Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had started with too much whiskey. A late night when the walls between your apartments felt thinner than usual, music and laughter slipping through until you both gave up pretending you weren’t listening to the other. One knock at your door, a bottle shared between neighbors, and suddenly you were leaning into him on the couch, laughing too loud at some story that only half made sense in the haze.

The kiss had come like a misstep — quick, clumsy, so unexpected you almost laughed it off. But then his hand slid behind your neck, and the second kiss landed hotter, hungrier, like he’d been waiting for an excuse. Clothes scattered quicker than the whiskey buzz faded, and by the time the night blurred into sheets and gasping breaths, you weren’t sure who had pulled who down first.

In the morning, Xavier didn’t say a word about it. He passed you coffee with that same cool detachment he wore to work, eyes half-lidded and unreadable, and walked out your door like nothing had happened. You took the silence for what it was — an answer. Casual. A release. Maybe even a mistake.

But it didn’t stop.

It slipped into a rhythm, quiet and unspoken, until it almost felt inevitable. Long days that ended in exhaustion, nights when liquor softened sharp edges — somehow, they always ended with you in his bed or him in yours. Sometimes it was his knock at your door, a crooked half-smile that never reached his eyes. Sometimes it was you finding his light still burning at midnight, stepping inside without needing to ask. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t define it. You just let it happen.

And yet, sometimes, in the stillness after, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, aching in ways the sex didn’t fix. You missed the way it used to be — before that first kiss had redrawn the lines between you. Late night talks stretched across his couch until dawn, impromptu rounds of video games that ended in laughter and insults, knocking on each other’s doors just to share snacks or trade complaints about work. Back then, you never had to wonder where you stood with him. Back then, it had been easy.

Now, every time his hands closed around your waist or his mouth crushed yours, you couldn’t help but think about the morning after. About the way he’d roll out of bed, slip back into that guarded silence, and leave you with nothing more than the memory of how tightly he’d held you just hours before. It made you wonder if he was just lonely. If you were just convenient.

And worst of all was knowing you didn’t have the courage to ask. Because if you asked, he might answer. And if he answered, it might mean losing him entirely.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paper toner, that sharp tang of recycled air clinging to the late afternoon. Your computer screen glowed with endless reports, but your attention kept sliding to the man sitting at the desk beside yours — James — the new recruit.

“Hey,” he said, leaning closer so his voice carried under the low hum of conversation. “You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Want me to read it out loud to you?”

You snorted despite yourself, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks. Just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning, and the easy confidence in his tone made it clear he wasn’t discouraged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you entertained, then.”

He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t even try to be. The little asides, the jokes tossed your way when no one else was listening, the way he made sure to ask for help with tasks you already knew he knew how to do — it was obvious he liked the excuse to hover close. And maybe, in another life, you would’ve leaned into it without hesitation. He was handsome, charming, the kind of man who wore his intentions on his sleeve.

It was… nice. Nice to feel wanted openly instead of in shadows and silence.

But every time you laughed at something he said, your chest tightened with unease. You couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier. About what it would mean if you let this thing with the new recruit turn into something more. Would it cut the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on? Could you stop the midnight knocks, the heated nights tangled in his sheets, and still expect him to look at you the same way? Would he even care?

You didn’t know. And the not knowing gnawed at you.

Across the room, Xavier shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned back, jaw tight. You didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked every glance you shared with the recruit, every quiet laugh. To him, it was unbearable.

He had put up with a lot. Your hesitance. Your silence. The way you carried on like what you had meant nothing when the sun was up. The way you never reached for him as he made his way out. But watching you lean close to another man, seeing someone else claim the easy smiles he’d fought for in private — his patience frayed by the hour.

By the time noon rolled around, Xavier couldn’t take it anymore. He strode over, casual on the surface but every movement wired tight. He leaned against your desk, folder in hand.

“I have a coupon for that hotpot place you mentioned,” he said, tone deceptively soft. “Do you want to go together?”

Your head snapped up. Heat rose to your cheeks, but before you could answer, James perked up beside you. You glanced between them, then smiled faintly. “I actually promised James I’d take him out for lunch today. Show him around.”

The pause stretched too long. Xavier’s jaw ticked before he forced a nonchalant shrug. “I see.”

You tried to soften the sting, tilting your head. “Maybe James could come with us?”

Xavier’s eyes slid to the recruit — sharp, cutting — then back to you. “I only have two coupons,” he said flatly. “Another time, then.”

