing lilt in his voice. There was no mistaking it—he was talking about him.

Lyney buried his face in his hands, half mortified and half giddy. He couldn’t believe it. Wriothesley had remembered him. Mentioned him. On the channel.

For the rest of the video, Lyney tried to focus on the actual content, but his mind kept wandering back to those few seconds. Every time Wriothesley adjusted the camera or gestured toward something, Lyney’s heart fluttered all over again.

By the end of the video, Lyney had learned absolutely nothing about winterizing pipes, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was how Wriothesley had thought about him.

It wasn’t much—it was barely anything at all. But for Lyney, it was enough to keep him smiling long after the video ended.

The apartment was quiet, save for the muffled dialogue of the cheesy Christmas movie playing on Lyney’s old TV. It was one of those overly saccharine plots where the big-city workaholic fell for a small-town baker in flannel—and Lyney couldn’t bring himself to turn it off, no matter how cringe-worthy it got.

He sat cross-legged on the couch, cradling a bowl of chicken rice he’d thrown together earlier. The food was warm, but the emptiness of the apartment seemed to dull its comfort. His siblings had their own lives now—Lynette was with her girlfriend for the holidays, and Freminet was staying with some university friends to avoid the hassle of holiday travel. Lyney didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but it left him alone in a way he wasn’t quite used to.

He brought a spoonful of rice to his mouth, chewing slowly as the movie reached its inevitable climax. The baker had just confessed her love under a string of fairy lights in the snow, and the workaholic was about to quit their big city job for love. Typical.

Lyney sighed, setting the bowl on the coffee table and slumping back into the cushions. “This is pathetic,” he muttered to himself. “Watching bad movies alone on Christmas. What’s next, talking to my plants?”

His phone buzzed on the table, and Lyney reached for it, expecting a holiday greeting from Lynette or maybe a belated message from Freminet. Instead, it was a notification from Instagram.

wriosworkshop uploaded a new photo.

Lyney’s heart skipped a beat. His thumb hovered over the notification for half a second before he tapped it, the app opening to reveal the new post.

It was a picture of a dinner table, decorated modestly but charmingly with a green-and-red tablecloth and a few lit candles. Plates of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans sat neatly arranged, along with a bottle of wine in the background. The caption read:

“Merry Christmas, everyone. Hope it’s a warm one.”

Lyney’s chest tightened as he stared at the photo. There were no people in this one—no women, specifically—just the quiet simplicity of a home-cooked meal. He wondered if Wriothesley had made it himself, imagining the man bustling around his kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hair falling into his eyes as he worked.

It felt so… intimate.

Lyney leaned back into the couch, his fingers lingering over the screen as he reread the caption. It was such a small thing, but it tugged at something inside him.

Setting the phone down, Lyney glanced at his half-eaten bowl of chicken rice and the garish Christmas romance still playing on the TV. He sighed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a rueful smile.

“Guess we’re both spending Christmas alone,” he murmured to himself.

The thought was oddly comforting.

Lyney picked the phone back up, and hesitated before double-tapping the photo on Wriothesley’s Instagram. He stared at the red heart that appeared on the post, his finger hovering over the screen as if he could take it back. But it was too late now, and besides, it wasn’t like Wriothesley would notice one little like among all the others.

Right?

To distract himself from spiraling, Lyney picked up his bowl and tried to focus on finishing his chicken rice. The movie had moved on to its obligatory conflict—someone had misinterpreted a snowball fight as flirting with the wrong person, and feelings were hurt. Typical.

He was just about to turn the TV off and call it a night when his phone buzzed. Lyney froze, setting his bowl down carefully before snatching up the device. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the notification.

wriosworkshop started following you.

“Holy—” Lyney’s voice caught in his throat, his eyes wide as he stared at the screen. He blinked a few times, wondering if he’d imagined it, but no—it was real. Wriothesley had actually followed him.

His hands trembled slightly as he tapped into the notification, pulling up Wriothesley’s profile to confirm it. Sure enough, Wriothesley’s name now appeared on his list of followers.

And then he saw it.

wriosworkshop liked your photo.

It was the only post on Lyney’s account—a candid shot of him with Lynette and Freminet from last summer. They were at some outdoor café, all three of them smiling despite the sweltering heat. Freminet looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Lynette was mid-eye-roll, but Lyney remembered how happy they’d all been that day.

Now, though, all he could think about was Wriothesley saw this.

Lyney flopped back onto the couch, holding his phone to his chest as if it might explode. “He liked my photo,” he whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it less surreal.

His heart wouldn’t stop racing, and a smile crept across his face, impossible to suppress. For the first time all day, the loneliness of Christmas faded into the background, replaced by a giddy, fluttering warmth that he couldn’t quite contain.

He rolled onto his side, staring at his phone again just to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. But no—it was all still there.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Lyney murmured, grinning like an idiot.

The workshop buzzed with its usual activity—saws whirring, hammers clinking, and paintbrushes swishing as everyone worked on the latest set piece for an upcoming production. Lyney stood at his station, carefully gluing sequins onto an oversized cardboard moon. His hands moved with practiced ease, but his mind was miles away, floating in a hazy cloud of Wriothesley this, Wriothesley that.

“You’re in a good mood today.”

Lyney startled slightly, the sequins scattering across his workstation. He turned to see Camille, one of his coworkers, smirking at him over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I’m always in a good mood,” Lyney replied with a nonchalant shrug, though he couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face.

Camille raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but usually you’re grumpy when you’re stuck on detail work. Now you’re practically humming while gluing tiny bits of plastic. Did you win the lottery or something?”

Another coworker, Theo, chimed in as he walked by carrying a half-finished backdrop. “Nah, he’s got the look.”

“What look?” Lyney asked, feigning ignorance as his cheeks burned.

“The look of someone who’s in love,” Theo teased, setting down the backdrop and leaning against the workbench. “Come on, spill it. Who’s the lucky person?”

Lyney waved a hand dismissively, trying to focus on his sequins. “No one. You’re imagining things.”

Camille snorted. “Right. Because ‘no one’ makes you blush like that.”

Lyney groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can’t a guy just have a good day without being interrogated?”

“Not when you’re this obvious,” Theo said with a grin. “You’ve been smiling to yourself all morning. Spill it, or we’re gonna start guessing.”

“Fine!” Lyney huffed, glaring at them both. “It’s just… someone I follow on Instagram followed me back. That’s all.”

Camille’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh, so it’s someone important, then?”

Lyney hesitated. “Not really. Just… a content creator. They make videos about fixing stuff.”

“Fixing stuff?” Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. “What, like plumbing tutorials?”

“Exactly like that,” Lyney said quickly, hoping to steer the conversation away from specifics.

Camille smirked. “Let me guess. They’re hot, aren’t they?”

Lyney’s silence was all the confirmation she needed.

“Oh my god,” Camille said, laughing. “You’ve got a crush on a handyman? That’s adorable.”

“It’s not a crush,” Lyney muttered, though his ears burned bright red.

Theo grinned. “Right. And you just happen to be in the best mood ever because some random handyman followed you back on Instagram.”

“Can we please get back to work?” Lyney pleaded, grabbing another handful of sequins and focusing intently on the moon.

Camille and Theo exchanged amused looks but let it go, much to Lyney’s relief. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as he worked, his thoughts drifting back to Wriothesley’s warm laugh and the way his hands had looked in the latest video.

If this was what a silly Instagram follow could do to him, Lyney wasn’t sure he was ready to handle anything more.

Later that evening, after a long day of dodging his coworkers’ teasing, Lyney finally collapsed onto his couch with a cup of tea and his phone. He scrolled aimlessly for a bit, liking a few photos and checking messages, until a notification popped up.

Wriothesley’s Workshop uploaded a new video.

Lyney’s heart leapt. He tapped on the notification immediately, the tea forgotten on the coffee table. The video loaded, and there he was—Wriothesley, standing in what looked like his garage, wearing a snug, worn-out Henley that did unspeakable things to Lyney’s already overactive imagination.

“Hey, everyone,” Wriothesley said in that deep, gravelly voice that sent shivers down Lyney’s spine. “Today, we’re talking about some common car issues and how to fix them without spending a fortune at the mechanic.”

The camera was set up to focus on Wriothesley’s hands as he tinkered with an engine part on the workbench. His thick fingers worked methodically, grease smudging his knuckles as he explained each step with calm authority.

Lyney swallowed hard, his cheeks heating as he watched those hands flex and move. He could practically feel them—

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

But it was impossible to stop. The way Wriothesley leaned over the workbench, his shirt pulling taut against his broad chest and soft belly, made Lyney’s throat dry. His salt-and-pepper hair was messier than usual, with strands falling into his face as he concentrated, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off those forearms that could probably crush Lyney’s entire existence.

At one point, Wriothesley paused to wipe his hands on a rag and looked directly at the camera. “Now, don’t skip this part. It’s important, especially if you’re dealing with older cars.”

Lyney couldn’t focus on a single word he said. All he could think about was how Wriothesley’s lips moved, how his voice wrapped around each word like honey, how his messy beard framed that mouth so perfectly—

By the time the video ended, Lyney was a mess. He let his phone drop onto the couch beside him and groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

“This is getting out of hand,” he muttered to himself. But as much as he tried to fight it, his mind wandered back to Wriothesley, imagining those thick fingers stretching him open, that voice murmuring filthy things in his ear.

