Chapter 3 | Moxie

The door creaks open and we step into the hallway. I’m rocking shredded black jeans, a faded Slayer tee, leather jacket slung low over my shoulders and dark sunglasses shielding the bags under my eyes. Mara’s swallowed by an oversized graphic hoodie, her black nail polish chipped to hell. Her hair’s tied back messy, loose strands framing her face. She looks like a hungover woodland creature. It’s weirdly adorable.

“You look like a corpse,” I say, not unkindly.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Feel like one. Didn’t sleep. Dreams were… weird.”

“Yeah, well. Not exactly shocking considering the fucking everything about this place.” I wave a hand down the hallway.

She lets out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh, maybe not.

“Come on. Let’s get some coffee in you before you actually snap and turn this into a murder hotel.”

“Coffee sounds good,” she mumbles.

We drift through the lounge and into reception. It smells like wet carpet and grease. I catch the front desk creep, Greaves, watching us again like we’re going to pocket the antique furniture. I give him my best fuck you glare as we head through to the dining room.

Several tables are laid out but only a couple occupied. In the far corner, I spot Shane and Noah with half-drank coffees in front of them.

“What’s up, shitters,” I call out, slumping into the nearest empty chair.

Someone from another table glances over. I ignore them.

Noah gives us a small wave. “Morning. You guys survived the night. How’d you sleep?”

“Like shit,” Mara says without missing a beat. She looks like she crawled out of her own grave.

Noah glances at me.

“Like shit,” I confirm, peeling off my sunglasses. “Thanks for asking.”

He grimaces. “Okay, so… got some not great news.”

I squint. “You dress like that on purpose?”

“Our gig in Branford’s cancelled.”

I snap upright. “What the fuck!?”

He lowers his voice, glancing around. “Got a call from the venue this morning. We’re off the bill. Wouldn’t say why.”

“What the fuck!?” I repeat.

He looks away. “They seemed cool yesterday, but today? Totally cold.”

“What the fuck,” I say again, because seriously, what the fuck.

Noah finally meets my eyes. “Do you want to call them?”

“Yes.” I say, not missing a beat.

Shane chimes in, “Bad idea.”

I shoot him a look. “Your dad not using a condom was a bad idea. Noah, hand me your phone.”

“Mox—” Noah tries to stop me.

“Nope. Fuck those clowns. We were booked. I’m talking to them.”

“Mox!” Mara cuts in, voice tense.

I take a slow breath, letting the tension hang. “Fine.”

Mara turns to Noah. “So, what’s the plan?”

Noah exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just been talking with Shane about that. What do you two wanna do?”

“Grimsby Ridge isn’t until Friday, right?”

Noah nods.

“So we’ve got a few days to kill. Find a hotel, maybe rent a studio, practice that new shit we’ve been working on?” Mara tries to keep it hopeful, but it sounds thin.

Noah forces a tight, bitter smile. “Without the Branford money? That’s our entire budget wiped out. We’re seriously fucked. That was one of the bigger gigs.”

“So what, we just live in the van till Friday?” Mara shoots back, voice biting.

Noah shrugs. “No idea. Let’s grab some breakfast first, then figure out how not to totally blow this.”

Mr Greaves appears at the table all of a sudden. “Good morning, I trust we all slept well” He grins, glancing towards Shane.

I smile sweetly, leaning back in my chair. “Like a corpse, real peaceful place you’ve got here.”

Greaves chuckles softly, like he’s heard a private joke. “Wonderful. We do pride ourselves on... quiet nights. And if I might tempt you to linger a while, we’re offering very generous weekday rates.”

His gaze lingers, steady and too still, like he’s memorising our faces.

“We’re good. Thank you,” Noah says, polite but firm.

Greaves doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. His smile stays perfectly in place, like it’s been painted on. “Of course. Then I shall look forward to seeing you at checkout. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He turns on his heel without another word, gliding over to a nearby table where a young woman with bright, fiery red hair sits quietly, sipping her coffee.

I let out a mock shiver the second Greaves disappears, then trail after Mara toward the buffet.

The breakfast buffet’s exactly what you’d expect. There’s a lineup of food, technically, but everything looks like it’s been sweating under a heat lamp overnight.

There’s a tray of pale sausages floating in orange-tinted grease, a heap of scrambled eggs that look like they were poured from a bag and left to congeal, and what might be hash browns but it’s tough to tell. A stack of microwaved pancakes sits off to the side, beside them, a row of plastic-wrapped muffins.

Behind a smudged kitchen window, a greasy woman clatters pans with the rage of someone fighting off a hangover. She mutters constantly, like she’s arguing with ghosts.

