It’s 2:43 AM.

You’re still awake, scrolling mindlessly through your phone in bed, pretending that the empty side of your sheets doesn’t bother you. You’ve been waiting. You don’t admit it to yourself, but you’ve been waiting all damn night for a message from them. The tension between you two lately has been unbearable—flirty remarks, barely-there touches, long stares that linger a few seconds too long. But no one has crossed the line yet.

Until now.

Your screen lights up suddenly with a notification. One photo. No message. Just their name—and a black heart emoji.

You open it.

And there they are.

Backlit by shadows, hair messy like they’ve been running their hands through it all night thinking about you. Their eyes are half-lidded, mouth parted slightly, but there’s nothing sleepy about the way they’re looking into the camera. It’s like they’re staring directly at you, right through the screen.

They’re shirtless.

One hand gripping their phone, the other clearly holding it steady… maybe the same hand that would be around your throat if you were there. The camera is angled just low enough to catch the top of their chest and shoulder—taut muscle, smooth skin, the faintest tease of something more. You notice the smirk hidden behind the lens, that arrogant, “you want this, don’t you?” kind of look. And they’re right. You do.

You grip your phone tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment before you finally type:

You’re playing with fire.

Three dots appear. Then vanish.

Then reappear.

Finally, their message comes through:

“Then come burn.”

Your entire body lights up like a live wire.

Your phone rings—video call.

You hesitate, heart pounding. You shouldn’t answer. But you do. Of course you do.

The screen flickers for a second before revealing them in real time. They’re still shirtless, the room even darker now, lit only by the soft blue glow of the phone. Their hair is tousled, their voice low and hoarse like they’ve been waiting too, maybe even longer than you.

“Didn’t expect you to pick up so fast,” they murmur, cocking their head, voice dipping dangerously low. “I thought you were just gonna sit there and squirm.”

You shift in your bed, breath shaky. “You’re an asshole.”

They laugh. “But I’m your asshole.”

They lean back slightly—just enough to let you see their chest, their abs, the waistband of their pants low enough to make your mouth go dry. Their hand stays on their phone, thumb brushing the screen slowly like they’re stroking you.

“I kept thinking about the last time you were here,” they whisper, gaze heavy. “How you sounded. How your nails dug into my back like you were trying to mark me. Remember how desperate you got? You begged, baby.”

You press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip.

They smirk, eyes dragging over you through the screen. “You’re doing it now, aren’t you? All worked up, squirming in your sheets. You want me to tell you what to do?”

You nod. Silently.

They chuckle darkly. “That’s what I thought.”