Hunter
It’s only been ten days since that night in his apartment, and I’m already losing my mind.
I tell myself I’m not obsessed. That it’s just… attachment. That after months of nothing but Robby’s ghost and cheap whiskey, it makes sense I’d latch onto the first good thing that feels real. But that’s a lie. I know it is.
When Charlie’s with me, the world is quieter. Robby’s voice fades to a low static. I can breathe. But the second he’s not; when he’s at work, or in a pole class, or just out existing in the city without me, the static comes roaring back.
Look at you, Robby sneers in my head as I sit alone in my apartment. Waiting around like a pathetic dog for some eyeliner-wearing kid to throw you scraps. You really think he’s yours?
I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white.
He’s not wrong. I’ve started showing up at the art supply store when his shift ends.
I walk him home almost every night. I text him too much.
I check his location when he takes too long to answer (he gave it to me willingly, but still).
And every time he laughs at something on his phone or mentions going out with Lucy, that ugly possessive thing in my chest flares hot and sharp.
Charlie jokes about it. Calls me his “personal shadow” or his “very dedicated stray.” He says it with that crooked smile like it’s cute.
It’s not cute. It’s dangerous. I know that.
But I can’t stop.
Today, I’m sitting in a sterile waiting room downtown, waiting for my meeting with the judge overseeing my court-mandated therapy. My leg won’t stop bouncing. The scars on my shoulder pull tight under my shirt, a constant reminder of everything I fuck up.
Tim is already inside with the judge. He told me yesterday he wouldn’t share anything specific from group.
“I’m not here to feed the court ammunition,” he’d said calmly. “I’m here to help you. That stays between us unless you’re a danger to yourself or others.”
I appreciate it. I do. But it still feels like I’m walking into a trap.
When they finally call me in, the judge—a stern woman in her fifties—looks me over like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth the court’s time.
“Mr. Hale,” she says, folding her hands. “Mr. Peterson has submitted his report. He says you’ve been attending regularly and participating to some degree. That’s… better than we expected, given your initial hostility.”
I nod stiffly.
She continues, “He also noted that you appear to be forming connections in group. That’s positive.”
My mind immediately flashes to Charlie—golden curls, smudged eyeliner, the way he looked spread out and moaning under me last night. I clench my jaw.
Tim sits quietly beside me, calm as ever.
The judge leans forward. “I’m inclined to continue your requirement for now, but with more flexibility. Bi-monthly check-ins instead of weekly. Keep showing progress, Mr. Hale. I’d hate to see you back in front of me for non-compliance.”
I mutter a “Yes, ma’am” and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.
Tim walks out with me into the hallway.
“You’re doing well,” he says gently. “But I noticed some… intensity lately. Especially around one particular member.”
I freeze.
Tim just gives me that knowing, gentle smile. “Be careful, Hunter. Connection is good. But obsession isn’t healing.”
I don’t answer him.
I just pull out my phone the second I’m outside and text Charlie.
Me: Just left the courthouse. You free tonight?
His reply comes almost immediately, with a little heart emoji that makes something dark and warm twist in my chest.
Charlie: For you? Always.
I stare at the message, thumb hovering.
Robby’s voice slithers back in, cold and mocking. Look how fast he answers you. Probably answers a lot of guys that fast.
I shove the phone in my pocket and start walking toward Charlie’s neighborhood. I know I should give him space. I know I’m becoming the kind of possessive that isn’t healthy.
But the thought of him out there, smiling at other people, letting other people see that bright, soft version of him…it makes me want to keep him close.
Really fucking close.
Even if it means I’m slowly becoming the exact kind of monster I swore I’d never be again.
I stop at the little Thai place on 15th that Charlie always talks about—the one with the drunken noodles he swears are life-changing.
I order extra spicy, the way he likes it, plus the mango sticky rice he gets every single time.
The woman behind the counter smiles at me like she recognizes me now.
I’ve been here three times this week alone.
I’m becoming predictable. Pathetic.
But the thought of showing up empty-handed feels worse.
By the time I reach his building, my chest is tight with that ugly mix of want and suspicion that’s been growing like mold since the night he let me edge him until he cried.
We still haven’t fucked. Not really. He’s let me suck him off, let me finger him open, let me grind against him until we both come, but every time I’ve tried to push further, he’s gently redirected me.
It’s starting to eat at me.
I knock on his door, bag of food in hand.
Charlie opens it almost immediately, and the smile he gives me hits me like a punch to the sternum—bright, genuine, a little shy around the edges.
He’s wearing one of his cropped hoodies again, the black one that shows the soft strip of skin above his waistband, and those tight ripped jeans that make his legs look endless.
“Hey,” he says softly, stepping forward before I can even speak. He rises up on his toes and kisses me like he’s been waiting all day, slow, sweet, with just enough tongue to make my cock twitch. His hands slide up my chest, one curling around the back of my neck like he owns me.
I groan into his mouth, free hand gripping his waist, thumb slipping under the hem of his hoodie to stroke skin.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against my lips, nipping the bottom one before pulling back with a smile. “You brought food? You’re spoiling me.”
“Figured you’d be hungry,” I say, voice rougher than I want it to be.
He takes the bag from me, but doesn’t step back. Instead, he loops his arms around my neck again, pressing close, letting me feel the warmth of his body through our clothes.
