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Part Four

L ex was doing it again.

The same thing he’d done outside the club—white-faced, trembling violently.

Even now, Morgan had to brace an arm around his waist just to get him into the car. There wasn’t any weight to him: limp, yet vibrating, panic given shape.

Morgan had booked the first flight he could find.

Late tonight.

They had hours to kill, and Morgan had an eternity to keep Lex in one piece.

Disposing of Ollie could wait until Lex was stable.

“I don’t—” Lex started, broken and soft. Those huge eyes stayed fix on the envelope, blood seeping into his pants. “I hate this…”

Morgan didn’t ask what he hated in this moment.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was this. Lex, unraveling. Not all at once. Thread by thread.

Morgan sat rigid beside him, jaw tight, watching it happen. A subtle shift beneath his breastbone made the inside of his chest feel even more wrong. Unnatural. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

“Can you do something for me?” Morgan asked. He moved his hand to Lex’s face, stroking his jaw gently.

Lex nodded—too quick, too eager.

Morgan wanted the other version of him. The one who’d roll his eyes and pout, pushing Morgan just to see how far he would go. The one who threw tantrums, full of heat and noise. That was the real Lex. His Lex.

“Go back upstairs—”

“I don’t want to,” Lex cut in, whispered and rushed.

The tears shimmering in his eyes almost made Morgan retract the entire statement, almost made him shift gears.

“Go back upstairs,” Morgan repeated, firmer the second time. “Put the letter down. Change your pants. Wash your hands. Do you remember the new ones? The gray tweed?”

Morgan couldn’t risk him going out covered in blood. It would cause stares. He should’ve fixed it earlier, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Lex needed, and Morgan responded .

“Put those on,” he continued. “Forget the underwear.”

He waited for the familiar kick-back—defiance, resistance, anything. Morgan had wagered on it, dangled the three words like bait. Something sharp enough to pierce the daze Lex was drowning in.

It didn’t come.

“I don’t…” Lex’s voice cracked. Tears, inevitable and silent, finally slid free. “I don’t know how to let go.”

“Of the letter?”

There wasn’t even a nod this time.

Throwing open the driver’s side door, Morgan ripped the card from Lex’s hands. He dumped it into the trash can nearby. Buried it beneath a cluster of fast food wrappers and a coffee cup, making sure it vanished from view.

Out of sight, out of mind. Or that was the theory, anyway.

“Out of the car, Lex,” Morgan said, more order than suggestion. “Into the elevator. I’ll be here when you get back. If you’re gone longer than ten minutes, you won’t like what happens.”

It should have landed harder. Should have had bite, more weight.

But the edge dulled at the end.

He couldn’t get himself to mean it. Not with Lex looking like that.

Lex didn’t say anything. He simply opened the door, slow and shaky, like every movement required conscious effort.

Morgan watched him cross the lot. The automatic doors swallowed him in a blink of glass and chrome.

And then Morgan was alone .

He leaned back against the headrest, eyes fixed on the glowing hotel entrance, the way the light from the lobby bled out into the dark.

This was a mistake.

Morgan should’ve gone with him. Should’ve forced Lex into the elevator, walked him to the room, peeled the bloody pants off with steady hands and told him none of this mattered. That nothing could touch them, not here. Not anywhere. Not while they were together.

But he stayed in the car.

Maybe because he needed to believe Lex could come back to him on his own.

Because what if this was the moment Lex didn’t return? What if, for once, Morgan needed—and Lex didn’t come running?

He checked the clock.

Two minutes.

Five.

Seven.

By the time ten rolled around, Morgan’s stomach was twisted tight again, his mouth dry, heart tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against his ribs.

And then—

There he was.

Lex stepped out of the automatic doors, slower now, but upright. Changed. The gray tweed pants were wrinkled, and he still hadn’t wiped the tear tracks from his face. But the blood was gone.

More importantly, there was a little more light in his eyes.

Not much. The smallest flicker .

But enough.

The rooftop bar was mostly empty. Quiet, the way Morgan preferred things when he wasn’t hunting—dim lighting cast long shadows against dark wood paneling, soft white bulbs dangling overhead. The four guests and two servers blended into background noise, forgettable and faint.

Lex hadn’t let go of his hand since they left the car—white-knuckled grip, fingers trembling slightly, like he expected Morgan to vanish.

Morgan led them to a corner table, worn seats with a view of the skyline. It wasn’t perfect, but it was private.

He waited until they were settled, until Lex had folded in close beside him.

“What do you need, Lex?” Morgan asked.