He bit his lip, his free hand trailing down his body, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I’m hopeless,” Lyney whispered, already lost in the fantasy.

Lyney writhed against the couch, frustration building as his fingers failed to replicate what he desperately craved. “Fuck—not deep enough,” he groaned, voice shaky as his hips bucked into his own hand. His imagination ran wild, painting vivid, filthy images of Wriothesley’s hands on him, stretching him, gripping him like he was something to be claimed.

He buried his face into the crook of his arm, muffling his whimpers as his body trembled. “God, just—fuck, Wriothesley,” he whined, voice breaking. It felt like he was chasing a ghost, the need for something real gnawing at him.

The weight of his own desperation made him shiver, every imagined sensation feeling simultaneously too much and not enough. He bit down on his lip, thighs shaking as he tried to press his legs tighter together, seeking some kind of relief.

His hand moved faster, his mind locked on the thought of Wriothesley hovering above him, that low voice rumbling in his ear, those rough hands gripping his hips. “Take it,” the imagined Wriothesley commanded, and Lyney practically sobbed, his body arching off the couch as he spiraled closer to release.

With a sharp cry muffled into his arm, Lyney finally broke, pleasure coursing through him as his body trembled. For a moment, he lay there, panting and utterly spent, his limbs heavy and useless.

But as the high ebbed away, reality crept back in, leaving Lyney staring at the ceiling with a mixture of satisfaction and mortification.

“This is pathetic,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.

Still, as he cleaned himself up and settled back into the couch, he couldn’t help but smile faintly. Wriothesley’s voice, face, and hands were burned into his memory now, and the idea of ever moving past this crush felt impossible.

A week later, Lyney was out running errands. He was juggling a bag of fabric swatches for a new theater project and a list of paint colors that the designer had conveniently texted him five minutes after he’d left the store.

The winter chill nipped at his cheeks as he walked down the street, muttering to himself about deadlines and his aching fingers from working late on stage props. As he turned the corner toward the hardware store, his stomach dropped.

There he was.

Wriothesley stood just outside the store, leaning casually against a metal display shelf stocked with discounted power tools. He was dressed in a thick, gray wool coat, but even that couldn’t hide the broadness of his shoulders. A knit scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, and his salt-and-pepper hair looked a little tousled from the wind.

Lyney froze mid-step, his brain short-circuiting as a thousand thoughts collided all at once. He debated turning around and pretending he hadn’t seen him. But before he could decide, Wriothesley’s eyes caught his.

The older man smiled—a small, warm thing that sent Lyney’s heart into a tailspin.

“Hey,” Wriothesley called out, his deep voice carrying easily over the chatter of passersby.

Lyney’s legs seemed to move on their own, carrying him forward until they were standing just a few feet apart.

“H-Hi,” Lyney stammered, clutching the bag of fabric swatches like a lifeline.

“Lyney, right?” Wriothesley said, his brow furrowing slightly in thought.

Lyney’s heart practically leaped out of his chest. He remembers my name?

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. “I didn’t think you’d… remember.”

Wriothesley chuckled, and it was low and warm, like the kind of laugh that could melt snow. “Hard to forget someone who fanboyed so hard they dropped their groceries.”

Lyney’s cheeks burned. “Right, yeah, that was… not my smoothest moment.”

Wriothesley’s gaze softened, and he gestured to the bag in Lyney’s hands. “Still carrying a lot, I see.”

“Oh, this?” Lyney laughed nervously. “Just work stuff. I, uh, build stage props and set decorations for theaters.”

“Stage props, huh?” Wriothesley’s expression brightened with genuine interest. “That’s pretty cool. Bet you’ve got a good eye for detail.”

Lyney felt like he was going to combust on the spot. Was Wriothesley flirting? Or was he just naturally this nice?

“Thanks,” Lyney managed, shifting the bag to his other hand. “So, what brings you here?”

“Needed some supplies for a project,” Wriothesley said, gesturing toward the store. “Figured I’d grab what I need before everything closes for the holidays.”

Lyney nodded, his mouth suddenly dry as he scrambled for something to say. “That’s… practical.”

God, Lyney, stop talking.

Wriothesley chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s nice running into you again. You should’ve said hi sooner.”

Lyney blinked. “I didn’t want to, you know… bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Wriothesley said, and then—because the universe clearly hated Lyney—he reached out and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “I've got a feeling that you’re good company.”

Lyney’s brain short-circuited again. All he could do was nod dumbly as Wriothesley gave him a small wave and headed into the hardware store, leaving Lyney standing there, clutching his fabric swatches and trying not to scream into the winter sky.

“Good company,” Lyney muttered to himself as he finally forced his legs to move. “I’m going to die.”

Lyney walked home in a daze, his heart pounding like a drum. He barely noticed the biting cold or the weight of the bag in his hand. All he could think about was Wriothesley—his deep laugh, the warmth in his eyes, the way his hand had rested on Lyney’s shoulder just a little too long.

And now, all Lyney could think of was pressing Wriothesley against a wall and kissing him senseless.

The image flashed through his mind with startling clarity: Wriothesley’s broad back against the cool brick of some dimly lit alley, Lyney’s hands gripping the lapels of that wool coat, pulling him down for a kiss. He imagined Wriothesley’s lips—firm and a little chapped from the winter air—parting under his, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

“God,” Lyney muttered, his cheeks flushing as he nearly walked into a lamppost.

He shook his head, trying to clear the image, but it only seemed to grow more vivid. The thought of Wriothesley’s hands—those strong, calloused hands—sliding down his back, gripping his waist, pulling him closer, made Lyney’s breath hitch.

By the time he got home, Lyney was a mess. He tossed the bag onto the counter, his hands trembling as he leaned against the kitchen sink.

“This is insane,” he whispered to himself. “I barely even know him.”

But that didn’t stop the fantasies from spiraling. He could still hear Wriothesley’s voice in his head, low and teasing, calling him good company. The way he’d smiled at Lyney, like he genuinely enjoyed their brief interaction, made Lyney’s knees weak.

He let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Lyney tried to distract himself, throwing himself into work. He spread the fabric swatches out on the dining table, scribbling notes about colors and textures, but his mind kept wandering. Every time he looked at his phone, he fought the urge to check Wriothesley’s Instagram, to see if there were any new posts or stories.

By the time evening rolled around, Lyney had given up on productivity altogether. He flopped onto the couch, his head spinning with thoughts of Wriothesley.

“Just one more interaction,” Lyney murmured to himself, staring at the ceiling. “One more encounter, and maybe I’ll finally stop obsessing.”

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. If anything, one more encounter would only make him want more.

Chapter Text

The bar was dimly lit, loud with the sound of chatter and thumping music. Lyney had been dragged there by his coworkers under the guise of team bonding, though it felt more like a trap. He was already nursing a half-empty glass of soda when his eyes scanned the room—and froze.

Wriothesley was there.

Sitting at the bar, his broad frame hunched slightly over a tumbler of amber liquid, Wriothesley looked just as good as he had in Lyney’s daydreams. Maybe better. His coat was draped over the back of his chair, leaving him in a fitted sweater that clung to his shoulders and arms in all the right ways. His hair was slightly mussed, probably from running his hands through it, and a faint shadow of stubble darkened his jaw.

Lyney’s heart skipped a beat.

The two women from Wriothesley’s Instagram were there too, dancing together on the small, crowded dance floor. They looked like they were having the time of their lives, laughing and spinning each other around. Wriothesley, however, seemed content to sit at the bar, sipping his drink with a quiet, almost contemplative expression.

Before Lyney could talk himself out of it, he slipped away from his coworkers and made his way toward the bar.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Lyney said casually as he slid onto the stool next to Wriothesley.

Wriothesley turned his head, surprise flickering in his icy blue eyes before it softened into recognition. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite fanboy.”

Lyney let out a laugh, trying not to show how much that voice affected him. “I prefer the term ‘enthusiast,’ but sure, I’ll take it.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and Lyney felt it like a spark down his spine.

“What brings you here?” Lyney asked, gesturing vaguely to the bar.

“Friends,” Wriothesley said, nodding toward the two women on the dance floor. “They insisted I get out of the house. Not usually my scene, though.”

“Neither mine,” Lyney admitted, leaning slightly closer.

As they talked, Lyney let his hand rest on the bar, fingers idly drumming against the surface. He glanced at Wriothesley’s hand, large and strong, resting next to his glass. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Lyney let his fingertips drift closer, brushing against the back of Wriothesley’s hand.

Wriothesley didn’t pull away.

Emboldened, Lyney traced a line along the bumps of the veins on Wriothesley’s hand, his touch featherlight. He pressed lightly against them, feeling the subtle pulse beneath the skin. His fingers wandered up, tracing the veins to where they disappeared under the cuff of Wriothesley’s sleeve.

All the while, Lyney kept talking, his voice smooth and casual. “So, are you the designated babysitter, or do you actually enjoy watching them dance?”

Wriothesley’s gaze flicked down to Lyney’s hand before meeting his eyes. There was a flicker of something there—amusement? Curiosity? Heat?