“You’re the best,” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then lower. “Come inside. I’ll thank you properly.”
My hands tighten on his hips. That ugly suspicion flares again—Why won’t you let me fuck you? Who else is getting that part of you?—but I shove it down as he pulls me through the door.
Sofia immediately winds between our legs, meowing for attention. Charlie laughs and crouches down to scratch her, giving me a perfect view of the way his jeans hug his ass. My cock throbs.
He straightens up, takes my hand, and leads me toward the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He’s so sweet tonight. So hands-on. Pressing little kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw while I unpack the food.
Sitting half in my lap while we eat, feeding me bites of mango sticky rice with his fingers and licking the sauce off them while looking me dead in the eyes.
It should feel perfect.
Instead, it makes that possessive knot in my chest twist tighter.
Because if he’s this affectionate with me… how affectionate is he with whoever else is getting the rest of him?
I pull him into a deep kiss after we finish eating, tasting mango and spice on his tongue. He melts into it immediately, straddling my lap, grinding down against me with a soft, needy sound.
“Missed this,” he breathes between kisses. “Missed you.”
I grip his ass, pulling him harder against my cock. “Then let me have you.”
He shivers, but doesn’t answer with words. Just kisses me deeper, rolling his hips in that slow, teasing way that drives me insane. Still no penetration. Still no “yes, fuck me.”
The suspicion burns hotter.
I kiss him harder, almost punishing, and he moans into my mouth like he loves it.
That’s all it takes.
I lift him in my arms and stalk over to his bed, dropping him to the mattress.
I shed my clothes and crawl over him, settling between his spread thighs.
I keep him on his back, face to face, as I shove his hoodie up and off, then yank his jeans down roughly.
My mouth is on his neck, biting and sucking marks into his skin while my hand wraps around both our cocks, stroking us together with a rough, demanding rhythm.
Charlie arches up into me, nails digging into my shoulders, gasping my name like a prayer.
“Fuck— Hunter— harder—”
I give it to him. I pin one of his wrists above his head with my hand and fuck against him harder, grinding our cocks together, biting down on his collarbone until he cries out. His legs wrap tight around my waist, heels digging into my lower back as he meets every rough thrust.
“You feel so fucking good,” I growl against his throat. “So perfect under me. Taking everything I give you.”
He whimpers, head thrown back, body trembling. I love him like this, desperate, needy, mine.
I kiss him deeper, nipping at his lips until he moans into my mouth, then flip him over onto his stomach in one smooth motion.
I grab both his wrists and pin them together above his head with one hand, pressing them down into the mattress as I settle over his back, my cock sliding hot and heavy between his cheeks.
I reach for the lube on his bedside table and pop the cap letting some dribble between his crack, using my dick to spread it around and coat myself.
“I’m going to take your ass tonight,” I promise, passion riding me. The anticipation of finally being inside of him is so good I can taste it.
Charlie goes completely rigid underneath me.
Not in pleasure.
His whole body locks up, shaking violently. A broken, terrified sound escapes him; small at first, then louder, a sob that sounds like it’s being ripped out of his chest.
I freeze instantly.
“Charlie?”
He starts fighting my grip on his wrists, weak and panicked, like he’s trying to get free. Another sob tears out of him, then another. His breathing is wrong—too fast, too shallow, bordering on hyperventilating.
“Charlie— hey, hey, I’m stopping,” I say quickly, releasing his wrists immediately and lifting my weight off him. “I stopped. I’m right here, baby. You’re safe.”
I reach for him, ready to wrap my arms around him, and he curls in on himself the second he’s free, arms wrapping around his head, knees drawing up as violent tremors run through his body. Soft, broken sobs keep coming, muffled against the mattress.
I feel like I’ve been gutted.
“Fuck—I’m so sorry,” I whisper, sitting back on my heels, hands hovering but not touching him. “I thought…you seemed into it. I pushed too hard. I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m right here. I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to.”
He doesn’t answer. He just shakes harder, curled up small and vulnerable, crying like the world is ending.
I sit on the edge of the bed, close but not crowding him, heart hammering as I watch the boy I’m falling for fall apart because of me.
I don’t know what to do, so I become a statue.
Then, between harsh, gasping sobs, he chokes out:
“Go.”
The word hits me like a slap.
“Charlie—”
“Go,” he sobs again, voice cracking. “Please…just go. I can’t—I can’t right now.”
His shoulders are shaking so badly it looks painful. He won’t even look at me. He’s curled into the smallest ball he can manage, as though he’s trying to disappear.
I feel sick to my stomach.
“Okay,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “Okay. I’m going. I’m sorry.”
I slide off the bed and quickly pull on my jeans, not bothering with the rest of my clothes, gathering them in my arms instead.
Every sob I hear from him feels like a knife twisting deeper.
I want to reach for him. I want to hold him and tell him I’m sorry a thousand times.
But I know I’ve already done enough damage tonight.
I stop at the door, looking back at the small, trembling shape on the bed.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Charlie,” I say quietly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
He doesn’t respond. He just keeps crying—soft, shattered sounds that follow me all the way out of the apartment.
The door clicks shut behind me. I stand in the hallway for a long moment, chest hollow, listening to the muffled sobs through the wood.
Robby’s voice is loud in my head now, triumphant and cruel.
Told you. You ruin everything you touch.
This time, I don’t even try to argue with him.
Because he’s right.