Chapter 17 NOAH
NOAH
I didn’t mean to hear it.
I think it’s hot. Not the dominant or rough stuff,” he said. “The… I don’t know—the shared control, but also the trust between them.”
It stopped me in my tracks.
I stood there for too long, listening like a creep, before Ciarán called my name and snapped me out of it.
Back upstairs, I move through the apartment like a man possessed, cleaning the already clean apartment. Why is this place so fucking clean?
I think it’s hot.
I can still hear him saying it, like he didn’t just light me on fucking fire.
The thought of Gabe enjoying a dirty scene in a book, yeah, that’s turning me on big time.
I flicked through the book during the week when he left it on the sofa.
I knew he was reading it for book club, but I didn’t know if it was something he liked or just read because they picked it.
And all I can see now is his face—wine-pinked cheeks, waves mussed, smiling like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried.
Fuck, he’s so beautiful it overwhelms me. I groan loudly into the empty apartment. I need to get myself under control.
I head into my room and throw my headphones on. Hopefully, some music will drown out my wandering thoughts. I sit on the edge of my bed for for a few songs, knee bouncing, trying to get lost in the music, but it’s no use.
I think it’s hot. I think it’s hot. I think it’s hot.
I stick my headphones back on the shelf and head to the bathroom.
I’ll just get ready for bed and go to sleep…
where I’ll probably dream about Gabe saying that.
Over, and over, and over again. I brush my teeth aggressively and stare at my reflection like the man looking back at me is going to be able to help.
Then I hear a noise. Gabe must have come back up while I was in my room. I walk into the hall toward his room and listen to check.
A sound.
Breathless.
I freeze.
Another sound follows, low and needy.
And then—
My name.
Holy fucking shit.
I swear my knees nearly buckle.
The sound isn’t just arousal. It’s Gabe coming apart—and it’s my name on his lips while he does it. I haven’t heard a single sound like that from his room since I moved in, and now he’s saying my name.
The blood rushes south so fast I have to grip the doorframe against a wave of dizzying heat overtaking me.
I back away before I do something stupid, like knock and ask if I can watch.
Pretty please?
I shut my bedroom door silently behind me, lean against it, heart pounding.
I’ve imagined Gabe like this more times than I can count. More times than any sane person should admit to. But hearing him, actually hearing him, not some imagined sound, is different.
I can’t believe he’s touching himself thinking of me. Sweet, beautiful Gabe. Does he touch himself gently? Move his hand up and down slowly? Is there precum leaking from his cock as he thinks of me?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I don’t even make it to the bed.
My sweats are down, and my hand is around my cock before I know it. I’m already so hard it hurts, and the first stroke rips a sound out of me.
All I can think about is Gabe. All I can see is Gabe—Gabe laughing, Gabe flushed in the cheeks, Gabe looking at me with soft green eyes. Gabe moaning my name like that.
My grip tightens. My hips jerk forward. I fuck into my fist like I’m chasing something I’ve been starving for.
I have been starved. I’ve always tried my best not to think of him when I touch myself.
I’ve imagined many things, but touching myself while doing that always felt a step too far. Now though…
I picture him straddling me while I fist us both, setting the pace as he thrusts into the tunnel of my hand. I picture him looking me in the eye while he drives me out of my mind. Those pretty lips parting on a moan.
My hand speeds up.
“Fuck,” I pant, stroking harder and faster, until my thighs are trembling. I’m leaking so much it’s running over my knuckles. There’s no finesse in what I’m doing—no tease, no slow build. I need this, and I need it right fucking now.
I imagine his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips catching the light when he smiles down at me.
Imagine his hands braced on my chest, holding me still, telling me exactly what he wants.
Would he talk dirty? I don’t know if he would, but would he like it if I did?
Would it make him blush all the way to his ears?
That last thought tips me over the edge.
I come hard, spilling over my fist, vision going white.
I stand there, breathing hard, my whole body shaking.
When I finally clean up and drop into bed, I’m still hard, still buzzing all over until sleep pulls me under.
Thoughts of Gabe Shaw’s shy smile and green eyes fill my dreams.
I pad into the kitchen the next morning, heart thudding, nerves tight in my stomach. It’s not that I feel guilty for what I did—more like I have a secret. A dirty secret. And I am terrible at keeping secrets.
But if I told Gabe I heard him, he’d freak out. And what am I gonna say exactly? I heard you coming while saying my name, and then I made myself come thinking about it.
Yeah, no.
There’s a green mug waiting for me on the counter, smelling faintly of mint. My favorite, and he knows it.
The balcony door is cracked open, letting in a stream of cold air.
Gabe’s there, cross-legged in the corner chair, wrapped up in that chunky cardigan he loves, cradling his mug in both hands. His cheeks are pink, and not just from the chill, by the way he’s looking at me from the corner of his eye.
“Morning,” he says, sounding nervous. He has nothing to be nervous about. I welcome what happened last night. I’ve no idea how to tell him that, though, so I try to lighten the mood as best I can.
“Morning.” I grin at him, and he nibbles his lip, hiding that shy smile. So fucking cute.
I grab my tea and step outside, sinking into the chair beside him. Our knees bump, and I feel heat rush straight to my gut over the small contact. He doesn’t move away—doesn’t even look at me—but his blush deepens.
“You’re up early,” I say lightly, taking a sip. “Couldn’t sleep? Or just too much book club smut rattling around in your head?”
