Chapter 28
Samuel
Samuel woke to a body that felt thoroughly used.
A dull ache resided in his muscles, a reminder of the previous night.
The most distinct sensation was a faint, throbbing heat on the side of his neck.
He reached up, his fingers brushing the tender skin there, and a memory flashed, sharp, bright, of teeth and a low growl and the feeling of being completely, utterly full.
He lay still for a moment, listening. The apartment was quiet. There was a faint, familiar sound from beyond the doors: the quiet clink of ceramic, the gurgle of a coffee grinder.
He pushed himself up, wincing slightly. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot out of the bedroom, following the smell of brewing coffee.
Gael stood at the counter, his back to the room. He was dressed in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, his feet bare on the tile. He was pouring coffee into a heavy mug. As if sensing Samuel’s presence, he turned.
Samuel paused in the doorway.
Gael’s eyes were different. The usual impenetrable, assessing darkness was still there, but it was softened at the edges.
The sharp lines of his face seemed less severe.
For a moment, he didn’t look like Mr. Wise, the attorney or the dominant, the pillar of the Crimson Knot.
He looked like a man who had not slept well, a man stripped of a layer of armor Samuel hadn’t even known he wore.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at Samuel for a long, quiet moment. Then he set the mug down, crossed the few feet between them, and pulled Samuel into him.
His arms wrapped around his back, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. He rested his chin on top of Samuel’s hair and just held him.
Samuel stood frozen for a second, his arms dangling at his sides, utterly disoriented. This silent, simple affection was more shocking than any order, any punishment, any kiss born of hunger.
Slowly, his arms came up, his hands settling tentatively on Gael’s back. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton, the solid muscle beneath. He let his head rest against Gael’s shoulder, breathing him in.
Then Gael shifted. He leaned back just enough to look down at his face. His eyes were still soft, but now they held a different kind of intensity. He bent his head and kissed him.
This kiss was nothing like the ones before. It wasn't a devouring, or a claiming, or a question. It was slow. Deep. Undeniably tender.
Gael’s lips moved against his with a patient, thorough sweetness that made Samuel’s knees feel weak. It was a kiss that said good morning. A kiss that said you are here, with me.
Samuel made a soft, helpless sound into it, his hands tightening on Gael’s shirt.
He kissed back, surrendering to the gentle, devastating rhythm of it.
The ache in his body flared into something else; a sharp, urgent need.
He wanted Gael to stop being gentle. He wanted to be pushed, possessed, taken.
Right now. He wanted to be dragged back to the bedroom, or hell, lifted onto this very kitchen counter and fucked until he couldn't think, until he screamed, until the only truth in the world was Gael moving inside him.
The kiss ended. Gael pulled away, just enough to break contact. Samuel’s lips felt swollen, tingling. He blinked up at Gael, his breath coming too fast, his desire surely written plainly across his face.
He saw the knowing look in Gael’s eyes. A faint, understanding glint in the softness. Samuel felt a flush of shame heat his cheeks. He was so transparent. So pathetically, desperately needy for this man.
“Are you hungry?” Gael asked, his voice a low rumble.
The question was so mundane it took Samuel a second to process it. But as soon as he thought about it, his stomach gave an answering growl. He was ravenous. He nodded.
He expected Gael to turn back to the counter, to start pulling out eggs or bread. The pattern of the weekends was clear: he stayed until Sunday morning, they shared quiet meals in the apartment, and then he left.
Instead, Gael kept one hand on his hip, his thumb making a slow, absent circle. “There’s a nice little brunch place just down the street. Wanna go?”
Samuel blinked. He felt the world tilt slightly on its axis.
Go out? To a restaurant? Together? It sounded like a… it sounded like a date.
They didn’t do that. The Club was different. That was part of the dynamic, an extension of Gael’s world, a lesson. This was something else. This was normal. This was what couples did.
“Sam?” Gael prompted when the silence stretched.
