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idk

Stained Sheets and Sacred Silence

The air in the abandoned Victorian manor was different from the asylum. It wasn't stagnant; it was heavy with the scent of old cedar, damp wallpaper, and the metallic tang of a thunderstorm brewing outside. Rain lashed against the tall, arched windows, the rhythm erratic and violent. Sam adjusted the settings on his camera, the lens flare catching the sharp blue of his eyes.

"The history of this place is darker than the basement in the asylum, Colby," Sam murmured, his voice echoing in the master bedroom. "They say the owners never left. That they’re still watching, waiting for someone to occupy the space they lost."

Colby was leaning against a rotted wardrobe, his dark hair damp from the trek from the car. He looked like a shadow come to life, his grunge aesthetic blending into the gothic decay. He didn't have a camera in his hand; he was just watching Sam. He had been watching Sam like that for three days—ever since the asylum. There was a hunger in his gaze that was barely contained, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their gravity.

"Let them watch," Colby said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I don't care about the ghosts tonight, Sam. I haven't been able to think about anything else but the way you sounded in that hallway."

Sam turned, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his pale features. He set the camera down on a dusty vanity, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat. He didn't turn it off. He just turned it toward the center of the room, where a massive, four-poster bed stood. The velvet hangings were shredded, and the mattress was covered in a thick layer of dust and age-worn linen, but it was solid.

"You’ve been quiet today, Colby," Sam noted, stepping into the center of the room. He began to unbutton his flannel shirt, his movements deliberate and teasing. "Usually, you’re the one jumping at every floorboard creak. But you’ve been staring at the back of my neck all afternoon. You want something, don't you?"

Colby moved away from the wardrobe, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He stopped just inches from Sam, the height difference negligible but the energy between them massive. "You know what I want. I want to hear you talk to me like that again. I want to see if you can back up all that heat you were spitting in the dark."

Sam laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. He reached out, his fingers trailing down the front of Colby’s black denim jacket, finally settling on the hem of his shirt. "You’re so transparent. You think because you’re the one who puts it in, you’re the one who owns the room. But look at you. You’re practically vibrating because I’m looking at you."

Sam pushed the jacket off Colby’s shoulders, letting it thud to the floor. He stepped back toward the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The springs groaned, a haunting sound in the quiet house. "Get on your knees, Colby."

Colby froze, his blue eyes darkening until the pupils swallowed the iris. The command was sharp, unexpected. "Sam—"

"I didn't ask," Sam interrupted, his voice dropping into that commanding, honeyed register. "You want to see what I can do? Then do as you’re told. I want to see you down there. I want to see the 'big, bad' Colby Brock looking up at me like I’m the only thing that matters."

Colby’s jaw tightened, his pulse visible in the hollow of his throat. Slowly, with a grace that felt like a surrender, he sank to his knees between Sam’s parted legs. The position was inherently submissive, placing him at Sam’s mercy, but the intensity in his gaze remained fierce.

Sam reached down, his fingers tangling in Colby’s dark hair, tilting his head back. "There he is. You look so much better from this angle. So much more... manageable."

"You’re playing with fire, Sammy," Colby rasped, his hands coming up to rest on Sam’s thighs, his grip bruising.

"Then burn me," Sam challenged. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, his blonde hair glowing in the faint moonlight. "But first, I think I’m a little too tense from the drive. And I know how much you love to be thorough. Use that mouth for something other than ghost stories."

Colby didn't need a second invitation. He reached for the button of Sam’s trousers, his movements suddenly clinical and focused. As he worked the fabric down, exposing Sam’s pale, worked-out frame to the chill of the room, his demeanor shifted. The submissiveness remained in his posture, but his tongue and teeth became tools of absolute dominance.

When Colby’s mouth finally made contact, Sam let out a sharp, strangled gasp. Colby wasn't gentle. He used his tongue with a rhythmic, punishing precision, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face. He wanted to see every flicker of pleasure, every loss of composure. He swirled and flicked, his fingers working to open Sam up, his thumb pressing deep into the sensitive heat.

"Fuck, Colby," Sam hissed, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering shut. "You... you’re so good at this. You’re like a machine. I can feel you... God, you’re opening me up so much."

Colby pulled back just an inch, his lips glistening, his expression dark. "You said you wanted me to be thorough. I’m going to make sure you’re ready for every inch of me. I want you so loose that you can’t even hold yourself up."

He went back to work, his tongue pushing deeper, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Sam’s inner thighs. Sam was writhing now, his hands clutching the dusty sheets, his knuckles white. The dirty talk he’d planned was momentarily lost to the sheer sensation of Colby’s mouth.

"Talk to me, Sam," Colby murmured against his skin, his voice muffled. "Tell me how it feels to have me down here. Tell me what you want me to do next."

Sam forced his eyes open, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He looked down at Colby—the dark hair, the focused intensity, the way he looked so right worshiping him. The power surged back into Sam’s veins.