You blinked at the edge in his voice, but before you could press further he pushed off your desk and walked away, folder snapping shut in his hand.

James cleared his throat. “Was that… your partner?”

You nodded, trying not to let your expression slip. “Yeah. Don’t mind him. He’s just… intense sometimes.”

James smiled like he didn’t mind at all.

Lunch passed in an easy haze — James kept you laughing, kept pointing out little shops and cafés as if cataloging future dates. But under the warmth of his attention, something nagged. You kept thinking of Xavier’s clipped tone, the way he hadn’t looked back when he left.

By the time training rolled around, James was already at your side, easygoing as ever, matching his stride to yours as you crossed the wide practice field. The late sun threw long shadows over the dummies and sparring rings, the air buzzing faintly with other recruits already mid-drill.

“Ready?” he asked, grinning, staff balanced against his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You matched his smile, if only faintly. “Ready.”

But when you looked up, your usual place at the far edge of the grounds wasn’t empty. Xavier was already there, stretching, blade at his side, the sun catching against the damp skin at his temple. The sight made your chest hitch, like missing a step on the stairs. This was your rhythm — your spot. Him and you. Always.

Xavier’s gaze lifted, finding you instantly. Then it slid to James, and something in his expression hardened. He pushed up from his stretch and strode over, calm on the surface but sharp underneath, like the quiet before a storm.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, his tone even but directed squarely at James. “She’s my partner.”

James blinked, thrown off. “Oh…uh. Captain Jenna asked her to train with me until I get an assignment.”

“She did,” you cut in quickly, brushing a stray hair back, suddenly aware Xavier hadn’t heard. “She asked me this morning. I thought she’d told you already.”

For a moment, Xavier just looked at you, unreadable. Then his shoulders eased a fraction, voice soft when he finally replied, “She must have forgotten.”

James gave an awkward half-shrug, shifting his grip on the staff. “Guess we’ll, uh… get started then?”

Xavier didn’t move, lingering a heartbeat longer before his mouth curved in a faint, too-casual smile. “Sure. No worries. I’ll see you when you get home.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you two live together?”

Your laugh was quick, maybe too quick. “No! He’s just my neighbor. Same building.”

James’s shoulders loosened, though the flicker in Xavier’s eyes said that had been the point all along.

The silence between you and Xavier sharpened. His eyes darkened, lips parting like he might argue, might finally let the weight of his frustration loose—

But before he could, Tara jogged up, bright and oblivious. “Xavier! You’re with me today.”

He turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. “What?”

“Orders,” she chirped, tossing him a practice baton. “C’mon, don’t keep me waiting.”

For a second, Xavier didn’t move. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as though every instinct in his body screamed to refuse. Then, with a curt nod, he turned back to you. His gaze lingered — dark, cutting, and almost wounded — before he forced himself to step away.

You watched him go, stomach sinking as James nudged your arm with a grin, oblivious. “Looks like it’s just us, then.”

And just like that, the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on frayed further.

Xavier walked off stiffly, Tara jogging to keep pace beside him, but his eyes didn’t leave you. Even as you and James took up position on the far side of the training grounds, he tracked every movement, every exchange.

You adjusted James’s stance with a light touch at his elbow, guiding his arm until his aim straightened. The sight of your hand lingering on another man’s skin made Xavier’s chest seize. Then you stepped behind James, voice low as you demonstrated the motion yourself — your body aligning with his, movements seamless, easy in a way that should have been reserved for him.

It made him sick.

You were supposed to be by his side. Training with him. Trusting him to guard your blind spots, to fight shoulder to shoulder until there was no question where you belonged. Did James even know how to protect you? Would he know what to do if an S-class wanderer bore down on you, if the world cracked open under your feet? Xavier knew the answer — no. James was raw, green, too eager for his own good. He wasn’t ready. And yet there you were, laughing at some joke in between shots, your smile wide and easy.

Xavier’s knuckles whitened around the practice baton Tara had given him.

“You’re sooo jealous,” Tara drawled, snapping him out of his spiral.

His head whipped toward her, eyes flashing. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

Tara arched a brow, lips curling into a sly smile. “Uh-huh. Concerned. Sure. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

He glared at her, but she only laughed, twirling her own baton like she was playing a game.

“Xavier,” she said lightly, “maybe she’d notice how much you like her if you actually said something. You know, instead of acting like you don’t care in front of everyone else and then brooding like this when she so much as breathes near another guy.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice flat. “She doesn’t see me that way.”