“I’m more of an observer,” Wriothesley said, his voice steady, though there was an edge to it now, like he was testing the waters.

Lyney smiled, his fingers lingering just below Wriothesley’s sleeve. “Observer, huh? Bet you notice a lot.”

“Maybe,” Wriothesley replied, his tone softening. “And maybe I notice when someone’s trying to distract me.”

Lyney tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Distract you? I’m just making conversation.”

Wriothesley’s lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. “Right.”

But he didn’t move his hand. If anything, the slight tension in his posture seemed to ease, as if he was letting Lyney’s touch ground him.

Lyney felt a thrill run through him. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns against Wriothesley’s skin. The man’s eyes darkened slightly, his free hand gripping his glass just a little tighter, though his voice remained calm.

“You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” Wriothesley murmured, his gaze never leaving Lyney’s.

Lyney’s smile widened. “Only when it’s worth it.”

The music shifted, the beat slowing into something sultry, with a bassline that seemed to resonate through the floor and up into their bones. The crowd on the dance floor swayed to the rhythm, the lights dimming just enough to cast the bar in soft shadows.

Lyney didn’t know if it was the song, the atmosphere, or the electric current running between him and Wriothesley, but he suddenly felt bold—bolder than he’d been a moment ago when his fingertips had danced over Wriothesley’s hand.

“So,” Lyney said, leaning in just enough that his voice didn’t have to carry over the music. “Do you ever do more than just observe?”

Wriothesley raised a brow, his lips curving into a slow, wolfish grin. “Depends on the company.”

Lyney’s pulse quickened. “And? How’s the company tonight?”

Wriothesley didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his drink, taking a slow sip as his eyes stayed locked on Lyney’s. When he set the glass down, his hand didn’t return to the bar. Instead, it came to rest on Lyney’s knee, a warm, solid weight that sent a shiver up his spine.

“I’d say it’s pretty damn good,” Wriothesley murmured.

The moment stretched, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Lyney’s gaze flicked to Wriothesley’s lips, and he didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t need to. Wriothesley noticed.

The older man shifted, turning in his seat so that their knees brushed, and Lyney swore he felt the heat of him even through the layers of fabric.

And then Wriothesley’s hand slid up, just a little, his thumb brushing over Lyney’s thigh. The touch was subtle, almost innocent, but it sent Lyney’s mind spiraling.

The song shifted into the chorus, the beat pulsing like a heartbeat, and before Lyney could overthink it, he leaned in.

Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But then Wriothesley’s hand on Lyney’s thigh tightened, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened.

Lyney’s hand came up to Wriothesley’s chest, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater as he tilted his head to press closer. Wriothesley’s other hand found its way to the back of Lyney’s neck, his fingers threading through his hair and holding him steady as their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt natural, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

The noise of the bar faded into the background. Lyney couldn’t hear the music, couldn’t hear the chatter of the crowd, couldn’t think of anything but the warmth of Wriothesley’s lips and the rough scrape of his stubble against his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Wriothesley’s hand lingered on Lyney’s neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the skin there, and Lyney’s lips tingled, already missing the contact.

“Well,” Wriothesley said, his voice a little rough, “you definitely know how to distract someone.”

Lyney grinned, breathless. “I told you—I’m only bold when it’s worth it.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound vibrating through Lyney’s chest. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Lyney leaned in again, his lips parted and inviting, but before he could close the distance, Wriothesley’s fingers pressed gently against them, halting him.

It wasn’t a harsh gesture. In fact, it was soft, almost tender. Wriothesley’s thumb brushed over Lyney’s lower lip, smearing the faint sheen left by their kiss. Lyney blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he tilted his head slightly.

“Easy, kid,” Wriothesley said, his voice low and steady, though his blue eyes held a flicker of restraint. “We’ve gotta slow down for a second.”

Lyney frowned, his brows knitting together. “Why?” he asked, though the word was muffled against Wriothesley’s fingers. He pulled back slightly, his voice clearer now. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Oh, I want to,” he admitted, his hand moving to cup Lyney’s cheek briefly before letting it fall away. “But I also don’t want to kiss someone who’s had one too many holiday cocktails and might regret this tomorrow.”

Lyney blinked again, his face heating as the realization dawned. “I’m not drunk,” he said quickly, shaking his head for emphasis.

Wriothesley arched a skeptical brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not even a little buzzed?”

“No!” Lyney insisted, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. “I’m completely sober. I only had a soda earlier. Ask my coworkers—they practically forced me to come here, but they wouldn’t let me drink because I still owe them a shift for ditching last week.”

Wriothesley studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Lyney felt his heart thud loudly in his chest under that scrutiny, and he fought the urge to squirm under the older man’s stare.

Finally, Wriothesley exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. But I had to make sure.”

Lyney let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a grin breaking across his face. “Does that mean I can—”

Wriothesley interrupted with a raised hand. “That means you can try again. If you still want to.”

Lyney didn’t waste a second. He closed the gap between them, his lips finding Wriothesley’s in a kiss that was hungrier, more assured than the first. His hands slid up to rest on Wriothesley’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as he pressed closer.

This time, Wriothesley didn’t hold back. His hands found Lyney’s waist, his grip firm but not overpowering, grounding them both as their kiss deepened. The noise of the bar faded into the background once again, leaving just the two of them, locked in a moment neither wanted to end.

When they finally broke apart for air, Wriothesley rested his forehead against Lyney’s, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. Lyney grinned, his cheeks flushed and his lips tingling.

He leaned in once again—Lyney’s tongue wrapped around Wriothesley’s, playful and enticing, before he lightly sucked on it, savoring the way it made Wriothesley’s grip on his waist tighten. He pulled back just slightly, his lips curling into a mischievous grin as he nipped at Wriothesley’s lower lip, teasing, testing.

But before he could follow through with more of his teasing, Wriothesley took control, leaning in and stealing the very breath from Lyney’s lungs. His kiss was firm, unyielding, leaving no room for games. It sent a shiver through Lyney, his knees weakening as Wriothesley’s hand slid up his back, splaying wide against the curve of his spine and pulling him flush against his chest.

Lyney gasped into the kiss, his hands fisting in the fabric of Wriothesley’s sweater with a firmer grip. He tried to regain control, but Wriothesley wasn’t having it. The older man’s tongue swept into his mouth, confident and deliberate, claiming every bit of space as his own.

The world around them dissolved further, the music and chatter of the bar barely registering. All Lyney could feel was the warmth of Wriothesley’s body, the scrape of his stubble against his soft skin, and the delicious, heady sensation of being completely overwhelmed.

Wriothesley pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over Lyney’s, their breaths mingling in the charged air between them. “Still feel like teasing me?” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver straight down Lyney’s spine.

Lyney tried to respond, but his words came out breathless, almost inaudible. “Maybe…”

Wriothesley smirked, his hand sliding down to rest at Lyney’s hip. “Careful,” he warned, his tone laced with amusement and something darker. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Lyney’s lips quirked up in a defiant smile, though his chest was heaving. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The challenge hung between them, electric and heavy. Wriothesley chuckled, his hand giving Lyney’s hip a brief, firm squeeze before he let go, stepping back just enough to keep them grounded in reality.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his icy blue eyes glinting with promise.

As the soft, rhythmic beats of a slow pop song hummed in the background, Lyney leaned into Wriothesley, his body pressing closer, his lips grazing the edge of the older man’s jawline.

“Wriothesley,” Lyney breathed, the sound of his own voice embarrassingly needy as his fingers dug into the fabric of Wriothesley’s sweater. He was rewarded with a low hum of approval from Wriothesley, whose large, steady hands moved down to grasp at Lyney’s firm ass.

The grip drew a sharp gasp from Lyney, followed by a whimper that he couldn’t suppress. His lips pressed to Wriothesley’s ear, a desperate sound escaping him as his hips instinctively shifted closer, seeking more of that grounding touch.

“You’re making quite the scene, Lyney,” Wriothesley murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though his own breathing was heavier now, his lips brushing Lyney’s temple.

Lyney’s response came in the form of a grunt, muffled against Wriothesley’s neck. “You started it,” he whispered, his tone both sulky and provocative, punctuated by the way he shifted his weight, pressing into Wriothesley’s hands.

Wriothesley’s fingers flexed, kneading the flesh through the clothes as he smirked, his head dipping so his lips hovered just above Lyney’s ear. “I’m finishing it, too,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down Lyney’s spine.

Lyney whimpered again, his head tipping back as his lips parted, his pulse racing under the intensity of Wriothesley’s touch. “That’d be only fair,” he managed, though his words lacked any real bite.

“That it is,” Wriothesley teased, his grin audible in his voice as he pulled Lyney just a fraction closer, his hands keeping him anchored, unsteady as the world around them blurred.

Lyney stole one last kiss, playful and fleeting, from the corner of Wriothesley’s lips. His grin was mischievous, a spark of triumph in his lilac eyes as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand in a show of decorum, though the gesture did nothing to hide the flush coloring his cheeks.

“See? Told you I’m a big fan,” he quipped, his tone light and teasing, though the look he gave Wriothesley was anything but innocent.

