Chapter Text
BIBLE'S POV:
The club was loud, almost unbearably so, but that was exactly why Bible had come.
Noise meant distraction. Music meant movement. Crowds meant anonymity.
He needed all three tonight.
The bass rattled through his chest as he nursed a half-empty glass of whiskey at the edge of the bar. He didn't usually linger in clubs — too many hands brushing against him, too many wandering eyes — but he had let himself be dragged out by a friend who had long since disappeared into the swarm of bodies on the dance floor. Bible stayed behind, scanning faces, pretending the alcohol was enough to loosen the knot that had been tightening in his chest for months.
It wasn't working.
He shifted, leaning on one elbow, his gaze wandering across the pulsing crowd. And that was when he saw him.
ALPHA
The man stood out instantly, as if the strobe lights and haze of smoke had been designed to highlight him alone. Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of confidence that bent space around him. he wasn't dancing; he was simply there, leaning against the far wall with a drink in his hand, and yet every single person in his radius seemed to react to him. Some with sideways glances, some with lingering stares, a few with open admiration.
But he didn't notice any of them. His gaze was lazy, predatory, scanning the room as if he was waiting for something to entertain him.
When that gaze landed on Bible, it was like being struck.
Bible swallowed, heat curling low in his stomach. Jes didn't look away. His eyes lingered — sharp, assessing, and then, unexpectedly, amused. A smirk tugged at his mouth as if he had already decided something about Bible without a single word exchanged.
Bible hated that kind of arrogance. He also couldn't stop staring.
He pushed off the wall, moving through the crowd without hesitation. The way people shifted out of his path was almost comical. By the time Jes reached the bar, Bible's pulse was thudding far too hard for him to pretend he wasn't affected.
Alpha leaned against the counter, close enough that Bible caught the faintest hint — warm spice and clean smoke.
"JES"- He introduced himself
"You've been sitting here a while," Jes said, his voice low, smooth, threaded with something deliberate. "Waiting for someone?"
Bible arched an eyebrow, lifting his glass to his lips. "Maybe I'm just enjoying my drink."
"BIBLE"- I introduced myself
Jes's eyes tracked the movement, slow and unhurried. "A whiskey that's been watered down with ice for the last half hour?" His smirk widened. "Doesn't look like enjoyment to me."
Bible rolled his eyes, though his mouth twitched despite himself. "And what are you, the whiskey police?"
"No." Jes's gaze dipped briefly to Bible's lips before meeting his eyes again. "Just someone who noticed you weren't smiling."
Bible's stomach twisted. That was too close, too observant. He covered it with a scoff. "You've been watching me that long?"
Jes didn't deny it. "Long enough."
The directness made Bible's throat dry. He turned away, motioning to the bartender for another pour. Jes didn't leave. He leaned closer, his arm brushing Bible's, casual but intentional.
The touch burned.
Bible told himself he should shrug it off, should push Jes back with a cutting remark. But instead, his mouth betrayed him. "And what exactly are you planning to do about it?"
Jes's grin was sharp, wicked. "Make you smile, for starters."
The banter continued, back and forth, edged with something heavier each time. Jes teased; Bible snapped back; Jes laughed, low and rich, like he found every retort charming rather than deflective. It was infuriating. It was addictive.
The longer they talked, the more the air thickened between them, until the music and the crowd faded into background noise. Bible caught himself leaning in, his knee brushing Jes's. He should have pulled away. He didn't.
Jes noticed. His hand slid lightly along the counter until his fingers brushed Bible's. A test. A question.
Bible's breath caught, but he didn't move his hand.
Jes leaned closer, his lips at Bible's ear, his voice barely audible over the music. "Tell me to stop."
Bible turned his head, and before he could think better of it, he closed the gap. Their mouths met in a kiss that was all teeth and heat, clashing and hungry. Jes kissed like he owned the air they breathed, like every second was his to take. Bible met him bite for bite, refusing to be swallowed whole, but the longer it went on, the more his body betrayed him. His chest pressed against Jes's, his hands fisting in his shirt.
It was reckless. It was wrong. And Bible wanted more.
When Jes pulled back, both of them were breathing hard. Jes's eyes were dark, hooded, and the smirk that had been playing at his lips all night had vanished. He looked serious now. Focused.
"Come with me," Jes said. Not a request. A command softened by the rough edge of want.
Bible hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded.
The hotel room door slammed shut behind them, Jes's hand still firm around Bible's wrist. The hallway outside might as well not exist anymore; the world narrowed down to the two of them, to Jes's heat pressed against his back, to the low rumble of his voice brushing Bible's ear.
"Been wanting to taste you since the second I saw you," Jes growled.