Samuel swallowed. He wanted to say yes. He wanted it so badly it was a physical pull in his chest. To sit across from Gael in the sunlight, to have a normal conversation, to pretend, even for an hour, that this was a simple thing between two people who liked each other.
But the old fear was a cold whisper at the base of his skull.
What if someone sees you? What if they tell your parents? What are you, a couple of fags on a date?
The voice was small, but it was sharp.
“Or we can stay here,” Gael said, his tone even. His face didn’t change, but Samuel saw it; a subtle shift in his eyes. A faint withdrawal. The softness receding.
Samuel’s heart clenched. He never wanted to be the reason that look entered Gael’s eyes. He hated the part of himself that put it there.
He shook his head to clear it. He took a small, steadying breath, meeting Gael’s gaze. “I would love to go,” he said, his voice firmer than he felt. “Thanks for asking me.”
The neutrality in Gael’s eyes dissolved, replaced by something warm and quiet. He didn’t smile, but the lines around his eyes softened again. He gave Samuel’s hip a light, final squeeze before letting go. “Good. Go get dressed. Wear something comfortable.”
∞∞∞
The brunch place was small and bright, all reclaimed wood and hanging plants, the air rich with the smell of bacon, maple syrup, and freshly ground coffee. They were seated at a corner table by the window, sunlight streaming in and painting warm stripes across the polished wood.
Samuel felt a bizarre, giddy sense of normalcy. He was just a guy having Sunday brunch with another guy. The world outside the window continued on, unaware of the seismic shifts happening inside him over eggs Benedict.
They ordered. Coffee arrived in heavy mugs. Gael took a sip, looking out the window, a faint, unguarded ease in his posture Samuel had never seen.
“What was law school like?” Samuel asked, stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee.
Gael looked back at him, a wry twist to his mouth.
“Loud. And full of people who were much too sure of themselves at twenty-two.” He set his mug down.
“I shared an apartment with three other future litigators. Our living room was a permanent war zone of casebooks and empty pizza boxes. We’d argue constitutional theory at three in the morning. It was exhausting.”
“Sounds it,” Samuel said, smiling a little at the image.
“My first time in court as a baby associate,” Gael continued, his eyes glinting with dry amusement.
“I was second chair on a simple contractual dispute. My job was to hand documents to the lead attorney and look serious. I was so nervous I spent the entire morning convinced I’d forgotten how to tie my tie.
I kept sneaking glances at my reflection in the polished wood of the defendant’s table. ”
Samuel laughed, a soft, surprised sound. It was hard to picture Gael, ever composed, ever certain, as a nervous young man worried about his necktie. “What happened?”
“Nothing. The case settled during the lunch recess. My boss bought me a scotch and told me my tie was fine, but my posture was too stiff. He said I looked like a coat rack.” Gael shook his head, a genuine, quiet chuckle escaping him. “I practiced relaxing my shoulders for a week.”
Their food arrived; eggs for Samuel, a savory crepe for Gael. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the clink of cutlery and the murmur of other diners a soft backdrop.
Samuel took a sip of his orange juice. His curiosity, emboldened by the easy atmosphere, nudged him. “The Crimson Knot,” he began, his voice tentative. “It’s… unlike anything I imagined. How did it even start?”
Gael finished a bite, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning thoughtful. “It started with another place, actually. A club called The Whip.”
Samuel’s eyebrows lifted.
“It's owned by a friend from university. Michael Jones. He’d been a prosecutor, then burned out and decided he’d rather cater to people’s…
other appetites.” Gael’s tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment.
“We all went there. For years. It's a good club.
Well-run. But it's also a nightclub. Loud music, crowded floors, a certain… theatricality. As we got older, our tastes changed. We wanted something quieter. More focused on conversation, on the craft of it, rather than the spectacle. A place that felt like a library or a private lounge, not a stage.”
We. Samuel understood who he meant. Landen. Sebastian. The other faces he’d seen in glimpses at the Knot.
“So,” Gael continued, picking up his coffee again.