“Please.” Tara’s laugh was sharp and knowing. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching. You two are impossible.” She sighed, rolling her eyes as though the weight of both your stubbornness sat on her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you?”

Xavier didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His gaze had already drifted back across the training field.

You corrected James’s grip again, stepping close, your voice carrying faintly with another laugh. James turned toward you with that grin he wore too easily, too openly, and Xavier’s chest burned.

The pressure inside him needed somewhere to go. He summoned the light blade with a flick, its energy flaring sharp in his grip. The nearest training dummy fell to pieces in two strikes, the air hissing with each cut. Then another. And another. His movements grew harsher, faster, until the crash of splintering dummies echoed across the grounds.

It didn’t help.

Because no matter how cleanly he carved through the targets, no matter how sharp his blade, it couldn’t slice through the sound of your laughter drifting from across the field. It followed him, relentless, every note cutting deeper.

By the time training ended, his jaw ached from clenching. He hadn’t spoken another word, not to Tara, not to anyone. He only stalked back to the lockers, peeled off his gloves, and left before he had to see you and James walk out together.

The sky outside had gone dusky purple by the time you finished up, the office windows glowing with the last scraps of daylight. You were too focused on wrapping up for the evening to notice him watching from across the room, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

Your phone buzzed against the desk.

You glanced down.

xavi: Come to my place after work.

No explanation. No teasing. Just the clipped demand of a man who couldn’t stand another second of restraint.

James leaned over, catching the flicker of tension in your face as you typed a quick reply. “Good news?” he asked lightly.

“Something like that,” you said, locking your screen before he could read too much in your expression.

But the truth pressed sharp against your ribs as you gathered your things. You couldn’t keep pretending this fragile thing between you and Xavier could last forever — not when someone else was looking at you with clear intentions, not when your own heart was caught somewhere in between.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of a bulb overhead. You’d barely lifted your hand to knock when the door swung open.

Xavier stood there, dark eyes burning like he’d been pacing behind the door, waiting for you. Before you could even draw breath, his hand closed around your wrist and he hauled you inside. The door slammed shut with a sharp crack, and then his mouth was on yours — hot, urgent, devouring.

You staggered back against the wall, your protest swallowed in the force of his kiss. It was rough, frantic, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for you all day and finally snapped. His palms framed your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks before sliding down to grip your waist as though he could hold you there forever.

“I needed you,” he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly, words punctuated with another searing kiss. “All day—fuck—I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Your back hit the wall harder when he pressed closer, one knee forcing between your thighs. His hand caught yours, dragging it down, pressing your palm to the thick strain in his jeans. The heat there, the hard throb beneath denim, made your head spin. His breath hitched sharply, forehead falling against yours.

“Feel that?” His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “Ah—feel what you do to me, star?”

Heat surged through your veins, but panic cut through just as quickly. You twisted slightly, breaking his mouth from yours long enough to gasp for air.

“Xavier—” His name tore out of you, uneven, desperate for space. You turned your face away, chest heaving. “Maybe we shouldn’t… do this anymore.”

The shift was instant. His expression darkened, hunger sharpening into something colder, angrier. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping as his eyes narrowed in on you.

“Do you like him?” The question landed like a slap.

Your lips parted, stunned. “What? Who—”

“The new recruit,” Xavier bit out, low and sharp. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours, presence heavy enough to crush the air from your lungs.

“James?” The name slipped from you before you could stop it.

The shift in him was instant. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing darker, and his fingers dug harder into your waist. “Don’t say his name,” he hissed, the words trembling with anger.

You froze, heart hammering. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His mouth twisted in a humorless curve, a shadow of a smile that wasn’t one at all. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Didn’t mean it? You’re pulling away from me the second he shows up, and you think I’m too blind to notice?”

“I’m not…” you tried, but his hand slid up your side, rough and certain, cutting your words short as the heat of his palm burned through the fabric of your shirt.

He crowded you against the wall, lips grazing your jaw, then lower, the scrape of his teeth making your breath hitch. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, and though his voice was quiet, the weight of it pinned you harder than his body did.

