The cathedral’s dining hall was loud in the sa way a battlefield was loud — not from sheer volu alone, but from the way it ca at you from every angle, relentless, unpredictable, and deeply personal.
The chandelier above swayed in the faint draft sneaking through the cracked windows, its flickering light sending gold and shadow dancing across the table.
The table itself was a tragedy of etiquette, a cri scene where the victims were dignity, manners, and whatever poor kitchen soul had spent hours arranging the platters only for this mob to descend upon them like starving pirates.
Jules, naturally, was at the epicenter of chaos, wielding his fork like a stage prop, grinning at Aria’s expense while performing so elaborate sleight of hand which I was fairly certain I’d taught him in a drunken daze a while back.
Elian, sitting two seats down, had abandoned all pretense of interacting with actual people. He was gazing intently at the wall — not in a distracted, daydreaming way, but in the manner of a man who was determined to seduce the stone thoroughly.
His hand rested against the wall as if testing its warmth, his mouth tilted in a lazy half-smile, his lashes low and deliberate. I tried not to watch him too closely, because frankly, I didn’t want to know what the wall might say back if it decided to reciprocate.
Leo, on the other hand, was engaged in a different sort of courtship — with his dinner. Or rather, Syrene’s lap. He was perched there like a spoiled cat, shoveling food into his mouth at a rate that suggested he was on a tir no one else could hear.
Syrene herself looked entirely unbothered, her arm around his waist in absentminded possession while she picked delicately at her own plate. I half expected Leo to choke, but the boy had a stomach like an industrial forge and a complete disregard for the concept of chewing.
I didn’t eat. My plate sat untouched in front of , the steam from the roast curling upward and fading into the air between and Salem. He was seated across the table, his expression grim in a way that felt... uncharacteristic.
Not the theatrical grim he’d wear when preparing to teach so life-threatening lesson, but the kind of quiet weight that drew the light out of a person’s eyes. His gaze was elsewhere for much of the al, but when it settled on , I felt it — a stillness, an unspoken signal in the chaos.
Our eyes t. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. My nod was small, the kind you could hide in the motion of taking a sip from a glass, and he returned it with the faintest dip of his chin. That was all.
I excused myself without ceremony, slipping away from the table under cover of the noise.
The hall’s side corridor was cooler, the sounds of the dining room fading into a muffled echo behind . My boots clicked softly on the polished stone as I moved toward the smaller door near the far wall. When I eased it open, the world shifted.
The side room was bathed in a luminous red light, the moon spilling through a single great window frad by heavy drapes. The glow caught in the dust motes drifting lazily in the air, turning them into little embers suspended in ti. It slled faintly of wine and the sort of incense that clings to velvet after years of whispered conversations.
Rodrick was curled up on a low divan, his fra folded inward, dressed in nothing but a loose white blouse that fell soft over his shoulders. The fabric made his hair seem brighter, a white so stark it drank in the moonlight, and his eyes — those sharp, blood-red eyes — flicked up to as I entered before darting away, finding sudden fascination in the floor.
I shut the door softly behind , letting the hush settle between us. Crossing to the divan, I sat down at the opposite end, close enough to bridge the gap if I wished, far enough to give him room to keep whatever distance he thought he needed. My hand rested on my knee, fingers drumming once before stilling.
"You missed dinner," I said lightly, though my voice stayed low. "I would say you dodged a bullet, but given Leo’s rate of consumption, it was more of a cannonball."
He didn’t laugh. Not yet. His shoulders stayed tight, the curve of his body turned slightly inward, as if he were trying to fold himself into sothing smaller, less visible.
I let the silence stretch, then leaned back against the divan’s arm. "You want to tell what’s going on in that head of yours, or shall we play the ga where I guess and inevitably make it sound much worse than it is?"
Rodrick’s breath slowed, deepened. He didn’t look at when he spoke, his voice rough in a way I rarely heard from him. "I’m tired."
The simplicity of it caught off guard. "Tired," I echoed, as if testing the word. "Physically, ntally, emotionally, or the all-inclusive package?"
He huffed — almost a laugh, but not quite — and buried his face deeper against his knees. "I keep trying to... hold everything together. To be the one who doesn’t break. But it feels like the cracks keep getting bigger, and I can’t stop them."
I watched him for a long mont, the red light catching in the fall of his hair, the small, rigid tremors in his fra. "You know," I said slowly, "there’s no trophy for pretending you don’t feel like hell."
He glanced at then, brief and sharp, before looking away again. "If I stop holding it together, what happens to the people who are counting on ?"
"You’re assuming they’re counting on the armor, not the person inside it," I replied.
That earned a quiet sound — one part disbelief, one part... maybe sothing softer. I shifted a little closer, letting my knee brush the edge of the cushion near his. "Listen, Rodrick, I’ve made an art of surviving by looking like I know exactly what I’m doing. The trick isn’t in never breaking. The trick is knowing who you can break in front of."
His head tilted just enough that I could see his profile, the faint furrow in his brow. "And you think I can...?"
"Yes," I said, and my voice was firr than I’d intended. "With ? You can."
