5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah recoiled from Matthew instinctively and bumped into the buffet table. One of the appetizer plates clinked softly.
What would be the best move here? Pretend like nothing happened and say hello? Or maybe ignore him deliberately? Or go straight into defense mode?
Noah went with the first option, hoping to get away with minimal damage. Matt would probably throw a couple of jabs, Morgan would take them like a champ, and then Coleman would get bored and leave him alone. Not a bad strategy, right?
"Good evening," Noah nodded, forcing a smile. It turned out to be harder than he expected. Fresh memories flashed before his eyes in an instant. Matt's rough hands. The creaking sound of an old mattress. The mattress that Noah couldn't stand keeping after, so he replaced it. And the bloodstain on the wall. The image of the last flashback made him shudder, which didn't go unnoticed by Matthew.
"Good, you say?" Coleman asked with a doubt in his voice, putting on the air of a high-society guest who had just found a pile of dog crap in the middle of an important event. "I can't help but wonder, did I walk into a charity gala or a brothel?" he continued rhetorically, taking a sip of his red wine.
A charity gala, but you're the one acting like you're in a brothel.
Noah swallowed soundly. No, the "pretend nothing happened" approach wasn't going to work. Matthew wasn't here out of idle curiosity, and he sure as hell didn't show up to check how Morgan was doing. Coleman had a clear goal: humiliate him, put him back in his place on the food chain, and maybe even air out some of the rumors swirling around. And how the hell had Noah ever found Coleman charming? How had theDevil's Eye missed what was hiding behind his nice-guy act? Amazing how blind love can be—it makes you ignore some person's shit that would be obvious for everyone else.
"Did you want something?" The smile slid off Noah's face. Every fiber of his being screamed to switch into defense mode. And as the saying goes, the best defense is a good offense. But he still tried to keep himself in check. He couldn't let this turn into a public scene. He wasn't planning on ruining an evening that Ethan and his father had poured so much effort into.
"Just wanted to make sure it was really you," Matthew drawled.
"Well, now you're sure. So if you excuse me—" Noah made a move to step around him, but Matthew cut him off, planting a hand on the table to block his path. And just like that, another wave of memories crashed over him. That same move Matt had done a countless number of times when they were together. Back then, it seemed playful. Now, it felt like a threat.
"Not so fast," Matt exhaled with an unpleasant smirk. The unwanted closeness let Noah catch the scent of wine on him. Coleman had drunk just enough to loosen up more than etiquette allowed, but not enough to lose his grip on reality.
"I'm so boooored. Let's leave," someone behind Matt whined, grabbing his forearm and tugging at his sleeve.
Noah flinched, only now realizing Matt hadn't come here alone. A skinny blond guy with big blue eyes and full lips clung to him. Judging by the situation, he was Coleman's plus one for the evening.
"Hands," Matt snapped. The way the boy reacted—instantly letting go—left no doubt that this wasn't the first time he'd taken a hit from Coleman.
The Devil's Eye ran across the blond from top to bottom, searching for something—anything—to use against Matt. There were finger-shaped bruises on his wrists, visible every time his jacket sleeve slipped up. An almost healed scrape on his neck. An unreadable expression flashed across his pretty face as soon as he heard Matt's voice. The boy wanted to defuse the situation as much as Noah did, which was why he'd spoken up. But he didn't have the guts to push any further. Still, Noah felt grateful for the attempt, even if it would probably backfire on him later.
"How did trash like you manage to get along with Thomson?"
Oh. So Matt wasn't actually interested in Noah—he was interested in his date.
"I think you've already found your answer to this question," Noah said darkly. "So why bother asking?"
Coleman clicked his teeth in irritation, convinced that Noah's response only confirmed his worst assumptions. Frankly speaking, he doubtfully had any better assumptions. So what was the point in arguing? Defending himself? Trying to explain? Noah had long since learned that in this world, the truth belonged to those who were the strongest, the smartest, and the most powerful—and it rarely had anything to do with reality.
"Does your worn-out hole still get attention?" Coleman sneered, exhaling sharply.