Wriothesley huffed a quiet laugh, but before Lyney could retreat fully, he reached out and pulled the younger man back in, his hand firm at the nape of Lyney’s neck as he captured his lips in another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, and filled with a quiet intensity that stole whatever retort Lyney had been about to make.

For a moment, Wriothesley let himself get lost in it—the softness of Lyney’s lips, the way the younger man leaned into him like he belonged there. Wriothesley wasn’t blind to the fact that he wasn’t exactly a typical candidate for someone like Lyney. He was older, with graying hair, a weathered face, and a body that carried its fair share of scars. He wasn’t the man you’d expect a beautiful young thing to show interest in.

But Lyney did. And Wriothesley wasn’t about to question his luck.

When the kiss finally broke, Lyney glanced toward his coworkers. Most were either too drunk to notice or preoccupied with their own conversations. His lips quirked in a conspiratorial smile as he tugged Wriothesley’s sleeve, whispering, “Come on.”

Wriothesley hesitated only for a second, sending a quick text to the two women on the dance floor before letting Lyney lead him out. Or rather, letting Lyney drag him out. The younger man moved with a determined sort of energy, and Wriothesley found himself chuckling under his breath as he let himself be pulled along.

They stumbled into Wriothesley’s apartment, the door clicking shut behind them. Lyney wasted no time, his hands sliding up Wriothesley’s chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Lyney murmured, his voice low as he pressed closer, his lips brushing the edge of Wriothesley’s jaw. “About you… ever since that first video.”

Wriothesley’s breath hitched, his hands settling at Lyney’s waist. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice rough, the corners of his mouth quirking up despite himself.

Lyney smirked, his fingers curling into Wriothesley’s sweater to pull him closer. “Mm-hmm. And now…” He leaned in, his lips grazing Wriothesley’s ear as he whispered, “I’m done fantasizing.”

The words sent a bolt of heat straight through Wriothesley, and whatever reservations he might have had dissolved in an instant. His hands tightened at Lyney’s waist, pulling the younger man against him as their lips met again, this time with a hunger neither of them cared to hold back.

Lyney's hands moved with an eagerness that made Wriothesley chuckle under his breath, though he didn’t stop the younger man. Instead, he helped, shrugging off his shirt and kicking off his shoes while Lyney fumbled with his belt, his hands shaking just slightly in his haste.

“Slow down, kid,” Wriothesley teased, his voice low and warm, though the glint in his icy blue eyes betrayed just how much he enjoyed the attention.

“I’ve been waiting too long for this,” Lyney shot back, his lilac eyes blazing as he finally tugged Wriothesley’s pants down, letting them pool at his feet. His hands were everywhere—trailing over Wriothesley’s chest, tracing the scars on his skin, sliding down his broad shoulders and arms.

And oh, how he thrived now that he could touch anything he wanted. The muscles he’d imagined, the soft layer over Wriothesley’s abdomen that he found impossibly attractive—it was all here, warm and real under his fingertips.

“Like what you see?” Wriothesley asked, his lips quirking into a smirk as his hands found Lyney’s waist once again.

Lyney’s only response was a breathless “God, yes,” before he tugged his own shirt over his head, eager to close the gap between them.

Wriothesley’s hands slid lower, gripping both of Lyney’s ass cheeks firmly, raising Lyney up as he pinned the blond to the wall, his touch both grounding and electrifying. His fingers kneaded the flesh, and the sharp inhale Lyney gave made Wriothesley chuckle.

“How pretty,” Wriothesley commented, his tone playful, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “You’ve been thinking about me railing you, haven’t you?”

“Fuck yes!” Lyney groaned, his head tipping back as he pressed himself even closer, his hands gripping Wriothesley’s shoulders as if to anchor himself. His breath hitched when Wriothesley’s short nails dug into his pale skin- most definitely leaving faint red marks Lyney would adore.

“Good,” Wriothesley murmured, his voice a low rumble against Lyney’s ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

Wriothesley arched an eyebrow as Lyney signaled to be put down, his feet lightly touching the floor again. The younger man’s pleading expression could have melted steel, his lilac eyes wide and filled with raw need.

"Can I suck you off first? Please?" Lyney asked, his voice breathless but steady, a mixture of desperation and excitement in every word.

Wriothesley let out a low, husky laugh, his hand coming up to cup Lyney’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly over his flushed cheek. “You sure, baby?” he murmured, his voice soft but edged with playful warning. “It’s gonna be hard to fit in that sweet little mouth.”

Lyney flushed even deeper at the words, biting his lip as he nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll manage,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with eagerness. “I want to.”

Wriothesley hummed, his thumb tracing along Lyney’s lower lip, pressing just enough to part them slightly. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice dropping lower as he stepped back slightly, giving Lyney the space he needed. “Let’s see how that pretty mouth of yours handles it.”

The way Lyney dropped to his knees was almost reverent, his hands already reaching out to trace over Wriothesley’s hips, his touch light and exploratory. His breath hitched as he finally came face-to-face with the very thing he’d been fantasizing about for weeks.

And oh, it was definitely going to be a challenge—but Lyney was nothing if not determined.

Lyney was eager—almost too eager. His fingers fumbled slightly as he grasped Wriothesley’s cock, his touch tentative at first, like he was testing the weight and heat of him. His lilac eyes flicked up, seeking approval, and Wriothesley couldn’t help the smirk that curved his lips.

“You’re fine, baby. Take your time,” Wriothesley murmured, his voice a low rumble, soothing and patient. His large hand rested lightly on the back of Lyney’s head, never pressing, just a steady, comforting weight that made Lyney feel grounded.

Lyney took a deep breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over Wriothesley’s length. He placed a tentative kiss against the tip, then another, his tongue flicking out to taste him. It was clumsy and hesitant, but there was a raw hunger in every movement that made Wriothesley’s jaw tighten.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Wriothesley groaned, his fingers curling just slightly in Lyney’s soft hair as he watched the younger man find his rhythm.

Lyney grew bolder with every passing second, his lips wrapping around Wriothesley as he took him in slowly, inch by inch. He gagged slightly, pulling back with a frustrated little whimper that only made the muscles of Wriothesley’s abdomen tighten.

“Easy,” Wriothesley said, his voice rough but laced with warmth. “You’re doing so good. No need to rush.”

Encouraged, Lyney tried again, his hands steadying himself on Wriothesley’s thighs as he bobbed his head, his tongue working clumsily but eagerly. Wriothesley watched him, his icy blue eyes dark with heat, his breaths coming heavier.

Every little mistake, every gag and stumble, only made Lyney more endearing—and so much hotter in Wriothesley’s eyes. The determination, the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, the quiet little moans that escaped him as he worked—it was driving Wriothesley insane.

“You’re something else,” Wriothesley murmured, his hand never pressing down but keeping its place on Lyney’s head, his thumb stroking lightly against the soft strands. “Look at you, baby. So pretty like this.”

Lyney whimpered at the praise, his movements faltering for a moment before he pushed himself further, desperate to hear more.

He moaned softly as he worked, his hand stroking what his mouth couldn’t yet take, his fingers trembling slightly with effort and determination. Wriothesley’s deep groans and murmured praise spurred him on, and after a few failed attempts, Lyney finally relaxed his throat, his body instinctively adjusting to take Wriothesley deeper.

“Fuck,” Wriothesley hissed, his hand shifting to cup Lyney’s jaw, his thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. His other hand found the swell of Lyney’s throat, his fingers splaying out to feel how it stretched and shifted to accommodate him. “Look at you, baby. Taking me so well.”

Lyney moaned around him at the touch, his lilac eyes fluttering shut as he focused on the warmth and weight pressing deeper into his mouth. Wriothesley’s palm moved gently over his throat, the sensation sending shivers down Lyney’s spine as he bobbed his head, his pace slow and steady.

“Just like that,” Wriothesley murmured, his voice thick and unsteady as he gazed down at Lyney. The sight of him—his long blonde hair falling messily around his flushed face, his pretty lips stretched so obscenely—was almost too much to handle. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Lyney’s throat tightened slightly at the praise, and Wriothesley let out a low groan, his hips twitching forward just a fraction. His touch remained gentle, though, his hand tracing the curve of Lyney’s throat with a reverence that made Lyney’s stomach flutter.

The younger man’s pace quickened slightly, his tongue pressing and swirling, his hand stroking in tandem. Wriothesley’s fingers stayed on his throat, both guiding and grounding him, the subtle pressure making Lyney feel completely consumed, completely owned.

“You’re driving me insane, Lyney,” Wriothesley growled, his voice raw and unfiltered. He tilted his head back briefly, his salt-and-pepper hair falling into his face, before looking down again to watch every sinful movement. “Can’t believe someone as gorgeous as you is doing this for me.”

Lyney didn’t falter, his determination relentless as he adjusted his pace to bring Wriothesley closer to the edge. His hands were gripping Wriothesley’s thighs now, his slender fingers digging into firm muscle as he pushed himself further, swallowing him deeper each time. The veins on Wriothesley’s cock throbbed against Lyney’s tongue, his taste already lingering in the younger man’s mouth, salty and intoxicating.