Bible shivered. He didn't usually let strangers manhandle him like this — but Jes wasn't just anyone. There was something about the way he moved, how he looked at Bible, that made resistance feel pointless. Worse, it made resistance feel undesirable.
Jes spun him around, caging him against the door. Their mouths collided again, harder than at the club, Jes's tongue pushing past his lips, taking, claiming. Bible groaned against him, fingers digging into Jes's shoulders, his body arching instinctively into the kiss.
The dominance should have pissed him off. Instead, it lit him up.
Jes broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, "Tell me if I'm too much."
The words cut straight through the haze. Bible blinked up at him, breathless. Jes's pupils were blown wide, hunger carved into every line of his face — and yet, underneath, there was restraint. Concern.
It hit Bible in a place deeper than lust. He swallowed, forcing his voice steady. "If you stop now, I'll hate you."
Jes smirked, but his eyes softened. "Good. Then hold on."
Clothes went flying — Jes's shirt tugged off, Bible's jacket tossed aside, belt buckles clinking. Jes kissed him through it all, dragging their mouths together between layers peeled away, until Bible was bare-chested and shivering against him. Jes's hands roamed everywhere — up his spine, over his ribs, down to the dip of his waist. Firm, possessive, yet never careless. Every touch felt deliberate, like Jes was memorizing him.
Bible gasped when Jes's palm cupped him through his jeans, squeezing just enough to make his knees buckle.
"Fuck—"
Jes's lips brushed his temple. "That's it. Give it to me."
It was insane how easily Jes's voice unraveled him. Bible had had hookups before, plenty of them, but no one had ever made him feel seen like this, like every reaction was being savored. He wanted to fight it, wanted to cling to the idea that this was casual, meaningless but when Jes sank to his knees and unbuttoned his jeans with steady hands, Bible couldn't think of a single coherent lie to tell himself.
Jes's mouth was hot, devastating. He took Bible deep, his tongue working him over with obscene skill. Bible's head smacked back against the door, a strangled moan tearing out of him.
"Shit, Jes—"
Jes hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks down Bible's spine. His hands gripped Jes's hair, not to guide but to ground himself, because he was seconds away from flying apart. Jes pulled back just enough to murmur against him, lips swollen, eyes glinting.
"Don't hold back. I want it all."
Bible swore, thrusting helplessly into that waiting mouth, every shred of control slipping. Jes took it, unflinching, unrelenting, until Bible came with a cry that echoed in the small room. Jes swallowed, licked his lips, and looked up at him like he'd just won a war.
Bible collapsed against the door, chest heaving. "You're... ridiculous."
Jes rose slowly, body pressed flush against his again, kissing him through the aftershocks. "Not ridiculous," he whispered. "Just addicted."
The bed caught them next, Jes pushing him down onto the mattress. Bible expected more roughness, expected to be tossed and taken apart — but Jes surprised him again. He slowed down. His hands were still firm, his mouth still demanding, but there was a reverence creeping in. He kissed down Bible's chest, lingered at his collarbone, traced his ribs with his tongue as if it is remembering every inch.
Bible tried to scoff. "You're acting like you'll remember this tomorrow."
Jes glanced up, lips wet, eyes dark. "You think I won't?"
The question hit too hard, too deep. Bible turned his face away, pretending not to care. But when Jes slid inside him minutes later,
slow, careful, his voice a steady anchor
"Breathe for me. You're perfect like this. Let me in."
— Bible cracked.
The stretch burned, but Jes soothed him with kisses, with soft words murmured against his skin. And once the rhythm caught, once the pace built into something harder, relentless, Bible lost himself. Jes moved like a man obsessed, every thrust both claiming and cherishing.
Bible clung to him, nails raking down his back, head tipped back in abandon. Jes kissed the sounds out of his throat, swallowed them like confessions.
"Mine," Jes growled against his mouth. "Even if it's only tonight."
Bible froze for half a second — but then the words drowned under the wave of sensation crashing through him. He came again, shaking apart, Jes's name slipping out before he could stop it. Jes followed soon after, holding him tight as if he had no intention of ever letting go.
Jes wasn't just taking; he was giving. He was relentless and tender at once, every rough thrust balanced with a kiss, every growl tempered by a whisper. Bible had never felt so undone, so consumed, so cared for in the same moment.
By the time they collapsed against the sheets, sweat-slick and trembling, Bible couldn't remember the last time he had felt so completely seen.
It terrified him.
when Bible lay boneless in the sheets, Jes tucked against his side, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his hip, he felt dangerously close to something he couldn't name.
Safe. Wanted. Home.
So when sleep finally pulled him under, he made himself a promise: this was nothing more than tonight. One night, one mistake, one memory. Tomorrow, he would walk away.
He didn't realize how much that promise would cost him.
.
.
The first thing Bible registered when he stirred awake was warmth.