Your thoughts scattered, tangled between confusion, panic, and the undeniable pull of him. “Xavier, this isn’t about—”

“One last time,” he interrupted, his mouth brushing your throat. The scrape of stubble and the hot press of his lips sent your knees weak. “Give me one more night.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast, words catching in your throat. “I—”

“You can tell me to let you go in the morning,” he cut in again, voice raw, almost pleading beneath the steel. His hands clamped tighter on your hips, dragging you flush against him so you could feel the hard line of his arousal. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his next words cracked open, something darker than just desire bleeding through. “Just be mine for the night.”

His eyes softened, but only barely — a flash of something raw behind the anger, the kind of desperation that made his next words rougher than they should’ve been. He leaned in until his lips brushed the hollow of your throat, his tongue tracing up the line of your neck.

“You want it too, don’t you, starlight?” he murmured, kissing and licking at your skin like he was trying to brand you there. His voice cracked, a low plea threaded through the demand. “Your body is so warm… I can feel how much you need me.”

His thigh pressed harder between yours, and without meaning to, your hips rolled against it. The friction made you gasp, the moan slipping out before you could stop it. His grip tightened on your waist, satisfaction flashing in his eyes as he felt you grind against him.

Breathless, you whispered, “One more time.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss that followed was hot and devouring, teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue pushed past. He caught you under your thighs and lifted you with startling ease, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. The heat of him pressed hard against your core as he carried you through the apartment, his mouth never leaving yours.

By the time your back hit his bed, you were already dizzy from the taste of him, from the sheer force of his body caging you in. He didn’t give you a chance to settle before pinning your wrists above your head, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His gaze locked on yours, fierce, unyielding.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, voice low, ragged. His hips ground down, the solid line of his arousal dragging against you in a way that stole your breath.

“Xavier,” you gasped, arching into him. Your wrists strained against his hold as your hips lifted, desperate for more. “I want it.”

His stare pinned you where you lay, wrists still caught in his grip until, finally, he let go. He stepped back, the heat of his body leaving yours, but his presence filled the room like a storm about to break.

“Strip.”

The command landed heavy in the air. 

You sat up slowly, heart hammering, your body still tingling from the way he’d pinned you down. For a moment you hesitated, almost shy under the weight of his gaze — then something inside you shifted. If he wanted a show, you’d give him one.

He loomed beside the bed, tall and imposing, his arms tense at his sides until one hand dragged up to the bulge in his jeans. His palm pressed hard, a hiss escaping through his teeth as his eyes stayed locked on you.

Your fingers moved to the buttons of your shirt. One by one, you slipped them free, deliberately slow, the small pop of each fastening loud in the quiet room. You parted the fabric just enough to let his eyes glimpse bare skin beneath, then dragged it wider, letting the shirt fall open.

Xavier’s breath came heavier. He cupped himself harder, thumb rubbing along the thick line straining his jeans. “Fuck…” he muttered, almost to himself, voice low and jagged.

You slid the shirt from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms to the floor. Then your hands went to the clasp of your bra. You toyed with it, rolling the hooks between your fingers, before finally easing it open. The straps fell loose, and you let the bra slide down, baring yourself to him fully.

His jaw flexed, curses tumbling under his breath. He tugged roughly at the swell in his jeans, the sound of fabric straining as he shifted his palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes were glassy, furious, hungry all at once.

You rose from the bed, standing tall under his scrutiny. Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down your hips inch by inch. You turned as you did it, giving him your back, then glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile as the fabric slid lower. The sight of your bare skin revealed at that slow, deliberate pace made him groan, his head tipping back for a second like he was fighting for control.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, squeezing himself hard through denim, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Such a tease,”

The pants pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of them carefully, dragging the tease to its limit. When you finally turned back to face him, you weren’t bare — your panties still clung low on your hips, soft fabric an intentional barrier. His gaze locked there, dark and searing, like he wanted to tear them off with his teeth.

His knuckles were white against his jeans, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. Every muttered curse that fell from his lips made the air between you thicker, the tension stretched taut enough to snap.

And still, he didn’t move. He only stood there, palming himself, eyes devouring you like he needed to memorize every second before he lost the last thread of restraint.

The mattress dipped as you shifted back onto it, propping yourself against your palms, knees parting just enough to leave a space between them. The hem of your panties tugged at your thighs when you spread, your body relaxed but your eyes locked on his.

“I thought I told you to strip,” Xavier said, voice low, clipped — like you’d broken a rule he hadn’t even explained.