I hit the coffee machine, a rusted relic that gurgles like it’s in pain before sputtering out a bitter, tar-coloured stream. It tastes like burnt toast and metal. I don’t mind. Shitty coffee’s basically my blood type after these weeks on the road.

I head back to the table where Maya’s heroically chewing her way through a dry slice of toast and the saddest banana I’ve ever seen. Hell of a place to be vegan.

Noah gives me a quick fist bump on his way past, he and Shane marching off toward the buffet of disappointment like doomed soldiers heading into battle.

I glance at Mara across the table. She’s got that distant look she gets when her brain’s chewing on something it doesn’t like.

“You okay?” I ask casually, peeling the wrapper off my muffin.

Mara blinks, snaps out of it, gives a half-hearted smile. “Yeah. Just a weird dream.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Weird how?”

She shrugs, focusing hard on her coffee. “Just… weird. Doesn’t matter.” Which is Mara-speak for “deeply unsettling but I’m not ready to talk about it.”

I take a slow sip of my awful coffee, trying to shove the weirdness of my dream out of my head. We were back in Saint Pyre. Shane was on stage, playing his bass, and I was in the crowd watching. Every strum slammed through me, relentless, until I crumbled to my knees, trembling uncontrollably as I came.

Anyway…

No clue what that says about me, but definitely not something I’m ready to unpack before breakfast.

Shane and Noah return to the table, carrying their plates. Noah’s plate is a cautious selection of the safer, less questionable items from the buffet. Shane, on the other hand, has piled his plate high with everything that caught his eye, no matter how dubious it looks. 

“You’re really going to eat all that?” Mara says, giving him a look like she’s watching someone willingly signing their own death warrant.

“Uh, yeah,” Shane shrugs, acting like it’s no big deal.

Noah grins. “You do realise there’s no toilet in the van, right?”

Shane just smirks. “Guts of iron. I’m good.”

Noah leans in, lowering his voice. “Look. I’ve been thinking… about what Greaves said. What if we did stay a couple more days?”

I blink. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“No, just hear me out,” Noah says. “Last night cost us next to nothing, and he did say it’s cheaper during the week.”

I give him a look. “You’re actually serious about this?”

He shrugs. “Went out for a smoke this morning, did a lap around the place. There’s this huge ballroom through those double doors.” He nods toward the back of the room. “Could be a great practice space, if we can sweet-talk Greaves.”

I glance around the table to gauge the others. Mara looks uncertain. Shane’s still chewing, but I can tell he’s considering it.

“This is insane,” I mutter, laughing under my breath.

“It’s this or the van,” Noah says.

“Okay? So… the van?”

Shane finally swallows, then nods. “I’m down to stay.”

I shoot him daggers. “No one asked you. Prick.”

“Mara?” I ask, hoping for backup.

She turns to me, visibly uneasy. “I don’t like it either, Mox… but it beats sleeping in the van.”

I throw my hands up. “Fuuuck me. Alright. Whatever. Democracy wins.”

I stand, brushing crumbs off my lap with a sigh. “Cool. Haunted hotel til Friday. Love that for us.”

I grab my coffee and toss them a lazy salute. “I’ll be upstairs washing the smell of this place off while you lot convince Cryptkeeper Ken to let us scream in his ballroom.”

“I’ll be up in a bit,” Mara says, giving my hand a quick squeeze.

Noah gives me a nod. Shane just grunts through a mouthful of whatever disgusting breakfast item he’d just shoved in his face.

I head out past reception, leaving the greasy scent of breakfast behind. It’s quickly replaced by the musty, damp reek that seems baked into the walls of this place.

Another few days here. Fuck me.

Whatever. I’d shower, reset, then regroup with Mara. Maybe drag her out for some fresh air, stretch our legs, remind ourselves the world still exists beyond these walls.

As I pass through the lounge, I spot him. The creepy guy from last night. Same armchair, same dead-eyed stare. Steam curls from the teacup in his hand like he’s been sitting there waiting for me.

Seriously, what the fuck is this guy’s deal?

I shake my head and keep walking.

No. You know what? Fuck that.

I spin on my heel.

“Can I fucking help you?” I snap, glaring at him.

He doesn’t answer. Just sits there, calm as anything, a slow curl of a smirk creeping across his face like he’s already won something I don’t know I’m playing.

Oh, fuck this guy.

I take a step closer. Maybe it’s just that I’ve hit my limit with this freakshow hotel and this guy's smug little face is the cherry on top.

“Does creeping on girls get your dusty old dick hard or something?” I spit. “What’s your deal, huh? You just sit here every day with your haunted fucking teacup?”

Still nothing. Just that smirk. Like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. Like I’m funny.

