Page 116 of Playing with Fire

The question caught me off guard. Xavier never asked permission for anything. He simply claimed space in my life as his right, his presence a given rather than a request. Yet here he was, offering me the choice.

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "I want you there."

Something softened in his expression. "Then I'll be there." He returned to the stove, stirring the rice and adding the chicken and vegetables to heat through. "Whether they approve of us or not is irrelevant. But I won't let them hurt you again."

His jaw tightened, a flash of darkness surfacing briefly. "They need to understand you're mine now. That I protect what's mine. That questioning your choices or trying to change you is not an option they have anymore."

The protective edge in his voice sent a complicated warmth through me. I knew better than most what Xavier was capable of, the lengths he would go to in protecting what he considered his. Yet I trusted him completely, certain that his presence would be a support rather than a threat during tomorrow's call.

"Thank you," I said simply, knowing he would understand all the unspoken meaning behind those words.

We ate in comfortable silence, the mundane act of sharing a meal somehow profound after all we'd survived. The Felix Burns report lay closed on the table, a chapter of our lives conclusively ended. Tomorrow's call with my parents represented another chapter potentially reopening.

After lunch, Xavier disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting moments later. I cleaned up the kitchen, my mind already spinning through preparations for tomorrow's call. What would I say to them after three years? What would they ask me? How would they react to Xavier?

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing into the hallway as Xavier emerged with just a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was a shock of vibrant crimson now, the blue completely gone. Droplets of water clung to his shoulders and chest, highlighting the definition of muscle and the stark lines of his tattoos. The health bar over his heart, the WASD keys along his ribs, the triforce near his navel. Familiar landmarks I had memorized with both eyes and fingers.

"You changed your hair," I said, unable to hide my surprise.

He ran his fingers through the wet strands, leaving them standing in damp spikes. "New chapter. New color."

The symbolism wasn't lost on me. Xavier had worn blue in his hair since before I met him, throughout our entire relationship. This change felt significant, a visual marker of transformation.

"I like it," I said, crossing to him and reaching up to touch the vivid red. "Fire suits you."

His eyes darkened at my touch. "Your turn," he said, nodding toward the shower.

I hesitated, suddenly aware of how long I'd been working without a break. "I should finish the security work first."

"The security work can wait. Shower. Now."

I found myself moving without conscious decision, my body responding to his command on a level deeper than thought. This was our dance: his control, my willing surrender. A balance that had felt like coming home from the very first moment.

The shower was still warm, the small bathroom filled with steam and the scent of Xavier's soap. I stepped under the spray, letting the water wash away the tension that had been building since seeing my mother's message. Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought. For now, I had this moment, this space, this safety Xavier had helped create.

When I emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, I found Xavier waiting in the bedroom. He sat on the edge of our bed, still shirtless, his eyes tracking my movements. The crimson hair changed him somehow, made him look fiercer, more elemental.

"Come here," he said, in a voice that made my cock twitch beneath the towel.

I crossed the small room to stand before him, water still dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. His hands settled on my hips, thumbs pressing against the jutting bones hard enough to mark.

"Turn around," he ordered quietly.

I obeyed, turning my back to him. His fingers traced the fading burns on my shoulders, souvenirs from the mill fire that had nearly claimed us both. His touch was gentle yet intent, mapping each mark with careful attention.

"These are healing well," he observed, his breath warm against my damp skin.

I nodded, unable to find words as his hands continued their exploration, moving down my back to rest at my waist. He tugged slightly, and I understood the unspoken command, sitting carefully on his lap, my back to his chest.

His arms wrapped around me, one hand splayed flat against my stomach while the other moved to my throat, fingers resting against my skin. The dual points of contact anchored me, reminding me that I was here, I was safe, I belonged.

"I've been thinking," Xavier said, his voice a low rumble I could feel through his chest against my back.

"Dangerous," I replied, a smile tugging at my lips despite the intensity of the moment.

His teeth nipped at my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, a punishment that sent a shiver through me. "Don't be a smartass, Leo. Not when I'm trying to tell you something important."

"Sorry." I relaxed against him, yielding to his hold. "What have you been thinking about?"

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