A slow tilt of your head, lips curving faintly. “I just did.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then a sharp laugh — empty, humorless, rough. He moved in on you like a storm breaking, knees hitting the edge of the bed as he leaned down between your legs. His hand slid over the inside of your thigh, rough fingertips dragging until his thumb found the thin barrier of your panties. The slow drag of it over your folds was casual, testing, until he pressed harder — pausing at the wet heat that had already bled through the fabric.

The look he gave you then could’ve burned. His brows drew together, jaw tight, almost seething as though you’d betrayed him. “Is this really for me?”

The corners of your mouth twitched upward — you almost laughed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t joking. Your hand came up anyway, cupping his cheek with a softness that clashed with the storm in his eyes. “Xavier,” you murmured, thumb brushing his skin, “are you pretending to be mad?”

His eyes sharpened, gaze cutting through you. “I’ve only pretended not to be.”

Before you could breathe out a response, he buried himself against you. His face pressed into your thighs, mouth dragging over the soaked fabric, tongue pushing against the damp spot until heat flared sharp through your nerves. You arched back with a gasp, your spine curving into the mattress as he worked through the barrier, lips and tongue and breath all hot and messy against you.

The friction was maddening — just enough to make your hips writhe, not nearly enough to break you open. Your fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles whitening, until frustration curled into your voice. “Xavier—stop teasing.”

He pulled back barely enough to speak, his mouth still hovering over you, breath humid against the wet fabric. “Beg for me.”

There was no give in him tonight, no chance of slipping around his demands. His eyes had that flat, dangerous sheen that told you he wouldn’t be coaxed with anything less.

So you did — your voice breaking on his name, soft and shameless as you gave him what he wanted.

The sound of it must have satisfied him, because he hooked a finger under the edge of your panties and tugged them aside, baring the slick heat he’d been tormenting. Then his mouth was on you again — nothing measured, nothing slow. His tongue worked greedily, sloppily, like he meant to consume you whole. Each drag was rougher than the last, lips and tongue and teeth slipping through slickness, sucking until your thighs trembled around his head.

The rhythm of it was relentless, no space for breath, no tenderness to cling to — just heat and hunger and the sound of him devouring you. Your body seized against the bed, legs twitching, fingers twisting in the sheets as every nerve lit up under his mouth.

And still, he didn’t slow. He didn’t want slow. Not tonight.

The pace of his mouth grew frantic, sloppy, almost savage against you — tongue dragging, lips sucking, nose brushing the tenderest parts of your skin until sparks flared white-hot behind your eyes. Your thighs snapped around his head as your orgasm tore through you, muscles clenching so tight you could feel the tremble in your calves. A strangled cry left your throat, your whole body bowing up from the bed before crashing back down, chest heaving, nails clawing at the sheets.

Still, Xavier didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, tongue working messily as if he meant to wring every last shudder out of you. The overstimulation came sharp, searing — your hips jolted against his mouth in helpless, broken thrusts. “X–Xavier, please—” you whined, voice cracking as you tugged at his hair, pulling him up. “Too much… sensitive—”

Finally, he relented, lifting his head with his mouth slick, eyes red-rimmed and dark. He stripped quick, movements clipped and impatient, tossing clothes aside as if they offended him. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was crawling over you, heat and weight pressing down, the mattress sinking under the span of his body.

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing damp hair from your face, though your lips curved into a tease. “What happened to my bunny?” Your tone was light, playful, but there was a tremor beneath it. “You’re being so mean tonight.”

He didn’t crack. His face stayed hard, lines carved deep in his jaw as his mouth closed over your chest. Teeth grazed, tongue laved, lips pulling your nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. The sharp suck made your breath stutter, your back arch.

“I’m being mean?” he murmured around you, voice edged and bitter, vibrating against your skin. His teeth grazed again before he pulled back, a flush marking your chest where his mouth had been. “You’re the one who was smiling, laughing, with some other guy in front of me all day.”

The anger in his tone made your stomach twist — not fear, but something headier, darker. He shifted lower, and suddenly the blunt head of his cock was pressing at your folds, sliding through the slick mess he’d made of you. Just enough to tease, to smear himself in your wetness, not enough to push in. The contrast was unbearable: the stretch almost there, the intrusion denied.

“And now,” he went on, voice rough, as the head dragged up and down your entrance, catching on your clit in maddening passes, “you say you don’t want to do this anymore.” His gaze locked on yours, unwavering, his jaw tight as he rutted just shy of entering. “That’s all it took? One guy gives you a little bit of attention and now you want to get rid of me.”

