MONDAY MORNING
Noah woke to fingers tracing his spine. Light touches following the curve from his neck down, one by one.
"Morning." Atlas's voice came rough against his shoulder blade.
Noah made a sound—half groan, half acknowledgment. Every muscle ached. Deep, settling ache that reminded him exactly what they'd done. Multiple times. Throughout the night.
Atlas's palm flattened between his shoulder blades. "How bad?"
"'M fine."
The hand stopped moving.
"Don't." Noah turned his head on the pillow. Their faces inches apart. "You can barely move."
"I can move." Noah shifted. Pain shot through him. Face stayed blank. "See?"
"Shower. Now."
"Bossy."
"Always." Atlas was already up, pulling Noah with him, supporting most of the weight.
---
THE BATHROOM
White marble. Chrome fixtures. Atlas started the water. Hot enough that steam filled the space fast.
Noah stood there. Didn't reach for clothes.
"Problem?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you moving?"
Because everything hurt. Because muscles had locked up overnight. Because—
Atlas reached for the hem of Noah's shirt. "Arms up."
Noah lifted them slowly. Fabric pulled over his head.
Then he saw himself in the mirror.
Stopped.
Atlas followed the gaze.
Noah's torso looked like evidence. Fingerprint bruises on hips—dark purple, thumb-sized. A bite mark on collarbone. Red marks scattered across ribs where Atlas had gripped. Inner thighs showed faint shadows.
"Jesus." Noah touched the darkest bruise on his hip. "I look like—"
"Mine." Atlas spoke from behind. "You look like you're mine."
Heat crawled up Noah's neck. But warmth bloomed in his chest—possessive, primal.
A smile appeared. Barely there but real.
Their eyes met in the mirror. Atlas's expression shifted—dark and satisfied.
Then concern. "Does it hurt?"
"A little." Noah turned to face him.
Atlas's pupils dilated.
"What?" Noah's mouth curved. "You marked me. On purpose." Step closer. "You wanted me to know."
"Not just you." Hands found Noah's waist, careful around bruises. "Me too."
The smile widened—teasing now. "You're not normal."
A smile tugged at Atlas's lips. "Good. Neither are you."
---
The shower was big enough for both. They stood under spray that was almost too hot. Noah didn't complain.
Atlas washed him—soaping back, fingers careful over every mark.
"I should've been more careful."
"I didn't ask you to be careful." Noah leaned back against the solid chest. "I asked you not to stop."
Arms came around him. Atlas kissed Noah's shoulder—right over a fading bite mark.
"Stay home today. Work from here."
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"My father." Noah closed eyes. Water ran over face. "He'll notice. He notices everything."
"Then I'll drive you."
"No." Fast. Final. "Anyone could see."
Atlas went still behind him. "So what. Let them."
"Atlas—"
"You're ashamed."
"I'm not ashamed." Noah turned in the embrace. Water between them. "I'm being careful."
"Careful." The word came out flat.
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
Just water and steam and space between them.
"I need time." Noah said finally.
Atlas studied him. Water dripping from hair, falling across forehead. Those eyes darker than usual.
Then nodded once.
But tension lived in Atlas's jaw.
---
THE DRESSING ROOM
They stood in front of respective sides of the walk-in closet.
Noah's side: organized by color, everything pressed and ready. Blues, grays, blacks.
Atlas's side: designer labels, suits that cost more than most people's rent.
Noah grabbed charcoal slacks and a white dress shirt.
"Wait." Atlas disappeared into the bathroom. Came back with a small jar—expensive-looking, French label Noah couldn't read.
"What's that?"
"Arnica cream. For bruises."
Red stained Noah's cheekbones. "I don't need—"
"Yes you do. Unless you want coworkers asking questions."
Fair point.
Atlas guided him to sit on the bench. Knelt in front. Hands were clinical—rubbing cream into hip bones, ribs, inner thighs.
Noah bit down on lip. Tried not to react.
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Biting your lip." Atlas's thumb brushed Noah's mouth, pulled bottom lip free. "I know what you're thinking."
"You can't read minds."
"Can't I?" The hand slid higher. Just to prove a point. "Pupils blown. Breathing changed. And—" Fingers pressed slightly where Noah was still sore. "—you're already hard."