Wriothesley’s breathing turned erratic, his chest rising and falling heavily as he fought to keep control. His hand stayed firm on Lyney’s throat, his thumb grazing the corner of his mouth in silent encouragement. The sight of Lyney—so messy, so eager—made his resolve crumble with each passing second. His mouth was slick, his lips red and swollen, gliding over Wriothesley’s cock like he was made for it.

“Baby,” Wriothesley groaned, his voice hoarse as his hips jerked forward involuntarily. His fingers flexed against Lyney’s throat before sliding up to cradle his jaw, his touch firm yet tender. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m clean, but don’t swallow it, alright? Just—”

He tried to gently pull Lyney back, his other hand gripping the younger man’s shoulder to steady him, but Lyney resisted with a stubborn determination that caught Wriothesley off guard.

“Lyney,” he growled, his tone laced with both exasperation and arousal as he looked down at the younger man. Lyney’s lilac eyes flicked up to meet his, glittering with mischief and challenge, and Wriothesley cursed under his breath.

Stubborn little shit, Wriothesley thought, his lips quirking into a crooked smile despite himself. He knew, right then and there, that he was going to love this brat.

Lyney pushed forward again, his throat stretching as he took Wriothesley even deeper, the vibrations of his soft moans pushing Wriothesley to the brink. “You don’t listen, do you?” Wriothesley muttered, his hand cupping the back of Lyney’s head now, though he still didn’t press down. His grip trembled as pleasure overtook him, the sensation building rapidly.

“Fine,” Wriothesley said, his voice rough, his hips stuttering as he gave in. “You want it? Take it, baby.”

Hot cum surged into Lyney’s mouth, flooding his senses as Wriothesley came with a guttural groan. Most of it slid down Lyney’s overstretched throat, but what he couldn’t swallow pooled in his mouth, dripping from the corners of his lips. The taste was sharp, salty, and uniquely Wriothesley—exactly what Lyney had imagined countless times before, only better.

He pulled back slowly, letting Wriothesley’s cock slip free with a soft pop, his lips red and glistening. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his tongue darting out to lick away the remnants clinging to his swollen lips. His fingers traced over Wriothesley’s thighs, a silent plea for approval as he looked up through damp lashes.

Wriothesley’s gaze softened despite the lust still burning in his icy blue eyes. He chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “You’re a goddamn mess,” he said, his voice rough and filled with something dangerously close to affection.

Lyney swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as he took in what remained. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned, his cheeks flushed with exertion and pride. “You liked it, though,” he said, his voice hoarse but teasing.

Wriothesley smirked, reaching out to cradle Lyney’s flushed cheek. “Liked it? Kid, you sucked me dry.” His thumb brushed over Lyney’s lower lip, catching a stray bead of fluid before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it clean. “Stubborn little brat,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words.

Lyney’s heart fluttered, his confidence swelling as he leaned into Wriothesley’s touch. “Told you I’m your biggest fan,” he quipped, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

Wriothesley shook his head, the warmth in his gaze betraying the casual tone of his words. “You’re trouble.” His hand slid down to cup the back of Lyney’s neck, pulling him closer for a kiss that was slower, more deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that made Lyney’s knees weak.

Before Lyney could muster a reply, Wriothesley scooped him up effortlessly, one arm beneath his knees and the other supporting his back. “Let’s deal with you now,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the words spoken close to Lyney’s ear. Lyney felt the heat creep up his neck, his face burning red as Wriothesley carried him toward the bedroom.

“You don’t have to—” Lyney started, but Wriothesley silenced him with a sharp glance, his lips quirking upward.

“Not a word,” Wriothesley said, his voice husky and commanding, making Lyney shiver in anticipation.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the scent of clean linen and cedar faint in the air. Wriothesley set Lyney down gently on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He hovered over Lyney, his larger frame casting a shadow over him, his salt-and-pepper hair falling into his face as he leaned closer.

“What do you like, baby?” Wriothesley murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Lyney’s ear as he spoke. “Tell me how you want it.”

Lyney’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into the sheets beneath him. His voice was soft, almost shy despite the heat pooling in his stomach. “I—I want you to take your time,” he said, his lilac eyes meeting Wriothesley’s. “Make me feel everything.”

Wriothesley’s lips curled into a smile, his hand trailing down to rest on Lyney’s waist, his touch firm yet gentle. “Oh, I’ll make you feel everything,” he promised, his voice a deep rumble that sent sparks of anticipation through Lyney’s body. “But I’m not sure you’re ready for everything just yet.”

Lyney bit his lip, his cheeks flushing even deeper. “Try me,” he challenged, his voice trembling slightly but filled with determination.

Wriothesley chuckled, the sound vibrating through Lyney’s chest. “Oh, you’re going to be a handful,” he said, his hand sliding lower, his touch sending shivers down Lyney’s spine. “But I like a challenge.”

He grinned, his eyes tracing the blond's face as he hooked one of Lyney’s slender legs over his broad shoulder, positioning himself to take in every inch of the flushed, eager man beneath him. His gaze swept over Lyney’s quivering form, lingering on his glistening length, already leaking with desperation.

"You're so damn pretty like this," Wriothesley muttered, his big hand wrapping around Lyney’s cock. The contrast of his roughened palm against Lyney’s sensitive skin drew out sharp, uncontrollable gasps.

“Ah—no!” Lyney protested, his hips jerking against Wriothesley’s hold, his breath hitching as pleasure coursed through him. “I don’t—” He swallowed thickly, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red. “I want to come on your cock. Please.”

Wriothesley stilled, his smirk faltering for a moment as his grip loosened. A low groan escaped his throat, his pupils dilating as the words settled in. “You’re going to kill me, kid,” he muttered, his voice gravelly with desire.

Lyney’s lilac eyes shimmered, wide and pleading, his hands clutching at Wriothesley’s forearm. “Please,” he repeated, his voice trembling. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I need it, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley’s resolve crumbled. With a low growl, he released Lyney’s length, his hands trailing up to cup the younger man’s hips, steadying him. “Alright, brat,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the soft skin of Lyney’s thigh. “But you’d better hold on tight, because I’m not stopping once I start.”

Lyney nodded fervently, his breath quickening as he watched Wriothesley adjust himself, positioning his thick length against his entrance. Wriothesley pressed a kiss to the inside of Lyney’s knee before locking eyes with him, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

Lyney’s lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It won’t be,” he said, his gaze steady despite the trembling anticipation coursing through him.

Wriothesley groaned again, his grip tightening on Lyney’s hips as he began to push in, his movements slow and deliberate, ensuring Lyney felt every inch. Lyney’s head fell back against the pillows, his hands fisting the sheets as a broken moan escaped him.

Wriothesley grinned, his fangs glimmering under the lamp light, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable as he shifted Lyney’s leg higher, his palm splaying possessively against the smooth skin of Lyney’s thigh. “You want it, brat?” he growled, his voice low and intoxicating, resonating in Lyney’s very core. “Then you’re going to take it how I want to give it.”

Lyney whimpered, the sound melting into a sharp gasp as Wriothesley moved his other hand to grasp the back of Lyney’s neck, tilting his head to lock their eyes together. “Face down for me,” Wriothesley commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument but still coated in a warmth that made Lyney shiver.

Scrambling eagerly, Lyney rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows while his back arched instinctively, presenting himself. He twisted his head to glance back over his shoulder, his flushed face framed by the curtain of his tousled blonde hair. “Like this?” he asked, his voice sultry and teasing, though the tremble of his body betrayed his desperation.

“Perfect,” Wriothesley murmured, a hand dragging down Lyney’s spine, making the younger man shudder under his touch. He reached beneath him, cupping Lyney’s length with his calloused hand, stroking slowly as he aligned himself with Lyney’s entrance. “I want you loud, baby. Let me hear every little sound.”

Lyney bit his lip, a futile attempt to stifle the moan that ripped through him as Wriothesley pushed inside, inch by inch, stretching him impossibly wide. He buried his face into the pillow, but Wriothesley’s hand slipped under his jaw, pulling his head back. “None of that,” Wriothesley chastised, his grip firm but gentle. “I want to hear you.”

“Oh—fuck!” Lyney cried out, his voice muffled but loud enough to echo in the room. Wriothesley began to move, each thrust sending a ripple of pleasure coursing through Lyney’s body.

Shifting, Wriothesley pushed Lyney’s shoulders down against the mattress, his hips angling differently as he leaned over him. “Right there, huh?” Wriothesley muttered, grinning as Lyney keened, his toes curling and his nails digging into the sheets.

“Yes—God, yes!” Lyney panted, his entire body trembling as Wriothesley hit that spot again and again with ruthless precision.

But Wriothesley wasn’t done. Sliding his hands under Lyney’s hips, he pulled the younger man up, forcing him onto his knees. The new position had Lyney nearly screaming, his arms barely supporting his weight as he rocked back against Wriothesley’s unrelenting thrusts.

“Thought about this, didn’t you?” Wriothesley growled into his ear, his teeth grazing the shell as he reached down to stroke Lyney’s leaking length in time with his movements. “Dreamed about me bending you like this, making you scream my name.”

“Yes—yes, I did!” Lyney sobbed, his voice breaking as pleasure overwhelmed him. “So many times, Wriothesley. Fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” Wriothesley whispered, his voice a raspy promise. “Just giving my fan what makes him happy.”