For a heartbeat, the tension in him faltered, just a fraction. I reached over and tapped the top of his knee lightly. "Besides, you’ve seen at my worst. It’s only fair."
That earned the smallest of laughs — a dry, choked thing that still felt like victory. "You’re infuriating," he murmured.
"I know," I said, and smiled. "It’s one of my better qualities."
The air between us shifted. The red moonlight felt heavier sohow, the quiet more intimate. When he finally looked at , really looked, there was sothing raw in his gaze — the edge of desperation, the pull of sothing that wasn’t just need but the surrender to it.
He moved before I could say anything, closing the space, his hand finding my shoulder as his mouth t mine in a kiss that was neither neat nor restrained. It was wet, ssy, tasting of breath and heat, the kind of kiss that carried the weight of everything unsaid.
Before I could find my voice, he pushed down onto my back, heat spiraling between us, thick and unrelenting. I tried to call his na, but the pleading I saw in his eyes stilled my breath.
"I need this," he whispered, raw and unguarded.
I nodded once, heart pounding. Slowly, deliberately, he undid my pants, letting my cock slip free into the open air between us. Rodrick’s cheeks flushed crimson, sweat beading at his temple as he shed his blouse, the fabric falling away like a quiet surrender.
His body was slender and graceful, but beneath the softness was a coiled sense of power—sothing fierce waiting to be unleashed. Tonight, I understood, was when Rodrick chose to unravel that strength, to claim the right to be vulnerable, to be held and loved, even if just for a fleeting mont.
He leaned in again, lower this ti, lips brushing the base of my shaft with reverence before planting another soft kiss. I gasped—a sharp inhale as my cock stiffened, a thin thread of precum catching the faint light, shimring like a secret between us.
Rodrick’s eyes remained heavy, dark with emotion, as he climbed atop , his back straight, poised—so damn graceful—even as my cock hovered just shy of him.
Without a word, our fingers intertwined tightly, my hand clutching his like a lifeline, steadying him—an anchor against whatever storm was coming.
Rodrick’s movents were hesitant at first, a tremulous push that let the tip of press just barely inside, and I caught the softest whimper escaping him—a fragile sound that tightened sothing deep in my chest.
The space between us contracted, as if the world had shrunk to this one trembling mont where everything unspooled and hung suspended in breathless tension.
Then, inch by agonizing inch, he slid himself deeper, and the sharp yelp that tore from him was sudden and raw, his hands scrambling to cover his mouth like a child caught off guard, cheeks flushing a fierce shade of crimson that only deepened as his breath hitched into ragged pants, wild and desperate, the kind of raggedness that hinted at a beast barely held in check.
"Shh, it’s alright," I whispered, my voice thick with the gravity of the mont, heavy with promise. "Breathe. I’m here. We’ll take this slow. I’ve got you."
His nod was fragile but resolute before he began moving in a slow, maddening rhythm, every inch sliding with a torturous sweetness that stretched open, pulled tight in ways that made my muscles clench and my breath hitch.
"Argh—ugh~" I groaned, ragged and trembling, swallowed in the wet slapping of our skin, bodies slick and glistening with the heat of exertion and raw need. Rodrick arched his back sharply, his grip on my hands tightening until my fingers tingled.
Then his pace shifted, picking up with a quiet desperation. "Mmph, ah~hah~" he began to vocalize, low moans leaking from him despite the desperate effort to hold a calm facade.
However, beneath that fragile control, his face began twisting, grunts punctuating the silence, the strain in his eyes a painful dance between discontent and surrender. He bit back whimpers that threatened to fracture the fragile front he clung to, emotions twisting and writhing like wildfire beneath his skin. His movents grew faster, more frantic, the urgency pulling him under, dragging us both into the depths of sothing fierce and unrelenting.
"Rodrick, fuck—slow down," I begged, voice rough, thick with need and concern, desperate to hold us both in the fragile balance of this mont.
But he didn’t listen.
A slow, simring heat began pooling deep within , coiling tighter with every thrust of his hips. The pressure built itself relentlessly, a storm gathering force beneath my ribs, a wild fire licking its way through my veins until it threatened to consu whole.
Then, without warning, the floodgates burst open.
A white-hot flare of pain and pleasure crashed through with violent intensity, scorching and overwhelming all at once. I ca hard, every muscle tensing and trembling as the world around dissolved into a dizzying, chaotic blaze of sensation. I could feel it. My cum spilling thick and heavy deep into Rodrick’s insides, the slick, sticky rush splattering with a wet squelch that echoed in the silence between us.
Rodrick’s sharp cry was stifled, raw and ragged, a breath caught and swallowed, but still he didn’t stop—he hunkered over , driven by so frantic hunger, pounding deeper, the strands of my ss stretching tight between our slick, glistening thighs, glimring like threads of molten light in the dimness.
"Stop," I gasped, voice breaking, heart pounding like thunder in my chest.
And then, like a beast coming to rest, he snapped back to himself, wildness draining from his eyes as the weight of what had just passed crashed over him like a tidal wave. He lifted himself from slowly, letting the ss break free with a wet, reluctant pull, the tension between us slackening in that brutal, intimate mont.