That pisses me off more.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you fucking ghoul.” 

He sips his tea slow, like he’s savouring the moment, eyes locked on me with that creepy calm that makes my skin crawl.

There’s something weirdly familiar about him. I narrow my eyes, scanning that scraggly beard, the dead cold stare. They’re throwing me off. But beneath all that? The face… I know it. I just can’t place it at first.

Then it hits me.

I gasp. “You’re Lyle Smoke!”

He flinches. Somehow more than he did at my insults. Panic maybe.

“You’re Lyle fucking Smoke. From Blackwing... I have all your albums. ‘Forsaken’ was the first record I ever bought. Your solo stuff? It’s what got me into guitar.”

I swallow hard, heart racing. It’s definitely him. Older, rougher, like time dragged him through the dirt and forgot to spit him back out. But it’s him. But why the hell is he here? Out in the middle of nowhere, trapped in this nightmare hotel?

He finally speaks, voice low and gravelly. “Lyle Smoke is dead.”

He was right. It was, what, ten, fifteen years ago? Found dead in a motel somewhere. A drug overdose after a show one night. I remember the headlines: Cult Rock Icon Found Dead in West Virginia Motel.

My mouth’s gone dry. I just stare at him.

“But… it’s you,” I say, almost laughing. “I know it’s you. How? What the fuck—how?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches me with those pale, unreadable eyes, like I’m the one out of place. Like I’m the ghost.

He lifts the teacup again. “Some things don’t stay buried.”

I blink at him, completely thrown. “So what…? You… you faked your death?”

I shake my head, struggling to catch up. “Why? You were huge. You were blowing up. People worshipped you. What the hell happened?”

“You won’t understand,” he says softly. “Maybe soon you will. It doesn’t matter.” His fingers twist a worn silver ring, its surface etched with a swirling line encircling a single dark dot.

I stare at him. “Doesn’t matter? You had everything, then you vanished. And now what? You’re just rotting away in this shithole?”

“You don’t understand, Moxie.”

My stomach drops. I freeze.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” It comes out sharper than I mean it to.

Then, quietly, almost like he’s ashamed. “Because you have what I didn’t. What I wanted so badly.”

My skin prickles. “The fuck are you talking about?”

He glances past me, sudden panic flashing in his eyes.

Without a word, he pulls the ring from his finger and presses it into my palm, closing my fingers tight around it. His hand is cold. Shaky. Desperate. Our eyes lock for the briefest second before he leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes like none of this ever happened.

“Ah,” comes Greaves’ voice behind me, smooth as ever. “I see you’ve met our regular, Mr Thorne.”

His shoes click softly on the old floorboards as he steps into view.

“I’m afraid he’s… not well. Quite delirious, most days.”

He looks to Lyle ‘Mr Thorne’ with a polite but pointed smile. 

“I do hope you’re drinking your tea, old friend. You know it helps.”

Lyle doesn’t speak. Just gives the smallest nod, eyes fixed somewhere far away, like the world’s gone out of focus.

He turns back to me, voice smooth but firm. “Please, Mr Thorne would benefit from some undisturbed rest.”

I nod, silently slipping the ring into my pocket.

That grin of his curls back, like a snake flashing fangs. “I hear you and your friends are thinking of extending your stay. How... delightful.”

I mirror his smile, deadpan. “Yeah… what can I say? We just love it here.”

Greaves inclines his head slightly, eyes glinting with something cold and unreadable. “Good. Once you settle in, you might find yourself never wanting to leave.”

He turns away smoothly, leaving the weight of that warning hanging in the stale air.

I steal one last look at Lyle. His gaze is distant, like he’s far away, lost somewhere far beyond this place. 

“Sorry for calling you a fucking ghoul,” I whisper, the words feeling small and heavy.

Shaking my head, I start the slow walk back to our room, mind racing. 

Chapter 4 | Noah

It’s warmer than it has any right to be for a place that feels this dead. 

I’m out in the courtyard, halfway through a cigarette. Mara and Shane are upstairs getting cleaned up, and ready for the day. I figured I’d get some air and a little time to myself.

The courtyard’s a ruin. Cracked concrete juts out like shattered teeth, weeds clawing through in stubborn, ragged patches. High walls cage the space on every side, casting long shadows over the half where I’m standing. I’ve always preferred the shade.

The fountain in the middle’s long given up. What’s left is a ring of crumbling stone, moss climbing up the sides, a rusted piping jutting from the base like exposed bone.

Off near the back, a patch of earth gapes where someone tore up the concrete in a jagged square. 