Your lips parted, his name spilling out in a breath meant to soothe, meant to explain: “Xav—”

But it was cut off in an instant, strangled into a moan as he pushed forward. The head breached you, then the thick, stretching length of him slid in slow, heavy, unstoppable. The drag was exquisite and punishing, your walls straining around every inch as he seated himself deep, filling you so completely your eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck—” Xavier hissed through his teeth, the curse hot against your neck. His hips slammed forward, rough and sloppy, like he couldn’t control himself anymore. Every thrust was mean, desperate, dragging a moan out of you whether you wanted to give it or not.

“I don’t get it,” he rasped, jaw clenched as he drove into you harder. “What could he give you that I can’t? What’s so fucking special about him?”

You tried to catch your breath, to explain, to soothe, but the words fell apart the second he snapped his hips sharp and deep. Your voice cracked into a moan, eyes rolling back, nails sinking into his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

He dropped lower, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged, voice breaking between thrusts. “Tomorrow, when you’re looking at him,” his pace faltered, stuttered, “laughing with him,” another harsh thrust, your cry cutting through the air, “you’ll still feel me. I won’t let you forget me.”

Your chest heaved. Heat spiraled low in your belly, curling tighter with every punishing roll of his hips. “W-why are you so jealous?”

His rhythm staggered. For just a second, his eyes flicked open, wide, confused, before anger burned through again. He snapped his hips forward so hard the headboard rattled, and you cried out.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, raw. His hand slid up your ribs, pinning your wrists harder against the sheets. “Why do I have to be your little secret? Why do I stay in the shadows while he gets your attention out in the open?”

Another sharp thrust. Your body arched, strangled moan spilling past your lips.

“Do you think this—” he shoved deep, gritting his teeth as his cock twitched inside you, “—is all I’m good for?”

Your walls clenched hard around him, wet and needy, each rough snap of his hips forcing another whimper from your throat. His breath was ragged, face twisted in something darker than lust — anger, jealousy, desperation — yet the way his cock dragged against your walls had you trembling on the edge anyway.

Your voice fractured around a moan, desperate to cut through the haze. “N-no, that’s not it—Xavier, it’s just—”

His pace faltered only to sharpen, each thrust slow and brutal. His mouth brushed your ear, voice low, dark. “Just what?” His teeth grazed your skin. “Because all I see is you spreading your legs and acting like this is the only place I exist. You only remember me when I’m buried inside you.”

A whimper tore out of you, back arching against the sheets. “That’s not…ah—Xavier, please—!”

“Please what?” His jaw was tight, his forehead pressing into yours as he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes open when your head tipped back in surrender. His gaze burned, red-hot and unflinching. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

The command sent another shudder through you, your walls fluttering around him. He held your wrists pinned above your head, grinding deep until your breath hitched, until you couldn’t think. His free hand slid down your trembling stomach, finding your clit with a cruel kind of precision.

Your cry was sharp, broken. “Xavier—fuck!”

He circled you harder, rolling his hips against yours, the drag of his cock syncing with the relentless press of his thumb. His voice stayed calm, deadly soft even as you writhed beneath him. “Tell me. Could anyone else make you cum like this? Hm?”

You shook your head, words spilling ragged between moans. “N-no, no one—fuck—Xavier, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His lips ghosted yours, voice a low hiss. “You can take it, star. Cum on my cock, show me how good it feels,”

That final command tore you apart. Your body bowed against him, thighs trembling, walls seizing tight around his length as your orgasm crashed through you. You cried out, clenching hard, your slick dripping down his cock as he kept working your clit through it, dragging every last wave out of you until you were shuddering and breathless.

The way you clenched broke his composure. Xavier snarled under his breath, pulled out with a rough stroke of his hand, and came hot across your stomach. His head dropped, chest heaving, his release splattering your skin as his cock twitched in his grip.

For a moment he stayed like that — hovering over you, forehead still pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his dark eyes locked on you like he was daring you to look away.

The tremors in your body hadn’t yet stilled when your hand lifted, almost without thought, to cup his cheek. His skin was hot, damp from exertion, and beneath it his jaw flexed tight — anger and restraint wound together. For one breath he hesitated, but then he leaned into your palm, lashes lowering as if your touch was the only anchor he had left. The air between you thickened, and when you tugged him down the kiss came desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and the taste of something too sharp to name. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, loosened at last, letting you clutch at him like you’d fall without the hold.