His hands trembled as they clutched the underside of his ass, fingers digging in as he tired to stop himself from leaking. I could see the last fragile folds of his composure—the tightness around his eyes, the quiver of his lips, the way his breath hitched like a faltering fla struggling against a storm.
Then the dam shattered, rupturing with unbearable force. Tears began spilling over in a flood—hot, jagged, and raw—streaming down cheeks that had borne the weight of silence for too long, pouring out the ache of battles fought in shadows, the grief buried deep beneath a hardened facade.
"I’m sorry," he whispered, voice cracking, haunted by the fragility of his own breaking. "I can’t... I can’t hold myself back...even now..."
I sat up swiftly, hands warm and gentle as I wiped the tears from his flushed cheeks before pressing a soft, reverent kiss to his forehead in an unspoken vow of care and understanding.
"Hey," I murmured before lowering him onto his side with tender care, my body following to lie beside him, a silent sentinel, close enough to hold but giving him the space he needed. "We’re going to do this differently," I promised, my voice low but fierce with quiet determination.
He nodded, fragile but willing.
Carefully, reverently, I lifted one of his soft, tender thighs, the skin yielding beneath my fingers as I exposed him, vulnerable and open to . I brushed my hand through his hair, soothing him with the gentlest touch as I began sliding myself inside again, this ti slower, more deliberate, each movent a soft thread weaving us together.
His breath caught in shaken gasps, the unraveling already beginning to settle in—the walls of his composure breaking down ever so slightly. I leaned in close, lips brushing against his ear, my voice a soothing murmur: "It’s okay. Just relax.I’m here."
I shushed him softly, a lullaby for the wild, a promise to carry him through the hurricane that raged within, the promise that he was safe in this mont, safe with .
Before Rodrick could even form a protest, my fingers slid inside his mouth—two of them, slick and deliberate—exploring the warm, wet cavern with a slow, teasing rhythm. I could feel the subtle play of his tongue against my skin, the soft pooling of saliva that clung to my fingers like a living creature.
The sensation was intoxicating, but more than that, it was transformative.
I felt Rodrick lt against , the tension in his body dissolving as if I had found the secret key to unlocking sothing deep within him. His muscles loosened, his breath softened, and beneath my touch, he slipped into a rare, absolute relaxation, a fragile surrender that made the pounding I gave him feel like a wildfire fed by wind rather than a desperate storm.
"Mmfffp~! Ahh~Mmm-Aurgh~" He whispered, low, shuttering moans escaping him—deep, twisted sounds that trembled with a sense of release and pleasure, vibrations I could feel trembling through every nerve and bone between us.
Then, breaking through the haze of sensation and need, his voice ca—fragile, breathless, a whisper caught between gasps.
"I love you."
The words slipped through the slick barrier of my fingers, wet and ssy, heavy with aning and confession. That fragile declaration shattered the last of my restraint. I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I surged inside him, flooding him with every pulse, every heated thrust drawn from my core. The world contracted to that singular mont, a rush of desperate connection as we bled into each other, bound by need and whispered truths.
A few quick pulses ca from Rodrick in response, but then a cry burst out from him—sharp and piercing—echoing through the room like a clarion call that cracked the very air.
His head twisted sharply away from my fingers, a jolt of raw sensation making him shudder, before he turned back, desperation shining in his eyes, and kissed fiercely.
Our lips collided in a sloppy ss and as soon as we t, his body betrayed him, convulsing with release as a wet, sticky load erupted from him, splattering ssily across the fabric of the divan beneath us. The slick, hot spurts ca again and again, a relentless cascade of his surrender that left the space between us heavy with the scent of abandon.
With every wave of release, Rodrick’s control slipped further away. When the final tremors subsided, he pulled back from our kiss, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion claid him. His body went limp, collapsing against the cushions in a ragged heap, utterly spent and silent.
I moved slowly then, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that settled over him like a shroud. Gently, I withdrew myself, the slick heat between us lingering as I eased free.
The quiet of the room settled around us, thick with unspoken promises and tender aftermath. I dressed slowly, my fingers still tingling from the closeness we’d shared, then reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over Rodrick’s trembling form, tucking him in like a fragile, precious thing. His breathing was already deepening into the rhythm of sleep, lashes casting shadows over flushed cheeks.
I lingered a mont longer, watching him as the red light spilled across his bare shoulders, before slipping toward the door. The latch clicked softly as I eased it open, leaving it just ajar behind .
The corridor beyond was cool, its air tasting faintly of incense and stone.
And there, leaning against the far wall as though he’d been waiting far too long, was Salem.
His arms were folded, his expression carved into sothing unreadable, eyes catching the thin thread of moonlight that reached him from the window above. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. His gaze flicked past toward the half-open door, then back to my face.
It wasn’t anger in his eyes. Nor approval. Sothing between—a asuring stillness, as though he were weighing exactly what I’d just done and whether to speak of it.
"Busy evening?" he asked at last, voice low enough to be mistaken for a murmur in the stones.
I gave him the faintest smile, one I knew revealed nothing. "Productive," I said, before trailing past him and back into the main dinning hall.
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