A guy’s working there, young, maybe a couple years older than me. He’s hunched over, shovelling dirt into a shallow pit with a steady rhythm. His tight white T-shirt is streaked with grime, clinging to his muscles, his faded jeans hang low on his hips, worn and stained at the knees. Long dark curls stick damp to his forehead, sweat tracing lines down his sharp cheekbones. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he moves, like he’s carrying more weight than just dirt.

I take a drag, watching him for a moment. There’s something vaguely off about how quiet it is. Just the scrape of metal in dirt and the occasional flap of wings overhead.

Lately, I’ve felt that weight too, the responsibility of holding the band together. The others don’t always see the vision, but I know how good we are. How good we really could be. 

The fights, the sleepless nights, the constant grind, it’s starting to wear on them. This tour might be rough, but it’s our shot. We’re standing right on the edge of something real, I can feel it. We can’t fuck this up. Not now.

The guy stops to stretch his back, arms flexing as he wipes a sleeve across his face. The sun catches the sweat on his skin, the dirt smudging his neck, the edge of a tattoo barely visible where his shirt slips down his shoulder.

That’s not what gets me, though.

It’s the way he looks around. Like he’s making sure no one’s watching.

Except he hasn’t clocked me.

Curiosity wins out. I drift toward him, quiet steps across the broken concrete. I pass the dead fountain, stopping just behind him, hands in my pockets.

“Whatcha doin’?” I ask, casual as anything.

He jumps like I fired a gun.

“Shit—fuck!” He whips around, shovel half-raised, eyes wide. Then he exhales, lets out a breathless laugh. “Christ, man. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

I smirk. “You burying a body?”

“Honestly?” He drops the shovel tip into the dirt. “You scare me like that again, and it might be yours I’m burying.”

I laugh. 

He wipes the back of his arm across his forehead, revealing a strong jawline dusted with stubble. Then he nods at the pit. “Nah. Just planting some seeds. Thought this place could use a bit of life.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Kinda big hole for a few seeds, don’t you think?”

He grins. “Lot of seeds.”

“You work here?”

He lets out a dry laugh. “What kind of psychopath would I be if I didn’t work here?”

I shrug. “Same kind you’d be if you did.”

He grins. “Fair.”

“You smoke?” I ask, holding out the pack.

“Yeah—thanks.”

He slips one between his lips. I reach for my lighter and lean in, cupping the flame. He takes a drag, eyes squinting as the smoke hits, then exhales slow and easy, resting a hand on the shovel.

“How’d you end up here?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Saint Pyre’s not exactly booming. Jobs are scarce. The manager’s a family friend.”

“Greaves?”

“Yeah, his family’s run this place forever.”

I glance around. “Doesn’t it freak you out? This place?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, of course it does.”

I finish my cigarette, flick it into the bin. “Seen any ghosts?”

He smirks. “How much time you got?”

I chuckle. “Well, I’m here till Friday now. There’s not much else to do.”

“Staying longer than you thought?”

“Yeah, plans changed.” I catch his eyes and hold his gaze a beat longer than necessary.

He nods, serious for a moment. “People often end up here longer than they expect.”

He takes a last drag from his cigarette, drops it beside mine.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” He holds out a hand.

“Noah.” I shake it, feeling his grip firm and steady.

There’s a pause as he holds my hand a moment longer than expected. When I meet his eyes again, the easy grin fades, replaced by something more direct.

“Wanna fuck, Noah?”

My heart skips a beat, but I play it cool. “Excuse me?”

I figured we were flirting, but I didn’t expect him to just throw it down like that.

“Do you want to fuck?” He repeats, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine.

Screw it. “Yeah. Not exactly subtle, are you?”

That grin slides back onto his face. “Your room free? Or should I find us one?”

Shane’s in mine, so that’s a hard no.

“Can you get us one?”

He nods, glancing up as if to check if we’re being watched. 

One floor up, the window next to Moxie and Mara’s room. Someone’s standing there. A big guy. Hard to make out much through the glare, but he’s not moving. Just staring at us.

Eddie’s jaw tenses. “Alright,” he mutters. “Come on.”

He moves toward the exit without looking away from the window, not until the last second. I fall in step behind him, the weight of that silent silhouette still clinging to the back of my neck as we slip through the doors and out of the courtyard.

—

He leads me up the stairs to the same floor as our own rooms, but instead of continuing straight on toward ours, we hook around the corridor to the opposite wing.

He stops outside a narrow door that looks more utility closet than anything else and knocks twice.

There’s a short pause, then footsteps, and the door creaks open. A small girl appears, her skin pale as if she rarely sees sunlight. Sharp eyes flicker beneath tangled black hair that falls messily around her face. She takes one look at Eddie and her expression sours, like she’s already regretting answering the door.