"Apparently," Noah shrugged. After each second, it was getting harder to keep a straight face. He wanted a drink. Or to stuff his mouth with appetizers. Or, even better, to dive into Ethan's arms, bury himself there, and never face the open world again. But he couldn't keep relying on Ethan forever. Thomson was standing across the room, commenting on something to the guests while chatting with his father. Why hadn't he mentioned he'd be speaking tonight? If Noah had known, he would've come closer to listen. He should just move toward the stage now, but… Coleman was practically looming over him.
"Now that we've discussed the most notable part of my body, can I go?" Noah asked coolly, trying to sidestep Matt in the opposite direction. But once again, Coleman cut off his escape.
"I'm not done," Matt said.
"Do you really need to be?" Noah grimaced. "Let me guess: I'm a whore; half the planet's had me in the mouth, the other half up the ass. I'm a sellout. A spineless nobody. Same old tune. You can't shock me with that information," he shrugged. God, he wanted to scream at Matt and tell him that all those rumors were—and always had been—complete bullshit. That Coleman was a moron for buying into them so easily. But Noah knew it wouldn't do any good. The harder you fight a lie, the more people want to believe it. The truth, for some reason, never worked that way. Sometimes, Noah thought that if you left people to their own devices, they'd happily drown in nothing but lies, deliberately rejecting even the most obvious facts.
"And how much do you ask these days?" Matt asked out of nowhere. The blue-eyed boy beside him jolted in panic, starting to move toward him but stopping short, unwilling to speak up again.
"For you?" Noah scoffed. "My worn-out hole's a little out of your price range. What's up with the sudden curiosity? Don't tell me you're still pining after me?"
"You wish," Matt frowned in disgust. "I just don't like unfinished business."
Ah. So, apparently, Coleman's unfinished business was the sex they never had.
"It pisses me off that you're the only one who turned me down while still managing to fuck with half the university," Matthew added.
Yup, just as I thought.
"You mean 'the only one who actually fought you off'?" Noah asked innocently, letting his gaze drift to the blond. The Devil's Eye had reached its verdict. All that was left was to say it out loud.
"Run," Noah said, not breaking eye contact. "I know you think he's worth putting up with. But he's not. Stop making excuses for every disgusting thing he does. Stop blaming yourself for it. What's happening between you two—it's not passion, it's not some kinky game, and it sure as hell isn't a twisted form of love. It's just abuse. It's not about the wine. It's not about his baggage. It's not about his trauma. He's a self-absorbed bastard who throws a tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants, and he also gets off on hurting people."
The blond flinched and stared at Noah, instinctively pulling his sleeves down to hide the bruises peeking out from underneath.
"You didn't even realize it, did you?" Noah asked. "That this whole time, he's been raping—"
He didn't get the chance to finish. Matt, stunned by his audacity, flung the rest of his red wine straight into Noah's face.
"Shut your filthy mouth," he hissed, stepping in close.
"Or what?" Noah frowned, deliberately wiping his face with a napkin in an exaggeratedly calm manner. "Do you want to fight? Let's go. I think I owe you a couple for Fluffy."
"Hope your cats are dead by now."
Noah flinched like he'd been slapped. His body made the decision before his mind could catch up. His palm stung as it connected with Matt's face—hard, with every ounce of force he had in him. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Matt didn't even stumble. But it sure as hell pissed him off. His furious gaze left no doubt: he was ready to beat the life out of Noah, right here, right now.
"Young gentlemen, are we having a little misunderstanding here?" The deep, unexpected voice from nearby made them both freeze. Noah couldn't help but smile at the familiar bald security guard. Duncan flashed him a wide, toothy grin in return.
"We can handle it ourselves. We don't need help from some staff," Matt said haughtily.
"Glad to hear it," Duncan nodded, making no move to step aside.
"Then back off and stay out of it." Matt gestured for him to leave.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Duncan replied, still smiling pleasantly. "You see, I may be some staff, but I don't work for you."
"Then who do you work for?" Matt sneered. "Let's see how cocky you are when I have a word with your employer about your little attitude."