"It feels like you’re exactly where you belong," Sam panted, his voice regaining its edge. "It feels like you’re desperate to please me. I can feel your heart racing against my leg, Colby. You’re so hungry for me, it’s pathetic. You’re ready, aren't you? You’re aching to be inside me."

Colby stood up abruptly, his breath hitching. He didn't say a word as he stripped out of his own clothes, his movements frantic. He climbed onto the bed, but before he could take charge, Sam pushed him back.

"Lay down," Sam commanded, his voice a low growl.

Colby hesitated for a fraction of a second before he collapsed back onto the mattress, his dark hair splayed out against the grey pillows. He looked vulnerable, his chest heaving, his blue eyes wide as he watched Sam.

Sam crawled over him, his knees on either side of Colby’s hips. He looked down at the man beneath him, feeling the raw power of the moment. Colby was the top, he was the one who would provide the physical force, but Sam was the one directing the symphony.

"You look so beautiful like this," Sam whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against Colby’s. "So quiet. So ready to be used. You want me to take you, don't you? You want to feel me wrap around you and take everything you have."

"Sam, please," Colby groaned, his hands reaching up to grip Sam’s waist, his fingers digging into the muscle there. "I can’t... I need to be inside you."

"Then stay still," Sam said, his voice a sharp contrast to the softness of his touch.

Sam guided Colby into him, a slow, agonizing slide that drew a long, low moan from both of them. Sam’s eyes went wide, his breath catching as he felt the sheer size of Colby filling him, stretching him. He stayed still for a moment, letting his body adjust, his hands resting on Colby’s chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart.

"God, you’re so big," Sam whispered, a smirk playing on his lips despite the intensity. "You’re trying to take up all the space inside me, aren't you? Trying to make sure I can’t think about anything but you."

He began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that made Colby’s back arch off the bed. Sam was in total control of the pace, his hips rolling in a way that targeted every nerve ending.

"Look at you," Sam teased, leaning down so his blonde hair brushed Colby’s face. "The big ghost hunter, reduced to a shivering mess because I’m riding him. You like the view from down there, Colby? You like seeing how much I can take?"

Colby’s eyes were hazy, his hands sliding from Sam’s waist to his ass, trying to pull him down harder, faster. "You’re... you’re incredible. Sam, fuck, you’re so tight. You’re killing me."

"I’m not killing you yet," Sam countered, his voice a sultry purr. He sped up, his movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. "I’m going to drain you. I’m going to take every bit of that grunge-boy ego and turn it into nothing but whimpers. You’re mine right now. Do you hear me? You’re mine to use."

Colby let out a wrecked sound, his head thrashing against the pillow. "Yes. Yes, Sam. I’m yours. Anything. Just don't stop."

"I’m not going to stop until you’re begging for release," Sam promised. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against Colby’s, his mouth finding Colby’s ear. "I want you to feel how much I love this. I love the way you look when you’ve lost control. I love that I’m the only one who can make you sound like this. You’re my favorite haunting, Colby. And I’m never letting you go."

The friction was building, the heat between them turning the cold room into a furnace. Sam’s movements became more frantic, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He could feel Colby reaching his limit, the way his body was cording with tension, his thrusts becoming involuntary and deep.

"Come for me, Colby," Sam commanded, his voice a ragged edge of desire. "I want to feel you hit my soul. I want you to fill me up so much that I can’t walk straight tomorrow. Give it to me. Give me everything."

Colby let out a guttural shout, his hands locking onto Sam’s hips as he surged upward one last time, burying himself as deep as possible. He shook with the force of his climax, his eyes rolling back as he poured himself into Sam.

Sam followed seconds later, his voice a high, broken cry that was lost in the roar of the thunder outside. He collapsed onto Colby’s chest, his body trembling, his heart racing in tandem with the man beneath him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the sound of the rain and their struggling lungs. Colby wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him tight, his face buried in the crook of Sam’s neck.

"You," Colby whispered after a long moment, his voice barely audible. "You are going to be the death of me."

Sam lifted his head, a tired but triumphant glow in his blue eyes. He brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from Colby’s forehead. "But what a way to go, right?"

Colby chuckled, a weak, wet sound. He pulled Sam down for a soft, lingering kiss, the dominance and the power play replaced by a profound, aching tenderness. "Yeah. The best way."

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on a dusty bed in a house full of ghosts. The cameras were still rolling, the red light blinking in the corner, capturing the aftermath of a possession that had nothing to do with the supernatural and everything to do with the two souls who had finally found their home in each other.

"We should probably get up," Sam murmured, though he made no move to stir. "We have an outro to film."

Colby tightened his grip, pulling the blonde closer. "The ghosts can wait. The fans can wait. Right now, I just want to stay right here."

Sam smiled, closing his eyes and listening to the rain. "Okay. Just for a little while."

In the heart of the haunting, they had found a sanctuary. And as the storm raged on outside, Sam and Colby remained anchored to one another, two explorers who had finally found the one thing they were truly looking for: a love that was louder than the silence and brighter than the dark.