Gabriel’s boots echoed sharply against the cobblestones as he strode through the narrow streets of the village, the night air cool against his skin. The faint glow of lanterns spilled from the windows of small houses, casting long shadows across the uneven ground. His jaw was clenched, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his mind still haunted by the nightmares that had wrenched him from sleep.

He needed to forget. To feel something other than the suffocating weight of his memories. And there was only one way he knew how.

Jean’s house was small and unassuming, tucked away at the end of a quiet alley. Gabriel didn’t bother knocking. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the cramped space. Jean, a lean man with copper short hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, looked up from where he sat by the hearth, a glass of wine in hand.

“Gabriel,” Jean said, his voice smooth and teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Gabriel didn’t answer. He crossed the room in three long strides, his movements sharp and deliberate. He grabbed Jean by the collar of his shirt, yanking him to his feet with a force that made the other man’s glass slip from his hand and shatter on the floor.

“Gabriel—” Jean started, but Gabriel cut him off with a rough kiss, his lips crashing against Jean’s with bruising intensity. There was no tenderness in it, no affection—only hunger, desperation, and the need to dominate.

Jean was nothing more than a means to an end for Gabriel—a body to exhaust himself with, a temporary escape from the rage and nightmares that clawed at his mind. Their arrangement was purely physical, a mutual understanding without expectation, without attachment. Jean provided a space where Gabriel could lose himself in rough, thoughtless pleasure, where control was his to take and the past momentarily faded into the background.

In the grand scheme of Gabriel’s carefully constructed world, Jean was nothing more than a tool. A brief distraction. A body to take and use until exhaustion silenced his thoughts.

Jean first met Gabriel years ago, back when Gabriel was still a teenager, no older than sixteen or seventeen. He had been different then—though, in some ways, exactly the same.

Back then, Gabriel looked hollow, emptied out from the inside, like a man who had long since stopped caring whether he lived or died. His dark eyes, which now carried sharp, cutting intent, had been vacant—dead. The kind of eyes Jean had seen on men who had lost everything, who had nothing left but the basic instinct to survive.

Gabriel didn’t care about the future, about plans or ambition. He only cared about making it to the next day, earning just enough money to afford a piece of stale bread and perhaps a thin blanket to keep the night’s cold from biting too deep. Jean had found him in one of the filth-ridden back alleys of Paris, standing in the dim candlelight of a brothel doorway, his lean frame barely hidden beneath a thin, ragged coat. He wasn’t desperate, wasn’t selling himself with the eager hunger of others in the same trade—no, Gabriel was detached, indifferent, as if offering his body was no different from bartering for a meal.

Something about him had caught Jean’s attention. Maybe it was the way he held himself, rigid yet hollow, as if waiting for someone to take what they wanted so he could move on to the next meaningless exchange. Maybe, it was the sharp contrast between his noble bearing and the absolute nothingness in his eyes. Either way, Jean had taken him in that night, given him a place to warm himself, a body to use as he pleased. And in return, Jean had watched Gabriel transform over the years from that empty, starving teenager into the man he was now, sharp, refined, and dangerous.

But at his core, Gabriel stayed the same.

Jean had learned quickly that Gabriel didn’t seek companionship, he sought control. He wanted to exhaust himself, to use his body until there was nothing left, until the nightmares that surely haunted him had no room to breathe. Their encounters were never tender, never soft. Gabriel took what he needed with relentless hunger, and Jean, ever the willing participant, let him. He reveled in the bruises left behind, the rough hands that demanded, that punished. It was never romantic, never affectionate. Just sweat, heat, and the dull ache of satisfaction before Gabriel would pull away, get dressed, and disappear into the night without a word.

Jean never expected more. He had long accepted his role in Gabriel’s life. To him, Gabriel was an enigma—a storm contained in human form, unpredictable yet alluring. And Jean had always liked dangerous men.

Jean moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Gabriel’s shoulders as he pushed back against the wall. Gabriel’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of Jean’s trousers, his movements frantic, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. He didn’t care about finesse, didn’t care about making it good for Jean. This was about him. About controlling and forgetting.

Jean’s trousers hit the floor, and Gabriel spun him around, pressing his chest against the wall. He didn’t bother with preparation, didn’t ask if Jean was ready. He just pushed inside, hard and fast, drawing a sharp cry from Jean’s lips.

“Fuck, Gabriel—” Jean gasped, his fingers clawing at the wall as Gabriel began to move, his thrusts deep and relentless. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mingling with Jean’s ragged breaths and Gabriel’s low growls.