Breath caught. "Atlas—"
"We don't have time." But Atlas didn't move. Just stayed there, watching Noah's face. "Unfortunately."
"Then stop—" Voice broke when the thumb moved. "—touching me there."
Atlas smiled. Pulled back. Stood. "Get dressed."
He handed Noah a pill bottle.
"What are these?"
"Anti-inflammatory." Atlas was already dressing—crisp white shirt, navy slacks, no tie yet. "Take two with breakfast."
"You bought these?"
"Yesterday. While you were asleep." Fingers worked cufflinks with practiced ease—silver, simple. "Vitamin E too. Helps with healing."
Noah stared at the bottle. Chest tightened.
Atlas noticed. "What?"
"Nothing. Just—thank you."
"Don't thank me for taking care of you. That's not optional."
Then he kissed him—soft, quick—and went back to getting dressed.
Noah pulled on shirt. Buttoned it slowly. Fingers trembled.
Collar covered most of neck. But there—just above collarbone—a faint red mark still showed.
Stared at it in the mirror.
Atlas appeared behind. Saw what he was looking at.
Reached up. Touched the mark.
"Problem?"
Noah met those eyes in the mirror. "Just thinking about what I'll say if someone asks."
"Tell them the truth."
"Which is?"
A smile tugged at Atlas's lips. "That someone couldn't keep their hands off you." He leaned in, lips brushing Noah's ear. "And you loved every second."
Warmth flooded Noah's face. "I'm not saying that."
"No?" Teeth caught earlobe gently. "Then lie. But we both know what happened."
Pulled back. Grabbed tie. Started knotting it casually.
Noah watched. Atlas moved with practiced ease. Under, over, through. Perfect Windsor knot.
"Here." Noah's hands covered his. "Let me."
Atlas's hands dropped.
Noah's fingers worked the silk. Adjusted the knot. Straightened it. Hands lingered on collar.
"There. Perfect."
Atlas caught wrists. Held them against chest. "You keep touching me there, I'm calling in sick."
"You don't get sick."
"I'd make an exception."
A genuine smile broke through—dimples cutting deep into cheeks. "I have to go."
"I know." But Atlas didn't let go yet. "Tonight."
"Tonight."
Then Noah pulled away. Grabbed jacket. Didn't look back.
If he did, wouldn't leave.
---
PARKING GARAGE
The Ferrari's engine roared to life. Hand on gearshift. Red paint gleaming under fluorescent lights.
Phone buzzed.
Atlas: drive safe
Noah: always
Atlas: bad liar
Noah: you love it
Atlas: i do. unfortunately.
Noah grinned at the screen. Put it away. Pulled out.
Drive to Wellin Tower took thirty minutes. Parked in usual spot. Grabbed bag. Got out.
Every movement hurt.
Noah walked differently. Careful. Not quite a limp but close.
---
WELLIN TOWER
Elevator was packed with morning rush.
Noah stood in back. Tried to look normal.
Someone from marketing got on. Sarah. She glanced at him.
"Morning, Noah."
"Morning."
Her eyes lingered. Traveled over face, down, back up.
"You look—good. Really good."
"Thanks."
Heat crept up Noah's throat.
She smiled. Got off on twelve.
Doors closed.
Noah exhaled. Adjusted collar.
Seventeenth floor.
The desk looked the same. Papers. Coffee mug. Everything exactly where he'd left it Friday.
Except he was different.
Completely different.
Sat down slowly. Pain lanced through him.
"Rough weekend?"
Jerry. Leaning against doorframe. Grinning.
"What?"
"You're walking funny. What happened—bar fight? Extreme sports? Don't tell me it was hot yoga."
"Basketball." The lie came easy. "Pickup game Saturday. Took a bad fall."
"Ouch." Jerry winced. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"If you say so." Jerry stood. "Oh—your dad wants to see you. Said to come up when you got in."
The floor tilted. "Now?"
"Yep. Good luck."
---
THOMAS WELLIN' OFFICE
Door was open. Thomas Wellin sat behind the desk, reading on tablet.
Noah knocked.
"Come in. Close the door."
Noah did. Sat in chair across from him.
The man looked up. Eyes sharp.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Those sharp eyes traveled over him. Stopped. Lingered.
"Your walk is different."