“Is 211 free?” he asks in a low voice.

Her eyes flick past him to me. Then back to him.

“Seriously?” she says flatly.

“You owe me,” Eddie says, not missing a beat.

She sighs. “Fine. You’re washing the bedding.”

“Hazel…”

She stares him down.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

She lets out a long, annoyed sigh and vanishes into the room. There’s a brief clatter of things being shoved around. After a few seconds, she returns, tossing a rusty key across to him.

He catches it. “Uh, my backpack too?”

She rolls her eyes hard, mutters something under her breath, then digs around again. She reappears holding a scuffed canvas pack, dangling it by the strap. He slings it over his shoulder.

“You’re the best,” he says with a grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Have fun, dirtbag.”

Then the door shuts.

“This a regular thing for you?” I tease, watching him stuff the key into his pocket.

He smirks without looking at me. “Are you calling me a slut?”

“Only if it’s true,” I shoot back.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less. I’m probably a bit of a slut myself. I just like sex, plain and simple. Guys, girls, both were fun. I’d had my share of hookups, but nothing regular or serious. Still, Eddie’s easy on the eyes, and hey, he asked. So that wasn’t really on me.

We arrive at the room and he unlocks the door, holding it open for me.

The moment the door clicks shut, he throws his backpack by the bed and then he’s on me, pressing me hard against the wall with a hungry kiss. I don’t hesitate, my hand snakes up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls, pulling him closer.

We lose ourselves for a heartbeat, lips and tongues moving in sync, before he breaks away with a breathless laugh. “Think I should grab a quick shower first.”

I let my eyes roam over him. “You need a hand with that?” 

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky little grin tugging at his mouth. “You can’t wait?”

I step in, fingers sliding into the waistband of his jeans. “I’ll take you dirty if I have to.”

He laughs, low and warm in his throat. “Alright. Let me get the water running. Give me a few minutes, then come find me.”

He backs into the bathroom, still grinning, and pulls the door shut behind him. A second later, the pipes groan and the water starts running.

I take a slow breath and let my eyes wander, taking in the room around me.

It’s laid out like ours, but somehow even more run-down. The same tired floral wallpaper clings to the walls, but here it’s curling in long strips, revealing blotchy, nicotine-stained plaster underneath. Water stains bloom like bruises across the ceiling and the air smells like damp with something sour underneath it.

I exhale slow and unbutton my shirt. 

Not exactly the easiest place to stay horny, but I had some dick to suck.

I kick off my trousers and spot something wedged between the bed-frame and the wall. A piece of paper, curled with age. I crouch and tug it free.

It’s a flyer. Faded and half-creased, but I can still make out the name: Dread Legion. A string of tour dates runs beneath it in gothic font, and in the centre, a grimacing mouth, lips black, teeth sharp and white, screams silently at the viewer.

Weird. What the hell was this doing in here?

I fold it once, stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans, and toss them onto the bed.

Alright. Eddie’s had enough time.

I open the door and step into a wall of steam. It’s a bath-shower combo, not the sexiest setup, but I’m not exactly here for the interior design.

I hook my thumbs under the waistband of my boxers and let them fall, then push the curtain back and step inside.

Eddie’s already under the water, head tilted back, those long dark curls I love slicked to his forehead. His skin glistens, water sliding over the hard lines of his chest and the curve of his back. Every inch of him is shining, sculpted, fucking hot.

I take a second just to take him in.

Where the hell do I even start?

He glances over his shoulder, lips twitching into a cocky grin, and just like that, I’m gone.

I step in behind him, one hand sliding across his chest, the other curling around his hip as I press against him. His hand finds my waist, pulling me in tighter. His mouth brushes mine slowly and I exhale as I melt into him.

God, I need this. Tour had been a blur of noise and stress and nowhere to breathe. No privacy. No space.

We start kissing, slow and wet and deep. His tongue exploring my mouth as our bodies sliding together like we’ve done this a hundred times.

The kiss breaks. We hover there, breathless, hearts racing. His eyes meet mine.

“You’re really fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, thumb grazing the sharp line of my hip.

I smirk, letting my fingers trail down his chest. “Yeah? You planning on doing something about it, or just gonna keep staring?”

He reaches for me, hand wrapping around my cock with confidence, stroking slowly without breaking eye contact. Watching me with that smug, knowing look like he’s already got me figured out.

I bite back a sound, jaw tightening. It takes everything not to react too much, but fuck, it feels good.

His thumb teases over the head and I have to steady myself with a hand on his shoulder.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice low and cocky.

I smirk, breath catching. “Getting there.”

I grab his wrist and press it to the tiled wall above his head, leaning in until our faces almost touch. “But I think it could be better.”