Lyney nodded desperately, his body shivering as the words pushed him closer to the edge. Wriothesley pulled him up further, his chest pressing against Lyney’s arched back as he slammed into him harder, deeper, until Lyney’s cries became incoherent whimpers of ecstasy.

Wriothesley’s rhythm faltered just slightly as Lyney glanced over his shoulder, his lilac eyes glinting with something daring, something playful. He shifted his hips back, grinding down onto Wriothesley with a roll that made the older man groan low and guttural.

“Come on,” Lyney teased, his voice breathy but laced with mischief. “I thought you’d be rougher than this.”

Wriothesley’s hand tightened on Lyney’s hip, his lips pulling into a smirk. “Careful what you wish for, kid,” he growled, the edge in his voice making Lyney’s stomach flip.

Lyney arched his back further, tossing his head back as if presenting himself more. “I can take it. Show me what you’ve got.”

The words barely left his lips before Wriothesley gripped both of Lyney’s wrists in one hand, pinning them against the small of his back. He pressed his other palm firmly between Lyney’s shoulder blades, forcing him flat against the mattress. “You really like pushing buttons, don’t you?” Wriothesley muttered, his hips snapping forward with renewed intensity.

Lyney cried out, his voice muffled by the sheets, but the grin tugging at his lips couldn’t be missed. “Maybe,” he gasped, his thighs trembling as Wriothesley hit deeper than before. “I like seeing how far I can go.”

“You don’t know who you’re playing with,” Wriothesley rumbled, leaning down until his stubble brushed against Lyney’s ear. “You’ve got a smart mouth for someone seeming so shy.”

Lyney shivered at the word, his chest heaving. “And you’ve got a filthy mouth for someone who talks so big,” he countered, breath hitching as Wriothesley nipped at his neck, just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” Wriothesley said, his voice dropping into a husky growl. He pulled back slightly, flipping Lyney onto his back effortlessly. Lyney sprawled out beneath him, his long blonde hair fanning across the mattress, flushed and panting, but that devilish grin still played on his lips.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Lyney challenged, hooking his legs around Wriothesley’s waist and dragging him closer. His fingers trailed down Wriothesley’s chest, nails scraping lightly over scars and muscles, before gripping his shoulders.

Wriothesley chuckled, low and dangerous. “I was right, you're fucking trouble.” he muttered, leaning in and catching Lyney’s mouth in a bruising kiss, silencing any further snarky retorts.

Lyney whimpered against his lips, but his hands weren’t idle. They slid down, grazing Wriothesley’s sides before one hand disappeared between them, stroking himself shamelessly as Wriothesley rocked into him. “Bet you’ve wanted someone to mess with you like this,” Lyney whispered against Wriothesley’s mouth, his voice barely more than a breath.

“Careful,” Wriothesley warned, though his pace quickened, the tension in his jaw betraying just how much he liked Lyney’s teasing.

Lyney’s free hand slipped up to tangle in Wriothesley’s hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. “Come on, big guy,” he said, his lilac eyes dark with desire. “You can’t break me.”

Wriothesley growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing Lyney’s lower lip before he thrust deeper, dragging a choked moan from the younger man that echoed in the room. "We’ll see about that.”

Wriothesley couldn’t help but smirk at the stark contrast between the bashful boy he’d met in the parking lot and the shameless, writhing mess beneath him now. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon—only this butterfly had a sharp tongue and a body that moved like sin itself.

“Look at you,” Wriothesley muttered, his large hands gripping Lyney’s waist as he slammed into him with controlled force. “Who would’ve thought that shy little fan could turn into such a—” He cut himself off with a low groan, unable to find a word that captured just how wild Lyney was.

“A what?” Lyney gasped, his voice high and breathless as he threw a cheeky grin at him. “Go on, say it.”

Wriothesley chuckled, lifting a hand from Lyney’s hip and bringing it down in a sharp slap against his ass. The sound cracked through the room, and Lyney cried out, his back arching as he moaned into the air, nothing to cover his face or muffle his voice this time.

“You really want me to say it?” Wriothesley teased, kneading the spot he’d just smacked, his fingers pressing into the flushed skin. He leaned forward, his chest brushing against Lyney’s as his lips hovered near the shell of Lyney’s ear. “You’re a fucking tease, kid.”

Lyney’s laugh was broken by a moan as Wriothesley adjusted his angle, hitting that perfect spot again and again. “And you seem to like it,” Lyney managed, his voice choked. “Admit it.”

Another slap landed, this one just a little firmer, making Lyney jolt and whimper. “You talk too much,” Wriothesley growled, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He loved how Lyney melted into him, how shamelessly he gave in to every touch, every thrust.

“Can’t help it,” Lyney gasped, his fingers curling into the sheets as he pushed back against Wriothesley. “You bring it out of me.”

Wriothesley’s pace quickened, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room. “You’re something else,” he muttered, his hands roaming over Lyney’s sweat-slicked skin, memorizing every curve, every tremble. “Shy one minute, then this. A damn brat with a filthy mouth.”

Lyney turned his head, his lilac eyes glazed and heavy-lidded as he looked up at Wriothesley, a dazed smile playing on his kiss-swollen lips. “Mm- ah, you liked this brat though.”

Wriothesley groaned, leaning down to kiss the smirk off Lyney’s face, his thrusts never faltering. “I like shutting you up, that’s for sure,” he muttered against Lyney’s lips, earning a muffled laugh from the younger man.

Lyney’s fingers had just wrapped around his own cock, desperate for relief, when Wriothesley caught sight of the movement. Without missing a beat, he slapped Lyney’s hand away, the sharp sound echoing in the heated room.

“Ah—” Lyney gasped, his eyes darting back to meet Wriothesley’s, wide and shining with a mix of frustration and arousal.

“No,” Wriothesley growled, his voice deep and commanding as he grabbed Lyney’s wrist and pinned it to the mattress. “You don’t get to do that. You’re gonna come on my cock, only my cock.”

Lyney’s breath hitched, his body shivering at the sheer dominance in Wriothesley’s tone. He nodded quickly, his other hand clenching the sheets as he whispered, “Y-Yeah, okay. Just—please.”

Wriothesley chuckled, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. “Please, what?” he taunted, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts that drove Lyney insane with need.

“Please,” Lyney whined, his voice breaking as he arched his back, pushing against Wriothesley’s thrusts. “Please, just let me come.”

“Oh, you will,” Wriothesley promised, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he shifted his angle, slamming into Lyney’s sweet spot with unerring precision. “But not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

Lyney keened, his nails digging into the sheets as his body trembled beneath Wriothesley’s relentless pace. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he choked out, his voice barely audible over the slick sounds of their movements.

Wriothesley smirked, his free hand sliding down to grip Lyney’s hips, steadying him as he pounded into him. “Not a chance, baby,” he said, his voice rough with arousal. “You’re too much fun alive.”

Lyney couldn’t respond, his mind too far gone as he surrendered completely to the older man’s control. All he could do was moan and writhe, his body shaking with the effort to hold back his climax.

Wriothesley watched him with dark satisfaction, his own restraint hanging by a thread as he drove them both closer to the edge. “Not yet,” he murmured, his grip tightening on Lyney’s waist as he felt him tighten around him. “You wait for me, baby. We’re gonna come together.”

Lyney’s mind was a haze, each thrust from Wriothesley sending shockwaves through his trembling body. The obscene, wet sounds of Wriothesley’s heavy sack slapping against Lyney’s flushed skin echoed in the room, mingling with the desperate gasps and guttural groans between them. Lyney’s lips parted as he panted, every inch of him alight with sensation.

He drank in the sound, every slap sending a pulse of pleasure deep into his core. It was intoxicating, primal, and utterly overwhelming. “Fuck,” he whimpered, his hands clutching the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Wriothesley—oh my god—don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Wriothesley’s laugh was rough, his breath warm against Lyney’s ear as he leaned in. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” he murmured, his voice laced with raw need. “You feel too fucking good, baby.”

Lyney’s head tipped back against the pillow, his body arching to meet Wriothesley’s brutal pace. “Say it again,” he gasped, his voice shaking.

“What?” Wriothesley teased, though his own voice was hoarse as he fought to keep control. “That you feel good? Or that you’re my little baby?”

Lyney let out a whine, his legs trembling as Wriothesley hit his sweet spot again and again. “Both,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the slick, rhythmic sounds filling the room.

Wriothesley smirked, gripping Lyney’s hips tighter as he thrust even deeper, drawing out a broken cry from the younger man. “You’re my bratty little baby,” he growled, the words rolling off his tongue like a sinful promise. “And you’re gonna come so fucking hard on my cock, aren’t you?”

Lyney nodded frantically, tears prickling the corners of his eyes as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “Yes—yes, fuck, I’m so close, Wriothesley, please,” he begged, his voice cracking as he reached out to grasp Wriothesley’s broad shoulders, needing something to anchor himself.

Wriothesley leaned back just enough to take in the sight of Lyney beneath him, utterly wrecked and glistening with sweat. “Hold on for me, sweetheart,” he said, his tone softening even as his movements remained relentless. “I’m right there with you.”