"My employer?" Duncan pointed his head toward the stage. "He's right there. Announcing the auction. I'll pass your complaint along," Duncan added lightly. "I'm sure he'll find a way to make amends for my behavior."
Matt's face lost a shade of color as his gaze flicked to Michael Thomson. Then he clenched his jaw, shot Noah one last seething glare, and then turned on his heel. He barked out a gruff "Move it" at the blond and left towards the tables set for the formal dinner at the far end of the massive hall.
"Thanks," Noah said, glancing down at his wine-soaked shirt and tie and sighing.
"What a piece of shit. What the hell did he want from you? Don't tell me Coleman's sunk so low he's hitting on guests now shamelessly. He's always been a pig, but that's low even for him."
"Trust me, this is just the tip of the iceberg," Noah exhaled. "If anyone knows that, it's me. He's my ex."
"Oooooh," Duncan drew out the syllable. Then, after a pause, he asked cautiously, "Does Ethan know?"
"He knows."
"Ooooooh," Duncan dragged out the sound even longer this time. "And I was wondering why the hell he told me ten times to keep an eye on you," the guard chuckled. "I thought he was jealous. Turns out he was just looking out for you."
"So did Ethan know that Matt would be here? Could've given me a heads-up! I'd have at least mentally prepared for this," Noah huffed, tugging at his stained tie. All that effort picking out the perfect outfit for the night could go down the drain. Now he just looked pathetic.
"The guest list barely changes from year to year," Duncan explained. "But not everyone actually shows up. To be honest, no one was expecting the Coleman family this time, considering this event is all about donating money, and they're kind of… well," he stopped himself mid-sentence. Then suddenly groaned. "Oh, for the love of—Mister Gellerstein is wasted before the first course again?! Every damn year!" With an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, he muttered, "Sorry, kid, but I need to go save the old man," he nodded at Noah's ruined shirt. "Will you be okay?"
"Of course!"
"That's the spirit," Duncan said for no apparent reason, already making his way toward an elderly man surrounded by empty glasses. His much younger wife had conveniently disappeared.
Noah needed to get to the restroom, but that would mean walking across the entire ballroom looking like this. He felt too awkward doing that in front of everybody, so he decided to wait and let the guests settle at the dinner tables first. Once the center of the hall cleared, he'd sneak off unnoticed. For now, the empty balcony seemed like a decent place to kill some time.
5' 3"
The only thing that kept Ethan's expression unreadable when he spotted Coleman standing unforgivably close to Noah was the mask on his face—and the fact that Duncan was nearby. He nearly bolted from his spot when Coleman splashed wine in Noah's face, mentally applauded Morgan for answering back with a punch, and finally allowed himself to relax a little when Smith stepped in. Though, in Ethan's opinion, the security guard was a bit late to take action. He should've stopped that before it even started instead of flirting with the waitresses! Ethan would definitely have a word with him about that later. For now, it was enough that Noah was safe and in one piece. The wine stains? Dry cleaning would take care of those.
His father was still going on with his grand, self-important speech about how the bright future of the world rested in the hands of their children, making sure to emphasize his point by keeping Ethan at his side. The speech went on and on until Ethan found himself shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Only after the long-awaited: "…I won't keep you bored with this speech any longer! (It was too late to worry about that, since the speech turned out to be awfully long anyway!) Let's move on to the auction!" Ethan finally stepped down from the stage. He had planned to go straight to Noah, but then Coleman caught his attention again. This time he was expressing some complaint to a passing waiter over something.
Noah was fine. Duncan was near the balcony doors. As much as Ethan wanted to go straight to Morgan, he had to deal with the problem first. Then he could handle the consequences. So Ethan headed toward Matthew.
"And what exactly am I wrong about?!" Coleman's indignant voice rang out just as Thomson reached his table. The guy Matthew had brought to the charity gala looked a little rattled. Wouldn't be a surprise if his dear partner had a habit of taking out his frustration on him for any reason, or no reason at all.
"Good evening," Ethan greeted Matthew with fake friendliness as he slid into the chair next to him. Coleman turned toward him with a sour expression, but the moment he recognized Ethan, his face split into a grin.