I drop to my knees in the steaming water. I take my time, letting my hands slide up his thighs, fingers grazing just enough to make him twitch. I cup his balls in one hand, and wrap the other around his cock. It’s big, not huge, but thick and solid in my grip, already hard and leaking.

I let my mouth hover just above the tip, teasing him with a slow breath before I part my lips and suck him in, slow and deep.

“Ah—fuck,” he groans, hand tangling in my wet hair.

I pull back just long enough to look up at him, spit glistening on my lips. 

I grin and sink down again, taking him deeper this time. My throat tightens around him and he lets out a broken sound, hips twitching as I work him. Wet, messy, eager, exactly how I know he wants it. 

I let myself gag, just a little, before I slide back off and stroke him with my hand. His cock’s slick with spit now, throbbing against my palm. I look up at him again, lips swollen, eyes full of filth.

“Yeah,” I murmur, thumb rubbing slow circles over his head, “definitely better.”

I catch my breath, wipe the spit from my mouth with the back of my hand, and dive right back in.

This time I don’t hold back. I take him as far as I can, burying him in my throat, lips stretched wide around his cock. He groans above me, a raw, needy sound, and his hands thread through my soaked hair.

That’s then I hear the floorboard creak. Somewhere just outside the bathroom door. Before I can react, the lights go out and we’re plunged into darkness.

I pull off of Eddie, panting, spit glistening on my lips.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper, barely able to breathe.

He doesn’t answer. I feel his hand on my shoulder, tense now. Trembling with fear. The shower cuts off, the last trickle of water echoing softly as it drains away.

There’s movement. On the other side of the door. Slow. Dragging.

The handle begins to slowly turn as we both watch, paralysed with fear. 

It clicks. Slowly creaking open, inch by inch.

I watch in terror, waiting for whoever or whatever is outside to come bursting in.

But nothing does.

The door drifts open until it taps the stopper with a soft knock. Beyond it, the bedroom waits, dim and still, lit only by the grey sunlight leaking through the curtains.

No one’s there. But something definitely was. I keep staring, expecting movement. A shadow. A shape. Anything. The silence is thick enough to choke on.

I glance at Eddie. Try to say something. My tongue doesn’t work.

I take a breath. Then another. 

I step out of the tub. I’m cold, naked and exposed, but waiting and standing still feels worse.

“Noah,” Eddie hisses. “What are you doing?”

My bare feet hit tile. I inch toward the door like it’s a trap wired to go off.

Behind me, Eddie doesn’t move. He’s still in the tub, pressed back against the wall. “Noah!”

I shake my head as I finally reach the bedroom. 

Nothing.

The room waits. Empty.

I turn back—

And stop.

Because I’m still in the bath. 

On my knees.

Eddie’s cock is in my mouth, and I’m sucking it like I’m fucking starving for it.

His hand is fisted in my hair. My head’s bobbing, lips stretched, spit clinging to his shaft in messy strings as I take him deep. Again. Again.

He groans, low and filthy. My eyes are glazed over in pleasure.

I stand in the doorway watching myself choke on his cock like I’ve never wanted anything more. My legs won’t move. 

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. 

“Hey!” I call out, stumbling over the word as I try to get their attention.

They don’t respond. Don’t even flinch. Just keep going like I’m invisible. Maybe I am.

And then I feel it.

My knees hit the cold tile. I don’t choose to kneel. I don’t even realise I’ve moved until I’m already there, hands planted on my thighs, breathing hard.

Something thick presses against my lips. There’s nothing in front of me, but I feel it. The weight. The warmth. The texture of skin. My lips part before I can stop them. My mouth opens wide and it slides in.

I let out a gasp in surprise as I feel it against my tongue. My throat clenches as it pushes deeper. I gag, drool spilling from the corners of my mouth. But I don’t pull back. I stay still. My jaw stretches wide as I let it in. Let it take me.

My body tenses. I should be horrified. I should be screaming. But I suck harder, as I struggle to take it all.

I work my tongue along the shaft. It twitches in my mouth as my lips seal tight around it, slurping, swallowing, desperate to give more. My cock is hard and leaking. I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to.

I feel a hand grip the back of my head. Fingers twisting into my hair and holding me there, forcing me to take every inch. My nose presses into the base. I gag again, harder. My throat squeezes. I moan around it, helplessly broken by how good it feels.

I can still see myself kneeling by the bath, lips slick and glistening, eyes glazed with filthy submission. 

Eddie leans back, warm and patient, his hands running through the other me’s hair, guiding every desperate movement. I watch as he takes his thick cock deep, wet slurps filling the quiet room. Then his hand slides down his own body, wrapping tight around his hard shaft, stroking slow and steady while his mouth never breaks contact.

