Page 8 of Midnight Pleasure

But underneath the jealousy was something darker and more consuming: desire. He desired the same ease that Apollo showed with his tools and the ability to turn a block of wood into something beautiful and meaningful. As Apollo went back to carving, Ares’s eyes never left the way his hands moved, the way his fingers curled around the chisel handle, and the flick at his wrist.

Those hands held power, a silent strength from which Ares could not tear his eyes away.

He had often imagined the sensation of being molded by those hands, shaped with the same care and attention that Apollo devoted to his art.

Ares shifted uncomfortably, mouth dry, pulse sharpening. He turned his gaze, embarrassed by what he thought and by the way his body reacted to the sight of Apollo working, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop looking, either. He drifted back, over and over, and he could swear the man worked harder when Ares watched, as if the glint of hunger in his eyes bolstered Apollo’s own spirit.

It was infuriating, this pull he felt toward Apollo—a lover laced with bitterness and longing. Still, it was undeniable. And as much as Ares wanted to hate him, tried to push him away, he could not help but wonder what it would be like to let go, to surrender into the hands of a man who carved beauty from chaos, who found meaning in the rough edges of the world.

But Ares would not be doing this. Not yet. For now, he would stay away, cling to his bitterness, and try to ignore the nagging ache that just kept growing stronger with every furtive glance at the skilled hands of Apollo, every soft scrape of chisel against wood, every breath that echoed with the promise of something more.

Chapter 4: Sparks and Tension

Apollo swiped at his brow, the rhythmic hum of a chainsaw coursing through his bones. The late afternoon sun stretched through the studio, painting everything golden and amber. Apollo’s gaze back stepped onto his half-finished sculpture: a fierce and proud bear, dynamic in its rise from a raw pine block. But his focus was on something other than his work. Not now, for days. It focused on the human a few feet before it, glaring daggers at the shavings scattered across the floor. “That thing looks like it’s ready to eat somebody,” Ares muttered, his arms folded as he backed up against the wall. His voice was flat, but there was a twitch of admiration in his eyes so slightly Apollo didn’t miss it.

“That’s the idea,” Apollo replied, laying the chainsaw down with effortless control. The vibrations still hummed in his fingertips, reminding him of the power he wielded. “Though it’s more likely to bite you if you keep staring at it like that.”

Ares rolled his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”

Apollo chuckled, but the sound was overly tense. The past weeks had been a mixture of clashing personalities, simmering resentment, and an undeniable attraction neither seemed willing to address.

The road had been wiped out, a muddy scar where there used to be a path, washed away by the relentless rain that had pounded the mountains for days. The storm had ripped through the landscape with a fury that left nothing in its wake but broken trees and landslides, cutting them off from the outside world. They’d been cooped up in the cabin for two weeks, isolated in a cocoon of silence and unspoken understanding. The world beyond the mountains felt distant, almost like a memory, and Ares found that he didn’t miss it. There wasn’t anything left for him out there—nothing but ghosts and shadows he’d long tried to outrun.

He didn’t ask questions that Ares wasn’t ready to answer and didn’t force conversations that Ares wasn’t prepared to have. Instead, Apollo offered him something far more valuable: a sanctuary. A place where Ares could just be, without the weight of expectations or the need to explain himself. It was a lifeline, a quiet mercy that Ares clung to in those early days when their silence was a fragile thread.

Apollo’s presence was steady, a calm anchor in the storm that had become Ares’s life. He let Ares rest, let him breathe, and gave him the space to untangle the knots inside his own head. And in that space, Ares found something he hadn’t expected: peace. A peace that came not from forgetting the past but from not having to face it alone. Apollo’s quiet acceptance and unwavering patience made the walls Ares had built around himself feel less necessary and suffocating.

The cabin became their world, a small, intimate bubble where time slowed down, where the outside world didn’t matter. The road might have been wiped out, but Ares was finding his way again, step by step, day by day, in the safety of Apollo’s quiet understanding.

Every time Apollo glimpsed Ares’s sharp jawline, the way the other man’s fair hair fell into his eyes, or the stubborn set of his mouth, it felt like a challenge he was desperate to conquer—or resist.

The studio was typically his sanctuary, where he lost himself within the tempo of his labor. With Ares around, even that became complicated. Apollo could not deny the pull between them, but he knew getting involved with Ares was a recipe for disaster. It didn’t stop him from looking, however.

He heard Ares click his eyes over to him, linger on him for a heartbeat too long. Apollo stepped forward, closing this little distance again, his presence a slow and deliberate pressure. The air between them grew thick, heavy with tension never spoken of.

“You’re staring,” Ares said suddenly, jerking the silence apart, his voice wavering slightly.

Apollo’s eyes didn’t waver. “Just making sure you’re not planning on running off with any of my tools.”

“As if I’d know how to use them,” Ares shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm. There was, however, something else there, too, something softer, almost vulnerable. Apollo didn’t miss it. He noticed Ares’s lips parted, quickening his breath as if surprised by Apollo’s proximity.

Apollo stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the wood shavings, and pushed the stray lock of hair out of Ares’s face, fingers lingering on the warm skin of his temple. “Maybe I could teach you,” he murmured, his voice a soft challenge. “But you would have to be willing to learn... and to submit.”

Ares’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes narrowed, his body trembling at the touch of Apollo. “Submitting is not something that comes easily to me.”

“Good,” he answered in that steady, near-whisper voice, leaning closer until the shell of Ares’s ear brushed over his lips. “I like challenges.”

Apollo stepped closer, the gestures in his movements languid, almost deliberate, his body brushing against Ares’s as he reached past to steady the precarious plank with practiced ease. The contact was incidental—the closeness undeniable. He didn’t steady the plank so much as he made for sure Ares felt every inch of his being. The air between them grew thick and heavy, weighted with something neither had fully acknowledged.

“Take it easy there,” Apollo warned, his voice drenched in dark amusement as if really taking in all the space between them now. He stepped closer still, making the space between them nothing at all. His voice was low, a rumble vibrating through the air. “Wouldn’t be good at all if I let you get hurt again.”

Apollo watched as Ares turned his head, his eyes thinning to challenge in the air. Even that slight tilt of his chin seemed deliberate, a dare for Apollo to step closer, to breach the invisible line they both knew very much existed between them. The tension stretched between them like a coiled spring wound too tight; it was all but palpable, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

“You think you know what I like?” Ares’s voice sliced through the air like a blade, but underneath the defiance, Apollo caught a flicker of something more—something that felt like an invitation, a challenge thrown his way. It wasn’t just a question; it was a test that Ares seemed to egg him to pass.

Then Ares eased forward, far enough that his chest brushed against Apollo’s. It was not so much a contact, but enough to cause a jolt in Apollo, some heat that flared like wildfire. His breath was warm against Ares’s neck, close enough to stir the air between them, close enough to make Apollo’s pulse quicken. The tension had turned into something very alive right then, and it was something to be answered—a call Apollo was more than ready to meet head-on.

Apollo's lips moved up into a knowing grin. He didn’t let his body slide away. He didn’t break away from these intense eyes. His hand slid down to Ares’s side, fingers just running along the hem of his shirt, testing, teasing. “Oh, I think I’m closer than you’d like to admit,” he purred, unusually thick with promise. The words hung between them like a silent challenge. The air seemed tense with the electric buzz of anticipation as their unspoken game simmered closer to the lip of something dangerous, something neither was quite willing to admit yet, but which held a certain allure.

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