Wriothesley’s pace became brutal, each thrust pushing Lyney closer to the edge, his thick cock brushing over that perfect spot again and again. Lyney’s breath hitched, his back arching so beautifully that it only spurred Wriothesley on, his large hands gripping Lyney’s hips to hold him steady as he pounded into him with everything he had left.

Lyney’s body tensed, his nails digging into Wriothesley’s shoulders as his climax hit him like a lightning strike. “Oh—fuck!” he cried out, his voice cracking as his own cum painted his stomach. His entire body trembled, the pleasure crashing through him in waves as his muscles clenched around Wriothesley’s cock.

That was all Wriothesley needed. He let out a deep, guttural groan, burying himself deep inside Lyney as he spilled, his hot come flooding Lyney’s tight heat. The sensation made Lyney shudder, every pulse of Wriothesley’s release sending aftershocks through his oversensitive body.

Wriothesley’s movements slowed, his hips rolling gently to ride out his high before he finally pulled out, his come spilling from Lyney’s stretched entrance and pooling onto the sheets. He groaned at the sight, his fingers tracing the mess with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness.

Lyney let out a soft whimper, his thighs trembling as he tried to catch his breath. “That was… insane,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and breathless, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

Wriothesley chuckled, leaning down to kiss Lyney’s temple. “You’re telling me,” he murmured, his voice still thick with arousal as he settled beside Lyney. “You’re unbelievable, butterfly.” he muttered, unaware of the greed coursing through Lyney.

Wriothesley groaned, his head leaning back against the headboard as Lyney's eager hands worked him over, not giving him a moment's respite. "Goddamn, kid," Wriothesley growled, his voice rough and shaky, "you're relentless."

Lyney smirked, his swollen lips brushing teasingly over the flushed, sensitive head of Wriothesley’s cock. "You’ve still got some for me, don’t you?" he murmured, licking the bead of precome that had already gathered at the tip. His lilac eyes sparkled with mischief as his tongue swirled around it, sucking lightly like it was his favorite treat.

Wriothesley hissed, his hands gripping the sheets to ground himself. "You’ve got too much faith in an old man," he said, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in his voice or the way his hips twitched in response to Lyney’s touch.

Lyney didn’t stop, his strokes slow but deliberate as he milked every reaction out of Wriothesley. His tongue flicked over the sensitive slit, and he chuckled softly when Wriothesley’s thighs tensed.

“Fuck—Lyney,” Wriothesley grunted, his breath hitching as Lyney’s pace picked up. He didn’t think it was possible for him to come again so soon, but Lyney was determined to prove him wrong.

When Lyney took him into his mouth again, sucking with a filthy enthusiasm, Wriothesley’s composure shattered. He groaned deeply, his hand coming to rest on the back of Lyney’s head, though he didn’t push, letting the younger man set the pace.

Lyney pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he grinned up at Wriothesley. “You taste so good,” he murmured, stroking Wriothesley’s shaft with firm, even motions. His free hand reached up to tease Wriothesley’s balls, coaxing out every last bit of sensitivity. “‘Think I'm addicted.”

Wriothesley let out a string of curses, his body trembling as he hit his third climax. "Lyney—fuck!" he growled, his release shooting out in hot spurts, most of it landing on Lyney’s flushed face and lips.

Lyney didn’t flinch, instead licking at the mess on his lips with a satisfied hum. He grinned wickedly, swiping a finger through the rest and sucking it clean. “Told you I could get more out of you,” he teased, his voice smug and breathless.

Wriothesley collapsed back against the pillows, utterly spent. “You’re insane,” he muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “But damn if I don’t admire your stamina.”

Lyney wiped his face with the back of his hand, still wearing that cocky grin. “Guess I’ll have to teach you how to keep up, old man.”

Wriothesley chuckled, reaching out to pull Lyney down beside him. “You’re trouble, baby,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to Lyney’s forehead. “But you’re my favorite type of trouble.”

As they lay tangled in the sheets, Lyney’s body still thrumming with the aftermath of pleasure, Wriothesley’s hand lazily drifted downward. His rough fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin of Lyney’s inner thigh, sending a shiver racing up his spine.

“You really don’t tire out, do you?” Wriothesley chuckled, his voice low and raspy.

Lyney hummed, his head resting against Wriothesley’s broad chest. “Not with you, apparently.” he murmured, his lilac eyes fluttering shut as he felt those calloused fingers trail closer to where he ached for more.

Wriothesley smirked at Lyney’s reaction, his fingers brushing lightly over his entrance before slipping in with practiced ease. “You were imagining this, weren’t you?” he murmured, his voice warm against Lyney’s ear. “Bet you’ve thought about my fingers just as much as you thought about my cock.”

Lyney’s breath hitched as Wriothesley crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside him that made his entire body arch. “Y-Yeah,” he admitted, his voice a shaky whisper. “I thought about it all the time. Fingered myself over and over-”

Wriothesley’s hand moved languidly, his fingers sliding in and out with a teasing rhythm that left Lyney squirming. “Just like this?” he asked, his tone darkly amused.

Lyney nodded frantically, his back arching as Wriothesley pressed deeper. “Yes,” he gasped, his fingers clutching at Wriothesley’s arm. “Just like this—fuck, even better than I imagined.”

Wriothesley chuckled, his free hand brushing over Lyney’s flushed cheek. “You’re so easy to please,” he teased, though the fondness in his voice softened the words.

Lyney whimpered as Wriothesley’s pace picked up slightly, his fingers curling perfectly to draw out soft, desperate sounds from the younger man. “Please,” Lyney whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Wriothesley murmured, his lips brushing over Lyney’s temple. “Not until I’ve made you fall apart all over again.”

Lyney moaned, his body melting against Wriothesley’s as he gave himself over completely to the sensation, letting those skillful fingers unravel him piece by piece.

Wriothesley smirked as he felt Lyney pushing back onto his fingers, desperate and pliant. “You really want more, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice like gravel as he added a third finger, then a fourth, stretching Lyney open with slow, deliberate movements.

Lyney moaned, his face buried in Wriothesley’s chest. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice trembling with need. “Please, more…”

Wriothesley’s large hand stilled for a moment, his eyes studying Lyney’s flushed face, the way his lilac eyes sparkled with unshed tears of pleasure. “You’re such a greedy little thing,” he teased, curling his fingers just enough to draw another needy sound from Lyney.

Lyney nodded shamelessly, his breath hitching as Wriothesley’s hand pressed deeper. “I can take it,” he insisted, his voice breaking slightly. “I want to feel all of you.”

Wriothesley chuckled darkly, his free hand brushing over Lyney’s trembling thigh in a soothing gesture. “You’re sure about this, baby?” he asked, his voice dipping into a husky murmur. “It’s going to feel… intense.”

Lyney swallowed hard, his fingers clutching at Wriothesley’s broad shoulders. “I’m sure,” he whispered, his hips pressing down insistently. “I want it—I want you.”

Wriothesley nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Alright, sweetheart. Just tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice softening as he worked his fingers in and out, slowly stretching Lyney further, adding more lube when he felt necessary.

Lyney whimpered as he felt Wriothesley’s knuckles pressing against his entrance, the sensation sending a rush of heat through his entire body. He relaxed as best he could, focusing on the deep, grounding tone of Wriothesley’s voice as he guided him through it.

“Good boy,” Wriothesley praised, his voice dripping with approval. “Just like that. Relax for me.”

As Wriothesley’s hand slid in deeper, Lyney let out a sharp gasp, his body tensing before slowly relaxing again. The stretch was overwhelming, but it was exactly what he wanted—what he craved.

“You’re doing so well,” Wriothesley murmured, his lips brushing over Lyney’s sweat-dampened temple. “Taking me so perfectly.”

Lyney’s breaths came in ragged pants as he adjusted to the intense fullness, his body trembling with pleasure. “I—fuck, Wrio,” he stammered, his voice a mix of desperation and bliss.

Wriothesley’s smirk deepened as he began to move, his hand working slowly but firmly, sending waves of pleasure crashing through Lyney’s trembling frame. “You’re incredible, baby,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “Absolutely perfect.”

Lyney could only moan in response, his mind lost in the overwhelming sensation as Wriothesley pushed him to the edge and beyond, unraveling him completely.

Lyney’s head fell back, his mouth open in a soundless gasp as Wriothesley’s hand stretched him further than he thought possible. It was unlike anything he had ever felt—intense, invasive, but so deeply satisfying that it bordered on addictive. His body quivered, every nerve alight with sensation, as if Wriothesley had ignited something deep inside him.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Wriothesley praised, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through Lyney’s core. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, giving Lyney time to adjust, his other hand stroking gently over Lyney’s thighs in a soothing rhythm.

Lyney whimpered, his fingers digging into Wriothesley’s broad shoulders. “It’s—fuck, it’s so much,” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling with pleasure.

Wriothesley’s lips curled into a soft, almost tender smile. “You’re amazing, Lyney,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips over Lyney’s flushed forehead. “Taking me so beautifully. I knew you’d be perfect.”

The words sent a rush of heat through Lyney, his body clenching instinctively around Wriothesley’s hand. The older man groaned, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver down Lyney’s spine.

“You like hearing that, don’t you?” Wriothesley teased, his icy blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “That you’re perfect for me.”