"Hey!" Matthew's transformation was almost comical. In an instant, he went from an insufferable jerk to a charming, charismatic figure with a Hollywood smile and a twinkle in his eye. So that's what lured people in. It was a shame that behind the friendly mask was nothing but a waste of space. Ethan didn't think of himself as a saint, but at least he didn't hide his flaws or put on a show. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while!" Matthew declared, as if he hadn't just been acting like a complete ass a second ago. His tone softened; his posture shifted into something deliberately casual. His date scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes. Apparently, this wasn't the first time Coleman had shamelessly flirted with someone else right in front of him. And yet, for some reason, he was still putting up with it.
"Well, here's your chance," Ethan said with a pleasant smile, injecting just enough false warmth into his voice. The enemy needed to be fooled into a false sense of security—made to catch him off guard before the strike.
"Leave us," Matthew told his companion with a pointed look.
He didn't have to ask twice. The blond seemed almost relieved at the excuse to escape this miserable company. It didn't go unnoticed for Ethan that, instead of checking out the buffet and the auction, the guy headed straight for the exit. Smart choice.
"Now, where were we?" Matthew practically oozed with forced charm.
"Getting acquainted," Ethan reminded him, glancing at the table. It had already been fully set, with name cards neatly arranged in front of each seat. Neither of them was sitting where they were supposed to.
"I always thought you were keeping to yourself," Matthew sweet-talked, shifting closer. He awfully smelled like wine. Coleman's smugness practically radiated off him.
"This year, I'm feeling more social," Ethan assured him smoothly.
"Glad to hear it," Coleman purred. "But I don't want to waste your time," he sighed dramatically, clearly trying to make himself seem important.
"Trust me, you won't," Ethan reassured him.
"But what about that guy you brought tonight?" Matthew asked, doing a piss-poor job of faking concern. God. He acted like an innocent lamb. One of the worst performances Ethan had ever seen.
"And what about him?" Thomson asked coolly, playing dumb, as if he had no clue about Noah's past with Coleman and certainly hadn't witnessed what had happened fifteen minutes ago.
"He's probably feeling out of place here…"
Yeah. Because of you.
"Do you mind if I'm honest with you?'
"Oh, absolutely. Honesty is the first thing I value in people," Ethan replied, catching the faint edge of a threat in his own voice. He heard it. Coleman, of course, did not.
"Really? You're an interesting guy," Thomson barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Well… I just don't think he's the right type for you," Matt finally got to the point, offering his very valuable opinion.
"Why not?"
Coleman gave a little shrug, like he was torn between being brutally honest and excessively polite.
"It just seems like… his personal qualities don't quite meet your standards."
Ethan didn't have any standards.
"Then who does?"
Coleman clicked his tongue, his smile unwavering.
"Someone equal to you," he said smoothly. He obviously meant himself. "Shame I didn't know about your preferences earlier. My gaydar didn't pick up on you," he added, oh-so-casually. Ethan stifled a chuckle. He knew exactly why Matthew was flirting with him, and it had nothing to do with genuine attraction. No, there were two very clear reasons. Neither of them had anything to do with Ethan. First, Matthew was hell-bent on making Noah miserable for as long as the opportunity presented itself. And second, being associated with Thomson could open all sorts of doors. But Ethan had his own plans for Matthew.
"It happens."
"But it's fixable," Matt added quickly.
"You think so?" Ethan arched his left brow, pretending to be intrigued.
"I'm sure," Coleman nodded, taking a sip from yet another glass of wine. "All it takes is a little effort…"
"You know, looking at you, I really do feel a strong desire…" Ethan exhaled, his voice just suggestive enough. Matthew, caught off guard by the sudden plain speaking, choked on his wine.
"Do you want to know what exactly I'm craving?"
"Desperately," Coleman murmured, oh-so-accidentally licking a drop of wine from his lips. In his mind, he was already celebrating his victory.
"I want you to stay completely silent," Ethan almost whispered before suddenly snatching a sharp silver fork from the table and driving it into Matt's leg.
