The wall at his back was cool.
Everything else wasn’t.
His fingers caressed the back of Sage’s neck, holding him as the kiss deepened again, less impact now and more pull, more intent behind it, like Sage wasn’t testing anything anymore, just taking what he’d already decided was his.
Law’s grip tightened—subtle, possessive—just enough to answer.
Fabric shifted between them, already half out of the way. Sage’s hands moved fast, impatient, dragging Law’s shirt loose and off his shoulder like it was the only thing left in the way.
Law didn’t stop that either.
Didn’t slow him down.
His other hand slid along Sage’s side, finding skin this time instead of fabric.
Sage leaned into it immediately.
No hesitation.
No pullback.
Just closer.
And Law let it hold exactly like that—no shift, no retreat—just a quiet, settled awareness threading through everything else as the moment continued to build without breaking:
he wasn’t stepping out of this.
The hallway was too tight.
Law adjusted without breaking contact, turning them both toward the doors at the end of the hall.
Sage followed immediately.
No hesitation.
Like distance wasn’t something he was willing to allow back in.
The hallway opened up, bright and exposed. Law moved with him, keeping them from catching on anything.
Fabric gave way between them.
His shirt was already loose, half off. Sage finished the job, hands fast and sure, and Law dragged the fabric free where it caught, letting it drop somewhere behind them without looking.
Not important.
Nothing outside of this was.
Sage pulled his shirt up and off. It caught for a second, then cleared, and his skin was there under Law’s hands—warm, nothing in the way now.
Law’s hand slid back to him automatically, finding the curve of his hip, steady pressure mapping Sage, the way he moved closer under contact instead of pulling away.
Still choosing this.
Still in it.
They crossed into the bedroom.
Law took a step back, then another, pulling Sage with him.