Lyney’s cheeks flushed deeper, his lips parting to respond, but all that escaped was a desperate moan as Wriothesley shifted his hand, the stretch sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through him.

“Wrio—” Lyney gasped, his back arching off the bed. His hands scrambled for purchase, finding their way to Wriothesley’s biceps, clutching tightly as if grounding himself. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Wriothesley interrupted gently, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’re already taking me so well. Just breathe, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

Lyney nodded shakily, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to relax. The burn eased slightly, replaced by an overwhelming fullness that made his toes curl and his vision blur.

“Good boy,” Wriothesley murmured, his free hand trailing up Lyney’s chest to brush over his racing pulse. “That’s it. Just let go.”

Lyney’s head fell back again, a broken cry tearing from his lips as Wriothesley’s movements grew more purposeful, his fingers brushing against a spot deep inside that sent stars exploding behind Lyney’s eyelids.

“Oh, fuck,” Lyney whimpered, his body trembling as he surrendered completely, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that only Wriothesley could give him.

Lyney's body shuddered violently as the waves of his orgasm overtook him, leaving him a trembling, overstimulated mess. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving, as he felt the stream of cum continue to spill from him in uncontrollable bursts. It felt endless, his body giving in entirely to the overwhelming sensation Wriothesley had wrung out of him.

Wriothesley’s gaze was locked on him, intense and filled with something almost primal. Without missing a beat, he swiped a finger through the slick mess on Lyney’s stomach, his movements deliberate. He raised the finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste, his expression darkening with approval as Lyney pathetically spurted more cum onto his stomach.

“You’re incredible,” Wriothesley said, his voice low and gravelly. His large hand returned to Lyney’s softening cock, coaxing the last remnants of his release with slow, purposeful strokes. Lyney whimpered at the overstimulation, his hands weakly swatting at Wriothesley’s arm.

“Too much,” Lyney slurred, his head lolling to the side, though his body didn’t pull away.

“Just one more,” Wriothesley murmured, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “You’ve got a little left in you, haven’t you?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but his hand didn’t let up until he felt Lyney’s body tense one final time, squeezing out the last drops.

Lyney groaned, his entire body going limp as he lay sprawled beneath Wriothesley, completely spent. His lilac eyes fluttered open, glassy with pleasure, as he gazed up at the older man.

“You’re gonna kill me, I'm sure now…” Lyney mumbled weakly, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Wriothesley chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to Lyney’s damp forehead. “Not a chance, baby. But I’m definitely going to ruin you for anyone else.”

Lyney let out a breathless laugh, his fingers curling weakly around Wriothesley’s forearm. “Pretty sure you already did.”

Wriothesley’s lips trailed down Lyney’s sweat-slicked skin, his movements unhurried but deliberate. Lyney’s body twitched beneath him, every nerve ending still tingling from the intensity of their last round.

"You've got more in you," Wriothesley murmured against Lyney’s stomach, his voice rich and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, he dipped lower, his mouth wrapping around Lyney’s spent but sensitive little cock.

Lyney gasped, his back arching off the bed as Wriothesley’s warm tongue traced every inch of him. “Fuck, Wrio—” The nickname slipped out in his daze, and Wriothesley smirked around him.

His lips sealed around Lyney’s tip, sucking gently, drawing out what little his overstimulated body could offer. An almost clear, thin stream spilled out, and Wriothesley swallowed it down without hesitation, his gaze locked on Lyney’s flushed, euphoric face.

Lyney whimpered, his hands weakly gripping the sheets as Wriothesley worked him over, taking his time to coax every last bit. The older man’s large hands held Lyney’s trembling thighs steady, his thumbs pressing soothing circles into the soft flesh.

When Lyney’s next release came, it was completely dry, his body spasming with pleasure despite having nothing left to give. His cries turned into breathless whines, his body oversensitive and trembling, yet he didn’t ask Wriothesley to stop.

“Look at you,” Wriothesley whispered, pulling back slightly, his lips glistening. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he took in Lyney’s completely wrecked state. “You’re a fucking masterpiece like this.”

Lyney let out a weak laugh, his voice hoarse. “I can’t— I have nothing left.”

Wriothesley kissed his thigh tenderly before climbing back up to lie beside him. “You did so well, baby,” he said, his tone softer now, a hand running up and down Lyney’s side. “Rest. You’ve earned it.”

Lyney curled into Wriothesley’s chest, his body exhausted but his heart thrumming with satisfaction. For the first time in ages, he felt utterly spent in the best possible way.

Lyney shifted slightly in Wriothesley’s arms, a soft wince escaping him as the soreness in his body reminded him of their earlier intensity. His ass throbbed faintly, a dull ache mingling with the pleasant haze of satisfaction that coursed through him.

Wriothesley’s broad chest rose and fell steadily beneath Lyney’s cheek, the sound of his heartbeat soothing. It felt grounding, a quiet rhythm amidst the chaos of everything they’d done. Lyney blinked slowly, fighting the drowsiness that crept in. He didn’t want to waste this moment—this rare, stolen time where he could take in Wriothesley without any barriers, without the distance of a screen or the rush of a fleeting encounter.

He tilted his head slightly, his lilac eyes tracing the strong line of Wriothesley’s jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lips parted softly in the dim light. The older man looked so at peace, so utterly relaxed, that it made Lyney’s heart ache with something he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re staring,” Wriothesley murmured, his deep voice breaking the silence. His eyes remained closed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lyney flushed, caught in the act. “Can you blame me?” he whispered back, his voice laced with a playful edge but soft enough not to break the tranquility of the moment. “I don’t get to see you like this every day.”

Wriothesley cracked one eye open, the icy blue of his gaze softened by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. “Enjoying the view, then?”

Lyney nodded, his face still pressed against Wriothesley’s chest. “A little too much, maybe.”

Wriothesley chuckled, the vibration of it rumbling through Lyney’s cheek. He pressed a kiss to the top of Lyney’s head, his large hand rubbing soothing circles into the younger man’s back. “You should sleep, kid. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

“I don’t want to,” Lyney admitted, his voice small. “I’ll miss this if I fall asleep.”

Wriothesley’s hand stilled for a moment, and then he pulled Lyney closer, his arms tightening around him. “You’re not going to miss anything,” he murmured.

Lyney swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut despite his earlier protests. The warmth of Wriothesley’s embrace and the steady beat of his heart lulled him further into the edge of sleep.

“Goodnight, Wriothesley,” he whispered as he drifted off.

Wriothesley chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to Lyney’s hair. “Goodnight, Lyney.”

And with that, the younger man finally succumbed to the pull of sleep, his body heavy but his heart impossibly light.

The morning came slowly, the pale light of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains in Wriothesley’s room. Lyney stirred first, his sore body protesting as he shifted against the sheets. The events of the night before flooded back to him in vivid detail, and a soft, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

Wriothesley was still asleep beside him, his larger frame taking up most of the bed. His face looked softer in sleep, the usual intensity in his features relaxed. Lyney took the opportunity to study him again, his lilac eyes trailing over the faint scar below Wriothesley’s right eye and the way his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Feeling emboldened, Lyney reached out and lightly traced a finger along the scar, marveling at the contrast between Wriothesley’s rugged exterior and the tenderness he’d shown last night.

“You’re up early,” Wriothesley’s deep voice rumbled, startling Lyney out of his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lyney replied softly, pulling his hand back.

Wriothesley opened one eye, giving him a lazy smirk. “I don’t mind. Feels nice, waking up to someone like this.”

Lyney flushed, his heart skipping a beat. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” Wriothesley said, his voice still gravelly with sleep. “I mean it.” He reached out, his large hand cupping the side of Lyney’s face and brushing his thumb over his cheek. “You look especially beautiful in the morning.”

Lyney’s face turned even redder, and he ducked his head, mumbling, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Wriothesley laughed softly, sitting up and stretching, the blanket sliding down to reveal his broad chest. Lyney’s eyes couldn’t help but wander, appreciating the sheer strength of the man before him.

“What time is it?” Wriothesley asked, glancing at the faint light streaming through the window.

Lyney shrugged. “Early, I think. Do you… have plans today?”

Wriothesley turned to him, raising a brow. “Why? Hoping to stick around a little longer?”

“Maybe,” Lyney said, biting his lower lip. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”

“Kicking you out?” Wriothesley scoffed, leaning in closer. “After last night, I’m tempted to keep you here indefinitely.”

Lyney laughed, the sound light and genuine. Wriothesley reached out, tucking a strand of Lyney’s blonde hair behind his ear.

“We’ll get you all cleaned up,” Wriothesley said simply, his voice steady. “But first, how about breakfast? You’ve got to keep your strength up if you’re planning to stay around me.”

Lyney laughed again, this time brighter. “Alright, but only if you let me help.”

Wriothesley shook his head, already swinging his legs out of bed. “No way. You sit back and relax. I’ve got this.”

As Wriothesley padded out of the bedroom, Lyney watched him go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. The night before had been more than he’d ever dared to hope for, but now, in the quiet light of morning, he found himself wondering what came next.

He wasn’t sure where this would lead, but as he lay back against the pillows, the warmth of the bed and the faint sounds of Wriothesley moving around the kitchen made him feel like the luckiest man in the whole wide world.