Noah gripped the armrests. "What?"
"When you came in. Your gait. It's off." Thomas Wellin set down the tablet. "What happened?"
"Basketball game. Saturday. I fell."
"Which knee?"
"Left."
The gaze sharpened. "You're favoring your right side."
Fuck.
"Both knees then. It was a rough game."
"With who?"
"Marcus. Jared. Some guys from college."
"Where?"
"Rucker Park."
Noah's father leaned back. Steepled fingers. "How was your weekend?"
"Good. Quiet."
"Quiet." Not a question. "You spent it with Marcus and Jared?"
"Yeah. Basketball. Dinner. Normal weekend."
"And Emma?"
"What about her?"
"Have you spoken to her since you ended things?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing to say."
Thomas Wellin watched. Calculating.
"The Henderson presentation. Wednesday. Two PM."
"I know."
"I want you to present. Not me. Not the team. You."
Noah blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. This is your analysis. Your work. You present it."
"Dad, I don't think—"
"I'm not asking." The tablet clicked against wood. "It needs to be flawless. Every slide. Every number. Every word." Didn't look up. "Understood?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Now go. You have work to do."
Noah stood. Turned to leave.
"Noah."
Stopped. Hand on doorknob.
"Whatever you're doing—be careful."
Ice spread through Noah's veins. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?"
Their eyes met. That face gave away nothing.
Then Thomas Wellin looked back at tablet. "Close the door on your way out."
Noah did.
---
NOAH'S OFFICE
Sat at desk. Stared at computer screen.
He knew. Or suspected.
Phone buzzed.
Atlas: how's your morning
Noah: my dad knows
Atlas: knows what
Noah: i don't know but he looked at me and he KNOWS
Atlas: what did he say
Noah: asked about my weekend. who i was with. told me to be careful
Atlas: and what did you say
Noah: that i was with marcus and jared
Atlas: good
Noah: atlas he KNOWS
Atlas: he suspects. that's different. don't panic.
Noah: easy for you to say
Atlas: breathe. focus on work. we'll talk tonight.
Noah put it down. Tried to focus.
Failed.
The door swung open. Jerry again.
"Dude." Jerry's grin was huge. "You had a VERY good weekend."
Everything in Noah went cold. "What?"
Jerry pointed at neck. Right where collar didn't quite cover.
"That. Right there." Laughed. "Unless mosquitos in New York got really aggressive."
Noah touched his neck. "It's nothing. I scratched—"
"Sure you did." Jerry's eyes gleamed. "Basketball game, huh? Must've been really physical."
"Jerry—"
"Hey." Jerry held up hands. "I'm not judging. Good for you. You deserve to have fun." Paused at door. "But maybe invest in some concealer. For Wednesday. Your dad's gonna be at that presentation."
Left.
Noah grabbed the phone. Opened camera. Tilted head.
There. Just above collar. Faint but visible.
A mark. Red. Deliberate.
A text came through.
Jared: lunch?
Noah: can't. swamped.
Jared: dinner then. tonight. 6pm. refinery rooftop. no excuses.
Noah: fine
Jared: marcus is coming too. be there or we're coming to your office.
Noah: threatening me?
Jared: absolutely. see you at 6.
---
REFINERY ROOFTOP
Bar was packed. After-work crowd. Suits and cocktails and laughter.
Marcus and Jared had already grabbed a table outside. City spreading out below.
Noah walked up.
They both looked at him. Looked at each other. Started laughing.
"What?" Noah sat down.
"Nothing." Marcus's grin was huge.
"You're lying."
"We're just observing." Jared tried to keep a straight face. Failed.
"Observing what?"
"You." Marcus leaned back. "You look different."
"I look the same."
"You really don't." Jared's eyes gleamed. "You look—satisfied."
Color flooded Noah's cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Marcus tilted head. "So. Atlas. This weekend."
"We hung out."
"Hung out." Jared repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"We watched movies. Went sailing. Normal stuff."
"Uh huh." Marcus's smile went sharp. "And the walking thing?"
"What walking thing?"
"You're walking funny. What happened—you get hit by a truck or did you just have really athletic sex all weekend?"
Marcus burst out laughing.
Noah grabbed water. Drank. Put it down. "You're both insane."