His ears go red instantly.
Bingo.
He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head. “No, I’m always up this early. You know that.”
Yeah, I do, but I like getting the opportunity to tease him, especially when that little smile hasn’t left his face.
“Mhm.” I grin into my drink, letting him squirm without pushing.
The air around us feels different. Like we can both tell something has changed, but neither of us knows what to do about it.
I watch him from under my lashes. There’s something different about his face this morning, a kind of glow he doesn’t even seem aware of.
I sip my tea and think about last night. He has no idea how much I want him. Every part of him.
And maybe, hopefully, he wants me, too. For more than just a fantasy in his mind when he’s alone in his room.
I clear my throat before I can say something stupid. “Run after tea?”
He nods, grinning into his mug.
And there it is again—that look, that blush, that soft curve of his mouth that makes me feel like I’ve just won something.
“Good. I need to redeem myself after you smoked me up that hill last time.”
His mouth twitches like he’s holding back a laugh.
It’s been a day.
The gym was packed. Aiden had to call out because Rose is sick, and her mom, Lucy, couldn’t take her. By the time Zeke offered to cover the last hour, I could’ve hugged him, mostly because it meant I got to go home sooner.
When Gabe asked if I wanted to watch a movie, I said yes immediately. Nothing sounded better than sitting on the couch with him, letting the noise of the day fade out.
Running a business is supposed to be hard work, I know that, but today it feels like my brain’s been wrung out.
We’re on the sofa and E.T. is playing, about an hour in, and Gabe still hasn’t said a word. Which isn’t unusual for him. He’s a quiet person, never feels the need to talk for the sake of it.
His eyes are fixed on the screen, hands clasped in his lap, his whole body angled toward the TV like he’s trying to will himself into the story.
He’s gone, completely absorbed. It’s the same look he used to get when we were kids, piled under blankets on rainy weekends, cycling through every eighties movie his dad had taped. E.T. was always a favorite.
It’s strangely beautiful seeing it hit him the same way, so many years later.
I’ve probably watched it fifty times, but watching it as an adult sitting next to Gabe is different. The emotional parts land harder when you’re beside someone who feels as much as he does.
E.T. is fading on the screen, the machines beeping, Elliot crying, and Gabe is statue still. I glance at him, and he’s holding his breath. Waiting to see what happens, as though he’s never seen it before.
His eyes shine as his lips part, and there’s this slow, quiet ache spreading across his expression I recognize immediately. He's fighting tears. I shift so my knee presses his, the smallest point of contact, but enough to remind him I haven’t gone anywhere. He presses back.
I don’t think he's aware I’m watching him like this. Watching the way he feels things. Gabe’s so careful with everyone; he hides a lot of what he feels, so seeing it peek through like this?
It’s a privilege.
My throat feels tight just looking at him. I look back at the screen, but I don’t see a second of it.
All I can think is: I want to be the reason he feels safe enough to show his emotions. And not because of a movie, but because he knows it’s okay with me. Because with me, he never has to hide his softness. How sensitive a heart he has. It’s something I appreciate. Something I crave.
The air feels charged, like he’s holding something in.
Then he lets out an uneven sound.
When I glance over, his eyes are lined with tears, his lower lip caught between his teeth as his chin trembles like he’s fighting it. He blinks, and a single tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it fast with his sleeve, an embarrassed noise catching in his throat.
“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes still on the screen. “That was… stupid. I know, I’m too sensitive.” He forces a laugh, but there’s no joy in it.
Those words aren’t his, they’re someone else’s. Someone who made him believe his softness was a flaw.
I remember the first time I saw Gabe cry, at his grandfather’s funeral.
We were teenagers. I’d never seen a man cry outside of a movie before, but Gabe sat there with tears streaming down his face, shoulders drawn in but not hiding.
I remember thinking it was beautiful and so brave.
This man, who felt things so deeply he couldn’t keep it in, who didn’t care if everyone saw him cry.
But now he’s hiding that soft part of himself.
I won’t let him think I’d ever judge him.
I shake my head. “You’re not.”
He glances at me, eyes checking if I’m being honest with him.
I hold his gaze and keep my voice level.
“You feel things so deeply. I always saw that in you. Even when we were young,” I tell him.
“And I think that’s… really lovely. It’s special, not everyone can be in touch with that side of themselves. ”
There’s a hint of fear in his eyes, like he’s waiting for me to take the words back and agree with him. He swallows hard, gaze dropping to his hands.
“I think it makes most people uncomfortable,” he says softly.
“Well,” I murmur, leaning slightly closer, “I’m not most people.”
That brings his attention back to me. He blinks, like maybe he misheard me. He swallows again, then his eyes flick to my mouth for a long, suspended second before returning to mine.
“No,” he agrees in a whisper. “You’re Blue.”
Hearing him call me that makes me feel like I'm floating. Nobody has ever given me a nickname before. So it’s not just a name to me. It’s a thread between us. Something that belongs to him alone.
We fall silent again as the credits roll.
I turn my hand where it rests between us, and his fingers are right there, curled loosely against his thigh.
I slide mine over, slow enough that he can pull away if he wants.
I brush my finger over his knuckles. His hand moves, palm finding mine, fingers slotting together.
His palm is warm and a little damp, like he’s been holding back more than just tears.
I give him a gentle squeeze. Just to say, I see you. You’re safe. I want you exactly the way you are.
He exhales, and doesn’t let go.