Your chest was still heaving, the air hot and heavy between you when the kiss finally broke. His lips hovered, parted like he meant to say something but the words caught in his throat. His eyes searched yours — dark, fevered, desperate — and you realized he looked just as undone as you felt.

His body still hovered over yours, chest dragging against yours with every ragged breath, but when his lips didn’t find yours again, you realized he was trembling. A beat later, he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His damp hair clung to your skin, sticky with sweat, and his breath scorched a path across your collarbone.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he rasped. The words were muffled, but you felt them more than you heard them, vibrating against your pulse. His voice cracked like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, like it slipped past a wall he’d been holding up for too long.

“Xavier…” Your hand moved without thinking, sliding into his hair, still damp from exertion. You combed your fingers through the strands, gentle, grounding, while your chest heaved beneath his weight. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I wanted to end this because…” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, the words breaking uneven. “Because I thought it’s all you wanted from me.”

He stilled. Completely. Then he lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face still so close you could feel the ghost of his breath on your lips. His eyes were raw, open in a way you’d never seen before — dark but vulnerable, glinting like something fractured inside him.

“Why,” he said hoarsely, disbelief roughening the edges of his tone, “would you ever think that?”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t look at him, not directly, so your gaze slid aside, landing on the line of his shoulder, slick with sweat. “Because… outside of this you just treat me as a friend,” you admitted. The truth burned, humiliating to say out loud. “So I assumed you didn’t want me. Not… like that.”

For a moment, he just stared. His eyes widened, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then the look on his face shattered something in you. He looked—devastated.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His voice broke, low and guttural, like it hurt him to force the word out. “I’m sorry. I…, star, I’m sorry.”

Your heart twisted as his forehead pressed to yours again, almost desperate, his hands bracing on either side of you like he needed to cage himself close or he’d lose you.

“I thought this was all you wanted,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “When it started, I thought… you regretted it. That you’d shut me out completely if I pushed for more. So I stayed quiet, I stayed careful. I thought I was doing the only thing that kept me from losing you.” His voice cracked, the faintest tremor running through it. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tender in a way that undid you more than the roughness had. “I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more. But I would’ve let you use me forever if it meant I could have you, even if it was just like this.”

Your breath caught sharp. The confession knocked the air from your chest, left you staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. His face, open and raw, cut through every assumption you’d built between you.

For a moment, the silence stretched thick, pulsing between you with everything unsaid. Then, because you didn’t know how else to keep from breaking apart completely, you flicked his forehead with your finger.

“Idiot…you should’ve said something,” you whispered, voice trembling despite the tiny gesture.

“Ow.” He actually winced, catching your wrist before you could pull your hand back. His lips ghosted against the inside of your palm, kissing it softly, lingering there. “Yeah,” he admitted against your skin. “I should’ve.”

He kissed lower, tracing the ridge of your wrist, the pulse that leapt there. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. His mouth followed a trail up your arm, slow and reverent, before finding your throat.

“Instead of telling you…” His voice was a low murmur against your skin, words half lost in the press of his lips. “…why don’t I show you how I really feel?”

His mouth moved higher, leaving tender, wet kisses along the line of your jaw, brushing at the corners of your lips until he finally claimed them. This kiss was nothing like the ones before — no anger, no frenzy, just raw, aching sweetness. He lingered there, slow and consuming, like he meant to pour every unsaid word into your mouth until you understood.

The kiss broke only because he shifted, bracing himself above you. His gaze searched yours once, as if for permission, before he guided himself back in with an agonizing slowness.

You gasped the moment he pressed deep, body arching instinctively against his. The stretch of him, the heat, the drag — it stole your breath, sent pleasure sparking up your spine before he even started moving.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours, his breath hot and shaky. “God, you feel so good.”

His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate, his pelvis nudging against your clit each time he ground into you. The friction had your legs trembling, already coiling with tension. He set the rhythm like he meant to savor you, savor this, dragging it out until every tiny grind had you shivering.

Your hands slid up his back, clutching at his shoulders, your voice catching in a moan when he pushed just right.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Every time we do this, I imagine you asking me to stay,” he murmured, the words spilling soft and unguarded. “Making me yours.”