"We're observant." Marcus sobered. "So. You finally did it."
Noah didn't answer.
"Dude." Jared's voice went softer. "It's okay. We're happy for you."
"There's nothing to—"
"Noah." Marcus cut him off. "We've been friends forever. We can tell." Paused. "How was it? First time—it's usually rough."
Noah stared at the glass. "I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
"It was—" Stopped. Face burning. "It was good. Really good."
"Yeah?" Jared smiled. "No regrets?"
"No."
"And Atlas?" Marcus asked. "Everything good there?"
"Yeah. It's—" Looked up. Dimples appeared as he smiled—genuine, unguarded. "It's really good. He's—I don't know how to explain it."
"You don't have to." Jared reached over. Squeezed shoulder. "We get it."
"One question though." Marcus's expression went serious. "Why didn't you answer our texts all weekend?"
The blush returned. "I was busy."
Marcus snorted. "I bet you were."
"Marcus—"
"Hey." Marcus leaned forward. "I'm just saying. If you need to talk. About anything. Any questions or whatever—we're here. Okay? Always."
Noah swallowed hard. "Thanks."
"Of course." Jared raised beer. "To Noah. Finally getting laid."
"Oh my god." Face was on fire. "Can we not—"
"We absolutely can." Marcus clinked glass against Jared's. "Cheers to that."
---
They ordered food. Talked about normal stuff. Marcus's disaster Hinge date. Jared's new crush at work. Office gossip. Sports.
Noah relaxed. Actually ate.
Phone rang at seven-thirty. Atlas.
"Hey—"
"When are you leaving?" Background noise—people talking, music.
"Probably soon. Half hour?"
"Good. I'll be home by nine. Maybe later."
"Okay."
"You have your key?"
Noah blinked. "What?"
"Your key. To my place. I gave it to you the other day."
Oh. Right. The spare key. In wallet.
"Yeah. I have it."
"Good. Let yourself in. Don't wait up if you're tired."
"Atlas—"
"Gotta go. See you soon."
Hung up.
Noah stared at the screen.
Marcus raised eyebrow. "Atlas?"
"Yeah."
"You're smiling."
"I am not—"
"You are." Jared grinned. "It's cute."
"Shut up."
Finished drinks. Paid. Said goodbye outside.
Marcus hugged him tight. "Be careful."
"I will."
"And text us. Let us know you're okay."
"I'm fine—"
"Text us anyway." Jared hugged him too. "We worry."
Breathing became difficult. "You guys are the best."
"We know." Marcus grinned. "Now go. Your boyfriend's waiting."
Heat spread across Noah's face. But didn't correct him.
---
ATLAS'S PENTHOUSE
Key worked. Door opened smooth.
Apartment was dark. Empty. Silent.
Noah stood in entryway. Space felt huge without Atlas in it. Cold.
Dropped bag. Walked through.
Living room dark. Kitchen empty. Bedroom door open.
Went to bathroom. Turned on light.
Noah's things lined counter now. Toothbrush. Razor. Deodorant.
Next to them—new bottles. Unopened.
Body wash. Jasmine and lavender.
Picked it up. Read label. French.
For him.
Atlas had bought this. Put it here. Without saying anything.
Noah opened it. The scent hit—clean, floral, different from what he usually used.
Turned on shower. Stripped. Got in.
Water was hot. Perfect. Stood under it. Let it run over face, shoulders, body.
Used the new body wash. Jasmine and lavender wrapped around him.
Muscles loosened. The ache dulled.
Today played through mind. Thomas Wellins' knowing look. Jerry's comments. Friends' laughter.
Everyone knew. Or suspected.
Needed to be more careful.
But even thinking that—
Noah touched the bruise on his hip. Hidden under clothes but still there.
Couldn't help smiling.
---
Noah dressed in red sweats and white t-shirt from the drawer that was now his.
Grabbed laptop. Files for Wednesday's presentation.
Settled on couch. Started reviewing.
Numbers. Projections. Charts.
Noah's eyelids drooped.
Just a few minutes. Just rest eyes.
---
Someone touched Noah's cheek.
Eyes opened. Groggy. Disoriented.
Atlas.
Kneeling by couch. Still in suit. Tie loose. Hair slightly messed. Those dark, faintly slanted eyes tired but warm.