A heavy, solid weight was draped over his waist, a steady rise and fall brushing against his back. Jes. The memory of last night slammed into him all at once: the bar, the kisses, the way Jes had worshipped him with a mix of hunger and tenderness that made Bible's chest ache even now.
For a few seconds, he let himself stay there, eyes closed, body wrapped in Jes's heat. It was dangerous, but also... comforting. Jes had held him all night, arm locked tight around him, as if even in sleep he was unwilling to let Bible go.
Bible could almost believe it was real. Almost believe this was more than a one-night mistake.
But then reality clawed back in. He wasn't allowed to believe in things like this. Not anymore.
Bible carefully shifted, rolling onto his back. Jes was still asleep, face softened, mouth slightly parted. Without the sharp smirk and predatory gaze, he looked younger, almost boyish. Bible's chest tightened painfully.
He shouldn't feel this. Shouldn't want this.
He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. That was when he noticed it:
Jes's side of the bed was empty.
The sheets were still warm, but Jes himself was gone.
Bible froze. The bathroom door was open, the room was quiet. No footsteps, no sound of running water. No sign Jes had even intended to come back.
It was like he'd vanished.
Something inside Bible crumpled. He shouldn't have been surprised — hookups ended like this all the time. People used each other, left without words, without promises. But after the way Jes had looked at him, touched him, whispered to him...
He had believed, just for a moment, that it might mean something.
Stupid.
Bible's throat ached as he forced himself into motion. He dressed quickly, tugging his clothes back on with clumsy hands. He didn't look back at the bed, didn't let himself linger in the scent that clung to the sheets, in the memory of Jes's body pressed against his.
By the time he stepped into the hall, the mask was back in place — lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hard, shoulders squared. If Jes had decided Bible was nothing more than a night's distraction, then fine. Bible would make sure he never knew how much it hurt.
.
.
.
.
.
.— Jes's POV
The club wasn't supposed to be more than noise.
Jes had come here because noise drowned out the weight in his chest. Noise was easier than silence. Silence meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering. So instead, he let the bass shake through him, a glass of whiskey in hand, his shoulder pressed casually to the wall like he owned the space.
People watched him — Jes had long since grown used to that. He had the kind of face and presence that drew eyes whether he wanted it or not. Usually, he found it boring. Tonight was no different.
Until he saw him.
A boy at the bar, dark hair falling into his face, his posture all sharp edges and restless tension. He wasn't laughing with friends, wasn't dancing, wasn't even pretending to enjoy himself. He sat there alone, glass in hand, eyes occasionally flicking across the crowd as if searching for an escape.
Jes couldn't look away.
Something about him was magnetic. Not just his beauty — though Jes noticed that too, the curve of his mouth, the line of his throat, the way the dim club light brushed gold across his cheekbones. No, it was deeper than that. The boy looked untouchable, self-contained, as if he'd built walls so high no one dared climb them.
Jes felt the pull instantly: an itch under his skin, a gnawing need. He wanted to see what lay behind those walls.
When the boy's gaze lifted and collided with his, Jes felt it in his gut. Sharp. Immediate. The boy didn't flinch, didn't look away. Jes smirked, testing. The boy's lips tightened, but his eyes — his eyes betrayed him. Heat flickered there. Curiosity.
Jes was moving before he even thought about it.
Up close, the boy was even more devastating. Jes leaned against the bar, close enough to brush his arm, and felt the electricity buzz.
"You've been sitting here a while," Jes said. He didn't waste time on small talk. "Waiting for someone?"
The boy shot back without hesitation, "Maybe I'm just enjoying my drink."
Jes's gaze flicked to the watered-down whiskey, then back up. He let a slow grin spread across his face. "Doesn't look like enjoyment to me."
That earned him an eye roll — sharp, defensive, but not dismissive. Jes chuckled, low in his throat. He could already feel it: this boy wasn't like the others. He wasn't going to melt easily. Jes liked that. He liked the fight.
But more than that, he liked the way every retort only deepened the flush in the boy's cheeks, the way his lips pressed tighter to keep from smiling. Jes wanted to tear that control apart.
When their fingers brushed on the counter, Jes deliberately didn't pull back. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.
The boy turned his head — and kissed him.
Jes groaned against his mouth, hand fisting in the boy's hair. He tasted like whiskey and defiance, sharp and intoxicating. Jes kissed him harder, swallowing his resistance until all that was left was heat.
When they broke apart, Jes's pulse was pounding. He didn't bother hiding it. "Come with me."
The hotel room was fire. Jes had taken plenty of people to beds like this before, but never like this. Never with his body wound so tight, never with his chest burning like his life depended on it.