The fork was sharp enough—or maybe Ethan had just put the right amount of force into the blow—that it tore through the fabric of Matt's pants and sank into flesh like a knife in butter. "Not a sound," Ethan mouthed, watching Coleman's face turn pale in an instant. "We both know what's at stake tonight, don't we? Your parents could be ruined over that little tax evasion lawsuit. Oh, what to do, what to do," he sighed, gripping the fork still embedded in Matt's leg. "Who could possibly help save what's left of your crumbling empire? Let me think," Ethan tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. "Oh, right. My father. Out of old friendship. And because of his love for high-stakes cases. The man does love to show off, doesn't he? What a restless person," Ethan allowed himself a smirk. "Other law firms have already rejected your case. Dead in the water, they called it. This might be the last time you sit somewhere this fancy in your entire life. Who knows, you might even have to—God forbid—get a job to put food on the table. So humiliating," Ethan didn't take his eyes off Coleman, who seemed to be holding his breath just to keep from screaming in pain. Any sign of charm or charisma had disappeared.
"Don't you dare to ever come close to my boyfriend again," Ethan exhaled, locking eyes with Coleman. When Matt didn't respond, he pressed down on the fork, twisting it slightly. "Do you understand me?"
"I… understand," Matt gritted out between clenched teeth.
"I didn't quite catch that."
"I understand!" Coleman's voice cracked into a falsetto.
"Do I need to mention that you should keep this little incident to yourself?"
"No!"
"What happened?"
"I fell."
"Right onto a fork?" Ethan asked in disbelief.
"It… happens. Had too many drinks."
"True that," Ethan sighed, nodding. "You should really quit drinking. Look at the trouble it gets you into." With that, he pulled the fork out of Matthew's leg in one swift motion and 'accidentally' dropped it on the floor. "Sit tight and think a little of what just happened. You won't bleed out anyway," Ethan said, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of your evening," Thomson whispered closely, just enough so nobody would hear them. Matthew exhaled soundly.
"T-thanks," he choked out.
"Always a pleasure, Coleman."
5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah's attempt to fix his ruined outfit with water turned out to be a complete failure. The fountain, where Noah had dreamed of a romantic moment at the start of the evening, was now nothing but an irritating piece of lameness. It was foolish to think that water would get rid of the deep red stain seeping into the white fabric. Yes, it was foolish. And yet, Noah was still hoping!
Morgan made another desperate attempt to scrub the crimson blotch from his tie. When he failed, he got so frustrated that he smacked the water with his palm. Why the hell was it that the moment he would start to relax, everything would immediately go straight to hell? It was unfair! He wanted tonight to be perfect, to be dazzling, to spend the evening with Ethan looking right in his new outfit. Instead, he was still Noah Morgan—wearing a wrinkled suit now, a stained shirt, a ruined tie, and hair that was anything but styled. His mood was sinking fast.
"Did you have a little accident here?"
Noah flinched and turned to Ethan, who was standing barely a meter away, having appeared so silently it was as if he'd materialized out of thin air.
"Something like that," Noah muttered.
"Don't worry, it's not a big deal. It's just a shirt after all," Ethan remarked, setting a paper bag with his father's company logo onto the bench beside the fountain.
"Yeah. You're right. Still… I should've been more careful," Noah mumbled, deciding not to explain what had actually happened. Duncan would probably tell Ethan later anyway, and Thomson would get mad at Noah for being quiet. But right now, the last thing Noah wanted to do was to ruin Ethan's mood, or worse, to start a scene at a charity gala.
Ethan just shrugged his shoulders, looking unbothered. Then, without a word, he took off his jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the bench. Then the same thing happened to his vest. Only when he hooked a finger into his tie, which, by the way, was tied identically to the one he had tied for Noah earlier, and yanked it loose in one sharp motion, did Morgan finally snap out of his daze. He asked in a quiet voice:
"What are you doing?"
Ethan shot Morgan a cunning glance.
"What does it look like?"
Noah let out a shaky breath, rubbing his knees absently. There were a dozen possible answers to that question, but only one kept circling in his head.