You whimpered, tilting your head as his mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, worshipful and unhurried. His hands were everywhere — sliding over your hips, smoothing your thigh up higher around his waist, pressing firmly into your ribs like he needed every part of you beneath his palms.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he whispered against your throat, pausing to kiss the hollow there. “I want so much more than this.” He shifted, catching your mouth again in a kiss that tasted of raw longing. His voice broke against your lips as he asked, “Do you want that too, star?”

“Yes, Xavier—ngh—yes,” you gasped, the answer torn from you on a moan when he ground especially deep, his pelvis circling against your clit.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice roughened but tender. “You’re so beautiful like this, falling apart for me.” His thumb found your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss the corner of your mouth, then lower, nipping at your throat in reverence.

The pleasure coiled hotter, tighter, until you couldn’t stop the choked moans spilling out, your body trembling beneath his as he moved with steady, unrelenting sweetness. He whispered through it all — how good you felt, how much he wanted you, how badly he needed you to know you were his.

When it broke, it was sharp and shattering, pleasure ripping through you so hard you cried out his name, clutching at him. He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw, and drove in deep as your walls fluttered around him. The feeling pulled him under with you, his release spilling hot inside as he held himself flush, forehead pressed to yours.

He stayed there, breathing hard, kissing you softly between every word. “My star,” he murmured, voice shaking with more than just exertion. “You’re mine.”

The air between you hung heavy with warmth, both of you slick with sweat and still trembling faintly from the release. Xavier didn’t pull away, not yet. He stayed buried inside you, chest pressed to yours, arms tightening like he thought you might slip away if he let go. His lips found your hairline, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Stay here tonight,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his shoulder, the slope of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me something, then,” he said, his tone soft, almost boyish in its unguardedness. His lashes were already half-lowered, his breath warm against your temple. “Hotpot tomorrow. Just you and me.”

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out, light against the hush of the room. “Hotpot? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes closing, his mouth brushing your hair with the word. “Promise.”

“Fine,” you teased, combing your fingers gently through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. The pleased little sound he made had your heart stuttering. “I promise. Hotpot tomorrow.”

He shifted, hugging you tighter, nose brushing the hollow of your throat. “And promise me you’ll train with me tomorrow.” A pause. “And the day after that. And every other day.”

You laughed again, soft and breathless, scratching your nails lightly at the back of his head until he practically melted against you. “Okay. I promise.”

A quiet sigh shuddered out of him, pure contentment. He nestled closer, his lips ghosting against your throat like he couldn’t help kissing you again. “Walk home with me tomorrow, too.”

You grinned, tilting your head back enough to look at him. “You’re being so greedy, Xavier.”

His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, drowsy and heavy-lidded but shining with something raw. “You almost broke my heart today,” he said softly, the words clumsy but real. “Can’t I be a little greedy?”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a tender smile, cupping his jaw. “Just a little.”

He caught your mouth in one last kiss — slow, lingering, the kind that made time feel like it stopped for both of you. When it broke, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

Wrapped up together, his arms locked around you and his words finally stilled, you felt him drift first. Sleep tugged at you too, and the last thing you knew before dozing off was the weight of him warm against you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning light poured pale and golden through the blinds, casting stripes across the rumpled sheets. You stirred awake to the sound of movement — the quiet shuffle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you found Xavier leaning over the dresser, tugging on his jacket, his hair damp from a quick shower.

For a second, you just watched. Watched the line of his shoulders, the way the fabric stretched across his back, the casual efficiency in every motion. It struck you then how… natural this felt. How easy it had been to wake up tangled in his warmth, to move around each other without words as you both got ready. Something almost domestic, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t know you’d been craving until it was there.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured without turning, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, tossed it back onto the bed, then leaned down to steal a quick kiss before lacing his boots.

By the time you both stepped into the association building, his hand found yours without hesitation. Warm. Solid. The small contact grounded you in a way you weren’t prepared for, and you didn’t pull away.

Your eyes flicked automatically to your section of desks — expecting to see James hunched over paperwork, flashing that usual easy grin. But his chair was empty. Your brows knit. “Weird. Where’s James?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened just slightly at the name, but when he spoke, his tone was soft, almost too casual. “He was reassigned.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Reassigned? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, tugging you gently toward your desk. “I made a call to Captain Jenna. I thought he’d work well with someone on the Chansia team.”

You stopped mid-step, smacking his arm with your free hand. “You’re ridiculous!”

He only smirked, clearly unbothered by your scolding.

From her desk, Tara propped her chin on her hand, watching the exchange with no small amount of exasperation. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes like she’d been waiting forever for this exact scene.