"Hey."
Noah blinked. The words came out rough. "What time is it?"
"Ten-thirty. Sorry I'm late."
"It's okay." The smallest smile tugged at Noah's mouth. "You're here now."
Atlas's expression shifted. Softened.
Leaned in. Kissed him.
Not gentle.
Hungry.
Atlas cupped Noah's face. Held him there. Kissed him hard—claiming, possessive.
When pulled back, Noah was breathless.
"Missed you."
"Missed you too."
Atlas stood. Pulled Noah up with him. "Come on. Let's go to bed."
Noah's hand on chest. "How was the thing?"
"Boring. Lots of old men talking about money." Atlas gripped Noah's hips. Squeezed gently. "How was dinner?"
"Good. They knew."
"Knew what?"
"That we—" Heat crawled up Noah's neck. "They knew."
"And?"
"And they're happy for me."
"Good. They should be." Atlas kissed forehead. "I need a shower. Want to join?"
That voice turned velvet. Dangerous.
Noah laughed. "Absolutely not."
"Your loss." Turned toward bedroom.
Stopped. Looked back.
"I'm not showering with you."
"We'll see. Give it a week. You'll be begging."
"Impossible."
Atlas crossed back fast. Backed him against wall.
Faces inches apart.
"Say that again."
Breath caught. "I said—"
Atlas kissed him hard. Demanding. Fingers tangled in Noah's messy curls. Holding him there.
When pulled back, Noah's knees were weak.
"Still impossible?"
Noah couldn't speak.
Atlas smiled. Stepped back. "That's what I thought."
Disappeared into bedroom.
Noah stood there. Heart pounding. Face burning.
Grinning—dimples deep in cheeks.
---
BEDROOM
Noah was already in bed. Eyes heavy. Laptop closed on nightstand.
Atlas came out of bathroom. Towel around waist. Broad shoulders still damp. Hair wet. Skin still warm from shower.
Stopped. Looked at Noah.
"Why are you still wearing that?"
"What?"
"The shirt. You're in bed. Why do you have a shirt on?"
"Habit."
"Take it off."
"Atlas—"
"Noah." Voice was firm. "Take it off."
Their eyes met. Noah saw the challenge there.
Sat up. Pulled shirt over head. Dropped it.
Atlas's gaze traveled over him. The bruises. The marks. Still visible.
"Better."
Dropped towel. Climbed in. Pulled Noah against him.
Skin on skin. Noah's back to Atlas's chest.
Atlas wrapped an arm around Noah's waist. Held tight.
"Comfortable?"
"Yeah."
Palm flat against Noah's stomach. "Good."
They lay there. Breathing syncing.
"Atlas?"
"Mm?"
"I can't wait until Wednesday's done. This presentation—"
"You'll be fine."
"My father—"
"Will see how good you are." Lips found Noah's shoulder. "Stop worrying."
Noah was quiet for a moment. "Everyone noticed today. At work. The way I walked. My neck. Jerry made comments. My father—I need to be more careful."
The arm around Noah tightened. "Or you could stop caring what they think."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?"
Then shifted. Atlas pressed his mouth to the mark on Noah's neck.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you don't mind having my marks on you. I think you don't mind that people notice."
Breath caught. "That's not—"
"Isn't it?" The hand drifted lower. Not sexual. Just possessive. "You smiled when you looked at them this morning. I saw you."
Noah didn't answer.
Because it was true.
Atlas pulled him closer. "I can't wait for you to heal."
"Why?"
"Because then I get to mark you all over again."
Heat flooded Noah's face. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest. There's a difference."
"You're possessive."
"Absolutely. You're mine. I'm allowed to be."
"That's not—"
"Shh." Atlas covered Noah's mouth gently. "Sleep. Tomorrow's going to be long."
Pulled hand away. Noah turned head. Looked back.
"Atlas?"
"Yeah?"
"I like sleeping next to you."
Atlas's jaw clenched. Dark eyes went darker.
Kissed him—soft, deep, taking time.
When pulled back, Noah's eyes were already closing.
Held him. Watched him fall asleep.
Atlas traced idle patterns on Noah's skin. Over bruises. The marks.
The marks Atlas left.
Outside, the city hummed.
Inside, everything was quiet.
He finally felt still. For now.