"Am I… supposed to… uh… undress too?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice."
Noah cast a glance at the panoramic window. The auction was in full swing, meaning most of the guests were focused on the items being bid on. The few who had decided to skip this part of the evening were either standing by the buffet table or gathered in small groups, discussing business. No one seemed eager to step out onto the balcony. And even if they were, Duncan, who was still standing barely a couple of feet away from the terrace doors, would stop them in their tracks, that's for sure. Ethan had everything planned.
"Hurry up before someone catches us," Ethan advised, clearly intent on making the moment feel a little more scandalous, as if Duncan wasn't guarding the door. He hooked a finger into Noah's tie, tugging him forward until Morgan had no choice but to stand up from the bench. Ethan himself had already taken his shirt off. He was standing bare-chested before Noah, still wearing his mask and his black leather gloves.
Noah had not been mentally prepared for this level of visual pornography.
"Oh… I just… uh…" he stammered, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, completely forgetting to remove his tie and jacket first. Then it hit him—jacket first—so he left the half-unbuttoned shirt and tried to shrug off his blazer first. Somehow, he ended up getting tangled in the sleeves.
"Relax. It's not like we're about to fuck here," Ethan snorted. Noah froze, staring at him in stunned silence. Thomson held his gaze for a beat before arching a brow and saying, "Seriously?"
"What was I supposed to think?" Noah muttered, glancing at the fountain. He wondered how long he'd have to keep his head underwater before drowning.
"Literally anything else?" Ethan suggested, holding out his shirt to Morgan. "Put this on."
Noah took it without a word, not even bothering to hide his mix of irritation and mild disappointment. Not that he'd ever imagined their first time happening in a semi-public place under the open sky, but still…
"And what about you?"
Without answering, Thomson pulled out a crisp white shirt out of the paper bag he had brought.
"Do you always carry spare shirts with you?"
"No. I bought it from a waiter for fifty bucks," Ethan said, slipping it on. Noah's shirt turned out to be too big in the shoulders but somehow still too short in the sleeves.
"Shouldn't I take the waiter's shirt instead?" he asked.
"No."
"Why not? The sleeves are longer."
"It's made of terrible material. Besides, I'd rather you not wear some random guy's sweaty shirt."
"Oh, but yours is fine, right?" Noah grinned. Frankly speaking, Ethan's shirt didn't smell like sweat at all, just the faintest trace of expensive cologne. "It actually feels weird. I couldn't think you'd let me wear something that had been so close to your body for so long," Noah said casually. Ethan froze, and Morgan had finally understood that Ethan simply hadn't thought about that. Could that be counted as progress? Or had Noah just destroyed that progress with one careless remark?
Ethan swallowed but didn't continue the subject of their conversation, choosing to circle back to the previous topic instead:
"How the hell did you think I was suggesting to have sex here?" He gestured around them, as if to highlight just how visible this place was.
"No comment," Morgan muttered.
"You're even filthier than I thought," Ethan stated.
"Oh, so you thought I was filthy before?" Noah smirked.
"Absolutely."
"And why's that?"
"I've seen your sketches."
"Even if I do draw you sometimes, that doesn't mean I—"
"I've seen other sketches," Ethan clarified, and a wave of panic crashed over Noah.
"What other sketches?" His voice came out hoarse, and the urge to dunk his head into the fountain became even bigger. "Wait… did you go through my stuff?!" It was supposed to sound like an acquisition, but instead, it came out more like a desperate plea for Ethan to say no.
"No," Ethan said, granting Noah's wish. "Not on purpose," he added after a brief pause. "Your cat knocked over your sketchbook. I picked it up."
"And what did you see?"
"A couple of pages."
"So you did flip through it."
"Yes, I flipped through it."
"You had no right to do that!"
"Neither did you," Ethan shot back, amused by Noah's outrage. "I don't recall giving you permission to draw me. If art is your asset, then mine is my body. My appearance belongs to me. If you wanted to sketch me, wouldn't it have been fair to ask first? Why do you think your right to create the drawing outweighs my right to my own image?"