Lex pulled their joined hands into his lap, pressing them close, tucked against the inside of his thighs. He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes fixed on nothing.

“I want to forget,” he said finally. “Like before.”

Morgan tilted his head, studying him. “Before..?”

Lex nodded, cheeks burning bright with color now—embarrassment layered over something else.

“You mean the bath tub?”

Another nod.

At least he was talking. At least he was asking for help .

That mattered more than anything.

Morgan didn’t know the word for what curled in his gut—pride wasn’t quite right. It was too small. Too neat.

This was heavier. Fierce. Something protective and possessive threaded through with relief.

He let that feeling anchor him as he brushed a thumb over the back of Lex’s hand.

“Will you be alright if I go back to the car to grab something? Then we can get started.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Lex looked up. “What—”

Morgan pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t spoil the surprise,” he whispered as he stood. “Let me do what I do best.”

“Doing what you do best is… really scary, Morgan,” Lex said as Morgan slid back into the chair.

“I realized the same thing as I was coming up the stairs. That’s not what I meant.”

“Explain.”

Morgan reached beneath the table. Not under Lex’s pants. Not yet. Just one firm hand pressing to the inside of his thigh, thumb brushing slow circles through the fabric. Spreading his legs open with calm insistence, like it was owed.

Lex swallowed hard. He didn’t stop him .

Slipping the small device from his pocket, Morgan adjusted it in his palm. Matte black. No wires. Just silent efficiency, designed for control.

He turned it on.

Lex jolted. A soft, startled sound caught in his throat. The muscle in his thigh tensed under Morgan’s hand.

“You wanted to forget,” Morgan said quietly. “So forget.”

There was no malice in it. No raised voice.

Lex functioned better when someone forced him to stop. It was really that simple.

He pressed the bullet vibrator higher between Lex’s legs, shifting the angle until he found the already hard cock. Gentle. Impeccably slow. Letting the sensation settle. Letting Lex adjust to the feeling.

This was how Lex reset. Not through talking. Not through comfort. Through sensation so sharp it cut through the static in his head.

And Morgan would always be the one to deliver it. Always the one to hold him together while taking him apart.

Lex’s eyes fluttered closed. His shoulders rose and fell with tight control, and then—

There it was.

That quiet, invisible shift. The second everything went soft inside him. Like a dam breaking without sound.

The split-second surrender.

Morgan leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Lex’s ear. His voice barely carried.

“What are you thinking about now? ”

Lex turned his head toward him, forehead resting against Morgan’s mouth. A grounding gesture, unconscious.

“ Shut. Up, ” Lex gritted out, voice strained but familiar.

There we go.

Morgan couldn’t help but smile.

There was no pleasure quite like dragging Lex back to himself. Not even the act itself, but the aftermath. The glow of recognition returning to those too blue, too wide eyes.

Morgan moved his hand, gentler now. Less guiding, more supportive. He let the silence stretch around them, let Lex ride the edge.

Control, after all, didn’t need to be cruel. It only needed to be constant.

Lex started shifting. Finally. Restless, needy, chasing friction with all the instinct of an animal in heat. Searching for something to ease the ache.

Morgan didn’t let that happen.

He increased the intensity by a single notch. Then another. The device was silent—but Morgan felt it in the way Lex jolted, how his body betrayed him without grace or control.

Lex’s knee hit the table.

The sound was sharp. Hollow. Wood against bone.

Morgan didn’t stop.

He only pressed one elbow to the table’s edge and rested his chin on the back of his hand. Like a man observing a gallery piece he’d memorized—the lines, the trembling frame, the beautiful red face—yet still found something new in each viewing. Still loved enough to study again.

Lex’s voice broke through in a hiss. Desperate. Raw.

“ Morgan —”

“No.”

Lex choked back whatever he’d meant to say. Morgan watched him swallow the words whole. His breathing was ruined. Each inhale staggered, catching on invisible threads.

“I—I need—” he whispered, barely audible. “I need to—”

Morgan turned the vibe off.

Lex sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, head lolling against Morgan’s shoulder.

“Tell me what you want,” Morgan murmured. “Do you want me to leave you like this? Would you like me to get you off with my hands? My mouth? Fuck you? What do you need most right now?”

Lex’s response was immediate, breathless. “Fuck me.” His hands were already climbing Morgan’s chest like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d forgotten anyone else existed. His mouth brushed against the side of Morgan’s—pleading and perfect. “Like we do at home.”

Nothing had sounded so good.

“Bathroom. Now.”