Seconds later, my own hand moves without warning, sliding down my thighs to grip my cock as I’m forced to mirror every filthy motion.

I’m completely at its mercy, just a puppet on its strings. I’m trembling, but beneath the fear there’s something darker stirring. A filthy, aching need to obey. I want this. I want to give in. I want to please whatever has me.

The other me pulls back, laughing before he rises from the edge of the tub as Eddie murmurs something I can’t hear. Their voices drift like echoes underwater, like I’m in a deep slumber. The sound bends around me, unreal and distant.

They're towelling off, casually, unaware of me right in front of them, stroking myself and choking on the dick that’s filling my mouth.

Eddie smiles as he grabs the other me by the wrist, fingers curling easy and familiar. He pulls him toward the bedroom. The other me follows, trailing behind him, eyes on him like he’s the only thing that exists.

Then I feel it slide free from my mouth, whatever it is. 

I cough, jaw aching, throat raw, chin wet with spit and precum. But before I can even breathe, I’m rising. Not by choice. My limbs move like they’re not mine, dragged upright by strings I can’t see.

As I pass the mirror, I catch a glimpse.

Just a flash. Enough to kill the breath in my lungs.

A reflection that shouldn’t be there.

I see myself first, or something wearing my shape. My skin looks sickly, colourless, like it’s been drained. 

But it’s what looms behind me that chills my blood.

An eight-foot nightmare towering over me, a living shadow bleeding darkness. Its skin glistens like molten tar, impossibly black, swallowing the light around it. Piercing yellow eyes burn with a cruel hunger, cold and merciless.

Its mouth hangs open in a leering grin, sharp teeth glistening with something thick and dark.

And then there’s the thing between its legs. A monstrous, pulsating cock, swollen and veined. It’s enormous, jutting out toward me as it pulses and twitches in anticipation.

I want to scream but no sound comes.

The mirror dissolves into darkness behind me. My body moves forward like a marionette, slipping silently into the bedroom.

Eddie is already there, stretched out on the bed. The other me climbs in beside him as they talk to each other in tones I still can’t decipher.

Eddie reaches into his backpack and pulls out a condom, then a small bottle of lube.

I watch as he settle back against the pillows, ripping open the condom packet. His hand closes around his thick cock, pulling the latex down over it, rolling it down his length.

The other me passes the bottle of lube to Eddie. He squirts out a thick dollop into his palm, coating his cock in long slow strokes. Meanwhile, the other me takes a firm pump of lube, working it slowly around his waiting hole.

A low, guttural laugh rumbles in my mind, dripping with malice. It echoes, mocking me, like the thing revels in my helplessness. No words. Just that terrible, hollow laughter, promising there’s no escape.

I lift my hand and watch as a warm, thick liquid drips between my fingers into my palm. Without hesitation, I reach behind me, spreading the sticky as I prepare for what come’s next.

In front of me, the other me climbs into Eddie’s lap and starts to sink down. There’s a moment as they line it up and then he’s slowly taking his cock inch by inch, eyes fluttering shut as their bodies connect.

Then my own body shifts, like I’m mounting something I still can’t see. My knees spread wide, thighs tense, ass exposed.

Then I feel it. The thick, warm pressure against my hole.

A gasp slips from me as I begin to sink down, my breath catching when the head pushes in.

“Nyahhh!” I cry out, helplessly.

It’s huge but my body opens for it, stretching around its thick width as it pushes into me, deeper.

It fills me slow but steady, and I moan low in my throat, hips trembling as I settle deeper. My ass clenches around the shape of it, welcoming every inch as my body adjusts around the impossible size.

I can feel every twitch of it inside me. My cock leaks freely now, aching and untouched. I’m dizzy from the stretch, from the fullness, from how good it feels to give in.

I start to move, hips rolling on their own. Every lift makes me clench, every descent sinks me deeper down onto its huge cock. Each bounce drags a sound out of me, hungry moans I barely recognise as my own.

In front of me, the other Noah rides Eddie with the same rhythm. I watch as he strokes himself as he rides Eddie’s cock.

My hands find my cock again, and I begin to stroke. I can't stop. I don't want to stop. The fear is still there, curled up in the back of my mind like a warning I’ve decided to ignore. 

I’m really riding it now. My other self is on top of Eddie, back arched, hands on his chest for balance. Eddie grips his thighs, thrusting up with raw need. It feels good. Really fucking good. I let everything go as I fuck whatever it is that’s underneath me.

Every sound is doubled as the room fills with moans and grunts, every slap of skin echoed a second later. I feel myself clench around the thing inside me, feel it drive deeper like it owns me. And I want it to.