The old wooden floor creaked beneath the weight of Gabriel’s powerful thrusts, each one driving deeper into Jean, whose breath hitched with every movement. Gabriel’s fingers dug into Jean’s bare hips, leaving faint red marks as he pulled him back with a force that was almost primal. His cock, thick and veiny, slid in and out of Jean with a slick, rhythmic intensity, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

The room was hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Gabriel’s breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles burning with the effort, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not until the memories drowned out by the sheer physicality of what he was doing.

Jean moaned into the pillow, his voice muffled but desperate, his body arching to meet Gabriel’s every movement. The heat between them was overwhelming, Gabriel’s muscular frame pressing against Jean’s back, his chest slick with sweat as it brushed against Jean’s skin. Gabriel’s breath was hot against Jean’s neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there, sending shivers down Jean’s spine. He could feel every inch of Gabriel inside him, stretching him, filling him completely, the friction sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Gabriel wasn’t gentle. He didn’t know how to be. His thrusts were fast, rough, almost punishing, each one driving Jean closer to the edge. His hands moved from Jean’s hips to his wrists, pinning them down against the mattress as he leaned forward, his weight pressing Jean into the bed. The angle shifted, and Jean gasped as Gabriel’s cock hit that spot inside him, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense it made his toes curl. “Gabriel—” he choked out, his voice breaking as Gabriel’s pace quickened, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.

Gabriel’s body was a furnace, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat as he moved. His cock throbbed inside Jean, the sensation almost too much to bear, but Jean didn’t want it to stop. He could feel Gabriel’s release building, the way his thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. Gabriel’s grip on Jean’s wrists tightened, his hips slamming into Jean with a force that made the bed shake.

“Fuck,” Gabriel growled his voice low and rough, his body trembling as he buried himself deep inside Jean, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed against Jean’s back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Jean cried out, his own climax crashing over him as Gabriel’s cock pulsed inside him, their bodies locked together in a moment of raw, unbridled pleasure. Gabriel’s breath was hot against Jean’s neck, his chest heaving as he slowly stilled, his grip on Jean’s wrists loosening. For a moment, they stayed like that, Gabriel’s weight pressing Jean into the mattress, their bodies still connected, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

Finally, Gabriel pulled out, collapsing onto the bed beside Jean, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Jean turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his copper curls damp with sweat. “You were rough tonight,” he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of concern. “What’s going on with you?”

Gabriel didn’t respond immediately, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his mind still elsewhere. He reached for the bottle of wine on the bedside table, taking a slow sip before leaning back against the wall. His body was still humming with the aftershocks of release, but his mind was already slipping back into its usual unrest.

Jean watched him for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. “Is it Pierre?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Gabriel exhaled sharply. “That idiot is losing himself,” he muttered, swirling the wine in his glass. “Drinks himself into oblivion every night. Won’t even look at his own children.” His voice held no sympathy, only veiled disdain.

Jean hummed, rolling onto his stomach, resting his chin on his arms. “Can you blame him?” he mused. “He loved that woman. It makes sense he’d fall apart.”

Gabriel scoffed, tipping his head back against the wall. “Pathetic,” he muttered, the word dripping with bitterness.

Jean smirked, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “You sound like a man who doesn’t believe in love.” Jean chuckled, shaking his head. Jean reached for the bottle of wine, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “But you know… I heard something interesting about Pierre.”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered with intrigue, though he remained silent, waiting.

Jean grinned, tilting his head. “You know how everyone sees him as this devoted husband, utterly in love with his wife?” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Well… before Nicolette, he was quite the playboy.”

Gabriel’s brow twitched. “Meaning?”

Jean smirked. “Meaning he wasn’t just fooling around with women.”

Gabriel’s fingers tightened around his glass.

Jean chuckled. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Maybe not as much as you, but Pierre had a reputation for indulging himself—with both women and men.” He propped himself up on his elbows, watching Gabriel’s reaction. “Though, of course, it all stopped when he met his precious wife.”

Gabriel stared at him, the words settling deep into his thoughts.

Pierre.

A playboy.

With men.

Gabriel didn’t know why the revelation unsettled him.

Jean reached out again, fingers ghosting over Gabriel’s thigh. “You’re thinking too much again.”

Gabriel snapped out of his thoughts, brushing Jean’s hand away. “I have things to do in the morning,” he muttered, standing from the bed.

Jean sighed dramatically. “Of course you do.” He rolled onto his back, stretching lazily as Gabriel dressed. “Try not to come back with a storm in your head next time, hm?”

Gabriel didn’t respond. He threw on his coat, fastening the buttons before making his way toward the door.

The air was cold, the sky still cloaked in darkness, but Gabriel barely felt it.

His mind was elsewhere.

On a golden-haired man who was proving to be far more complicated than he had ever anticipated.