Bible — Jes learned his name in the chaos of laughter, in the moans torn out between kisses — was everything he'd wanted and more. Jes devoured him, but with care woven into every bite. He pinned him to the door, but whispered, "You're safe." He dropped to his knees, but murmured, "So fucking perfect." He buried himself deep inside, but said, "Breathe for me. I've got you."
Every sound Bible made became Jes's obsession. Every shiver, every gasp, every tremble of surrender. Jes kissed his throat when he moaned too loud, soothed him with touches when the pace grew rough, praised him until the boy stopped holding back and came undone in his arms.
Jes had never wanted anyone this much.
When he finally let himself go, spilling into Bible with a growl of his name, he held him through the aftershocks, refusing to let go.
He didn't want to. He couldn't.
.
.
Jes woke before the alarm on his phone could even buzz. Years of discipline had trained his body to rise with the light, but this morning felt different. Softer. He blinked against the thin wash of dawn seeping past the curtains, his head still heavy, his muscles loose with the kind of exhaustion that wasn't unpleasant.
And then he remembered.
Bible.
Jes turned his head, and there he was. Sprawled beside him, tangled in the sheets, breathing slow and even. His lips were parted slightly, lashes resting against flushed cheeks. The wild, sharp boy from last night was gone; in his place lay something unguarded, vulnerable.
Jes's chest tightened in a way he didn't expect.
He should have rolled out of bed, collected his clothes, and disappeared before things got complicated. That was how these things usually went. Clean break, no lingering. Jes had mastered the art of leaving before dawn without a trace, before anyone could expect more from him than what he was willing to give.
But this morning... he couldn't move.
His arm was still slung around Bible's waist, and the thought of pulling it away made something inside him ache. So instead, Jes tightened his hold, pressing his nose into Bible's hair. He smelled faintly of whiskey and sweat, but beneath it was something clean and warm, something that made Jes want to breathe deeper.
His fingers brushed idle patterns over the smooth plane of Bible's stomach, watching goosebumps rise under his touch even in sleep. Jes smiled faintly. "Sensitive," he whispered, though he knew Bible couldn't hear him.
Bible stirred anyway, a small shift closer, a sleepy exhale that ghosted over Jes's skin. Jes froze, then relaxed when it was clear he hadn't woken. Carefully, almost reverently, Jes pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder.
Fuck, he thought. This wasn't supposed to happen.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
By the time the light grew brighter, Jes forced himself to move. Slowly, so he wouldn't wake Bible, he eased out from under the sheets. He stood at the side of the bed for a moment, watching him. Bible was curled in the warm dent Jes had left, clutching the pillow like a shield.
Jes ran a hand down his own face. He wanted to stay. God, he wanted to crawl back in and hold him until noon, wanted to memorize every expression when he finally opened his eyes. But if he stayed, he risked scaring him. Hookups didn't wake up to men clinging like lovers.
Jes decided on something else instead: he'd bring breakfast. Coffee. Something tangible, something that said I came back. Something to prove this wasn't just a fuck in a hotel bed.
He dressed quickly, tugging his shirt over his head, running a hand through his hair. Before he left, he leaned down, unable to stop himself from pressing one last kiss to Bible's temple.
"You don't even know what you've done to me," Jes murmured. Then he slipped out the door.
The coffee shop on the corner was just opening. Jes ordered two americanos, grabbed a paper bag filled with croissants still warm from the oven, and tried not to feel ridiculous about how his chest fluttered at the thought of Bible's reaction.
He pictured it: Bible blinking awake, sitting up groggy and annoyed, only to see Jes walk back in. Jes setting the cup on the nightstand, saying something smug like, "Told you I wasn't done with you." Maybe Bible would roll his eyes, maybe he'd mutter something sharp, but he'd drink the coffee. He'd stay.
Jes carried the tray carefully all the way back to the hotel, his pulse picking up with every step.
He opened the door quietly, grinning already, ready for that moment.
But the bed was empty.
Sheets tossed aside, cold. Bible's clothes gone. His jacket, his shoes, everything.
Jes stopped dead in the doorway, coffee trembling in his hands.
"...no."
It felt like the word cracked something in his chest. He set the tray down slowly on the desk, staring at the space where Bible had been. The pillow still held the faint indentation of his head. Jes sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his hair.
Bible hadn't even left a note.
He had thought Jes left him.
Jes realized it in a sickening rush: he had meant to show proof that he'd stayed, that he cared. But in his absence, in that sliver of time, Bible must have woken and seen the empty bed, seen Jes gone — and assumed the worst.
The croissants were still steaming in their bag, the coffee still hot. Jes stared at them like they were a cruel joke.
For the first time in years, Jes felt powerless. He'd found something he hadn't even known he was searching for, only to lose it before he could hold it.
And he knew — deep in his bones — he wasn't going to forget him.
Not tomorrow. Not ever.