I glance back at them.

The other me looks wrecked, mouth open in a silent moan. I wonder if he’s as close as I am. Eddie's face is tight with concentration, eyes locked on him like he’s the only thing in the world. Is that really how I look when I'm being fucked?

The thought sends a jolt through me. I’m close. So close. My hand is soaked.

And then something shifts. I feel its hands clamp tighter around my hips, possessive, forceful, like it wants to claim every last inch of me. 

“Ahh—Fuck!” I cry out, the sound tearing from my throat as it slams into me, fucking me hard as I push back for more. Each thrust punches the breath from my lungs, my body rocking forward only to shove back, begging for more. I should be afraid. I should be screaming. But I don’t stop. I can’t. I need this.

I barely notice at first, too lost in the way I’m being fucked. But then I see it. Eddie’s head tipped back, mouth slack, muscles tensed as he unloads deep inside the other me. 

That version of myself is jerking his cock furiously before he climaxes. Thick streams shoot across Eddie’s chest as his whole body spasms, hips jerking, face twisted in pleasure as his eyes roll back. It’s raw, filthy, and so fucking hot I can barely breathe.

And then I feel it, deep inside me, throbbing and pulsing hard as it finishes. Hot pressure floods my gut and I cry out, my back arching as my own hand pumps my cock with desperate, frantic strokes. It feels so good I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take it.

“Ohhh—fuck!” I gasp as I cum hard, spilling all over myself, hips bucking as I ride it out. My muscles lock, then shudder as I start to fall, like the orgasm is dragging me under.

It’s heaven. Pure, filthy heaven. My body convulses with the aftershocks, mind shattered as it pulls out of me. I let out a low, lazy moan as the world blurs and fades. Nothing else exists as I black out. Everything drifting away as I lose consciousness. 

Then there’s nothing.

—

“Noah? You okay?”

A hand gently shakes my shoulder.

My eyelids flutter open. Light filters in soft and pale.

“Huh…?”

“You blacked out when you…” Eddie starts, then trails off, clearly unsure how to phrase the rest.

“What…?” My voice croaks. It takes a second for the words to land. Then my body jolts upright, panic flooding back. I scan the room.

I’m in the bed. Still. Just me and Eddie.

“Whoa—hey, easy!” Eddie reaches out fast, an arm wrapping around my back to steady me. “You’re okay. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

My breath catches in my throat. I nod, trying to force myself to believe him, to come back to my body.

He’s close now, searching my face, eyes full of concern.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. He pulls me in. Holds me tighter.

I let him. I don’t speak. I just bury my face against his shoulder, arms finally wrapping around him as the shock starts to settle.

“Sorry, I…” The words fall apart before they form. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

Did that really just happen? Did I really blackout and imagine the rest?

“No. No, hey. You’re okay,” Eddie says quickly, still holding me. He shifts, brings his face closer so I can’t look anywhere else. “Noah. Look at me.”

I do.

I meet his eyes and just breathe. Letting the details of his face fill my head. The messy hair, the strong jawline, the way his brows pull together when he’s worried.

My heart slows. I feel a little steadier, better.

I nod, trying to sound convincing. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m good.”

Eddie smiles, but there’s still a flicker of concern in his eyes like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“I should get back to my friends,” I say, glancing around for my clothes. Guilt creeps in. I’ve been gone too long. They’re probably wondering what the hell happened.

I grab my boxers, step into them, then tug on my jeans.

“This was fun,” Eddie says as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s smiling, a little shy now. “If you wanted to… do this again before you leave?”

Despite everything, the fucked up visions and the adrenaline still coursing through me, I feel good. And Eddie’s beautiful.

I smile back at him. “Yeah. I’d like that. You around tomorrow?”

“I’ll be around,” he says, grinning now.

He reaches into his pocket suddenly. “Oh—here.”

He pulls out a silver lighter. It’s old, heavy-looking, engraved with a strange swirling symbol and a single dot at the centre. “I saw your cheap plastic one earlier. Thought you could use something a bit more… you. Call it a souvenir.”

He hands it to me.

I take it, turning it over in my palm. The metal is cold, heavier than it looks. My thumb brushes across the symbol etched into it.

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a look. Thanks. So, do you always hand out gifts after sex?”

He chuckles. “Only if it’s good.”

I laugh, tugging my shirt down over my head, still smiling as I step in close. I kiss him again, slowly and with some passion. I wish I could take him with me. Wish I didn’t have to go.

I pull back, letting my hand trail down his arm before turning for the door.

But even as I step away, my mind latches back to those piercing yellow eyes.

I swallow hard, knowing the real nightmare is only just beginning.