Noah grunted sadly.
"Especially if you're planning to draw a whole swarm of tentacles to me, which, in your fantasies, are fucking you in every possible way, in every possible position, through every possible…"
Noah felt his knees go weak. He slumped onto the bench, buried his face in his hands, and let out a desperate groan.
"That… is… not… you!"
"Oh, so just someone who looks a hell of a lot like me? Should I be getting jealous?"
"And I wasn't drawing myself!"
"There was a silhouette."
"Who says that silhouette was me?!"
"Do I look like an idiot to you?"
Noah groaned again, silently vowing to never look Ethan in the eye or utter another word for the rest of his life. He saw it. He saw that sketch.
Good thing it was only the first in a whole damn series…
"Are there more?" Ethan might as well have read his mind. Noah kept his face buried in his hands.
"Well? Are there more?" Ethan's voice sounded closer now.
"…Yeah," Noah barely managed to say.
"Will you show me?"
Morgan shook his head. Not in a million years. Tonight, he was going to gather every single one of those drawings, put them in the backyard, and set them on fire!
"Why not? I need to get a better understanding of your preferences."
Noah had never been closer to dying of embarrassment. His eyes got wet with completely unnecessary tears of helplessness.
"These are not preferences! Just… fantasies," he mumbled so quietly it was almost inaudible.
"Well, to be honest, I did find one positive thing in my discovery," Ethan assured him, though Noah couldn't imagine a single possible way anything about this could be remotely positive.
Wait a second… Ethan hadn't had many chances to get acquainted with Morgan's artwork, considering Noah only sketched things like that at home and made damn sure they never fell into the wrong hands. Which meant Thomson had seen them before he started dating Morgan? What was it like to visit a friend's place and stumble upon drawings of yourself in the starring role? Jesus Christ, how humiliating! And how easily that could've turned Ethan off Noah completely! Could have… but didn't.
"What is it?" Morgan managed to whisper.
"The sketch made me realize I could share my own interests with you without fearing judgment."
Ethan stepped so close that his knee brushed against Noah's.
"Sooner or later, I would've found out anyway, wouldn't I?"
"Later would've been better!" Noah forced out, " Later or never!"
"Is it really fair to keep little secrets like that from your partner? Keeping things bottled up isn't exactly a solid foundation for a healthy relationship."
"Oh yeah, a real healthy relationship! One of us ties people up, the other…" Noah choked on his own words, unable to come up with a fitting description for himself.
"At least we won't get bored," Ethan's voice sounded different, not so muted.
"Oh, that's for sure!" Noah blurted out, being caught somewhere between exasperation, shame, and a childish sense of indignation.
"Take your hands off your face," Ethan asked out of nowhere.
"No way. This is how I live now," Noah declared, but when he felt Thomson's fingers on his wrists, he let Ethan pull his hands away. That didn't mean Morgan was about to look Ethan in the eye. Not this year at least!
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about with me," Ethan assured him gently. "Tentacles are tentacles. Fantasize all you want, as long as I'm taking part in your imagination."
"Thank you. That makes me feel much better," Noah muttered, suddenly all too aware of Ethan's fingers now brushing his chin. Thomson was still wearing gloves, of course, but his eagerness for physical contact was throwing Noah off.
"Yeah, I imagine it's a lot to take in. But do your best," there was a smirk in his voice. "Look at me," Ethan asked and tilted Noah's chin up. Morgan immediately shifted his gaze, staring at anything but him. That plan to not look Ethan in the eye for a thousand years at least was ruined the second Morgan felt the faintest brush against his lips. Noah's eyes snapped to Ethan in shock. Thomson had leaned in, and… he wasn't wearing his mask. The touch had been a kiss. Barely a kiss. It was almost criminally innocent, given Thomson's usual temperament. It was a kind of kiss one would give when saying goodnight or in the morning while rushing to work. For a first kiss, it was awfully tame.
So Noah decided to fix that. He grabbed Ethan by the back of the neck, and, just as he started to pull away, Noah yanked him in and crushed their lips together.