“A few of us, Landen, Sebastian, Adrian, Jaden, myself; we started talking. We had the means. We had the specific… dissatisfaction. We wanted a sanctuary. Somewhere membership meant something. Where the primary rule was respect, and the primary activity wasn’t necessarily play, but community.
” He looked at Samuel directly. “The Knot isn’t a business.
Not really. It’s a shared project. A statement of principle.
SSC isn’t a slogan on the wall there. It’s the foundation we built the place on.
Though, don't get me wrong, Jones runs a tight ship over at the Whip. He just has a different style, shall we say.”
Samuel listened, utterly captivated. He was seeing a new layer of Gael. A man with a vision who had gathered others and built something tangible from it. The Crimson Five. He pictured them, these powerful, complicated men, deciding to create their own perfect, private world. It was impressive.
He watched Gael as he spoke about the club’s early days, about the hunt for the right space, the arguments over design.
His face was animated in a quiet way. The usual severe focus was there, but it was softened.
He looked more alive than Samuel had ever seen him.
The weary softness from the kitchen was still present, but it was now fused with a vibrant energy.
Samuel found he liked it. He liked it immensely. This version of Gael was magnetic in a different way. It was human. It was approachable. He felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the sunlight or the coffee.
He just couldn’t figure out what had caused the change.
∞∞∞
“...and he had all these capacitors wired to this old skateboard deck,” Samuel said, a real laugh bubbling up in his chest. “He called it ‘Project Back to the Future.’ The resident advisor walked in once, took one look at the mess of wires and the fire extinguisher he kept next to his bed, and just backed out slowly without a word.”
He was laughing, shaking his head at the memory.
Gael watched him, a soft, genuine smile on his face.
It was a small smile, but it reached his eyes, crinkling the corners.
His hand was resting on the table, covering Samuel’s.
Samuel had barely registered it at first, but now he was acutely aware of the solid feel of Gael’s palm, the faint rasp of his skin. It felt good. It felt right.
He was about to describe the great capacitor explosion of sophomore year when a voice cut through the hum of the café.
“Sam?”
Samuel’s head whipped around. His eyes landed on the source of the voice, and his entire body went cold.
Standing three feet from their table, holding the door open for his wife, was Jacob.
His younger brother. Jacob’s eyes were wide, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion.
He was looking directly at Samuel, then his gaze dropped; to the table, to Samuel’s hand, to Gael’s hand covering it.
Time seemed to slow, then snap.
Samuel yanked his hand back as if burned.
The movement was too fast, too violent. A spoon clattered against his saucer.
He knew it was too late. The image was already seared into Jacob’s brain: his brother, sitting in a sunlit café, holding hands with another man.
A man who was decidedly not a date arranged by their mother.
A tremor started deep in Samuel’s core, a violent, uncontrollable shaking that seized his limbs.
His breath hitched, coming in short, ragged gasps that couldn’t seem to find his lungs.
His heart slammed against his ribs, a frantic, trapped animal.
The warm, safe bubble of the morning shattered, replaced by the icy, familiar flood of pure, undiluted panic.
The café noise faded into a roaring white noise in his ears.
He heard Gael’s voice, low and close. “Sam? Hey… It’s okay… Easy…”
But the words were meaningless sounds. They couldn’t penetrate the sheer wall of terror.
He looked back at Jacob. His brother’s face was pale, his mouth slightly open. He looked lost. He looked like the little brother Samuel had tried to protect from all of this. He looked like a doorway swinging open to a world of consequences Samuel had spent a lifetime avoiding.
Samuel couldn’t breathe. The walls of the café seemed to be closing in. The sunlight was suddenly too bright, too exposing.
He didn’t think. His body acted on the oldest, most primal instinct it knew.
He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. He ignored the way Gael reached for him. He ignored Jacob calling his name again, sharper now, “Sam, wait!”
He turned and bolted. He weaved through the close-set tables, a blur of motion, ignoring the startled looks of other diners. He hit the door at a run, bursting out onto the sunny sidewalk, the cool air doing nothing to clear the suffocating pressure in his chest.
He didn’t look back. He just ran.