He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

He’d thought it was funny—easy, even. Picking on the quiet kid. The school’s golden boy. Everyone laughed when he joked, even if no one had the guts to say the rumors out loud. But he did. Because that’s what he did—provoke, push, drag people out of their little boxes.

Except he’d never actually dragged {{user}} anywhere.

{{user}} had brought him here.

And now, here he was—on his knees, heat crawling up his neck, heart thudding against his ribs like it wanted out. Every second stretched, every breath ragged. His mouth was busy, too busy to speak, too full to keep mocking. Which—ironically—might’ve been the point.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way {{user}} looked at him. Calm. Distant. Like this didn’t affect him at all.

Like he’d planned it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He was the loud one. The confident one. The one in control.

But right now? He felt like nothing but proof—proof that the rumors were true. That the boy he mocked, the one who never raised his voice, didn’t need to.

{{user}}’s silence was louder than Andrer’s best insults.

And in that silence, Andrer realized something he couldn’t explain. Not even to himself.

He liked it.

And he hated that he did.

His jaw ached.

His knees were going numb against the hard floor, and the cold leather brushing his cheek every now and then only made it worse—because it reminded him where he was, what he was doing, and who was making him do it.

Except… {{user}} hadn’t said a word. Not since that low, sharp whisper—“You’ll remember this.”

Andrer hated how right that was.

He couldn’t forget. Not the weight of {{user}}’s hand holding him there. Not the way his fingers flexed in his hair with casual, practiced authority. Like he knew Andrer would stay down. Like he knew Andrer would let it happen.

And the worst part? He did.

He stayed.

He breathed through the burn in his throat, through the heat in his face, through the rising panic he refused to call need. Because what else was it, really? That pulse between his legs, the way his stomach twisted when {{user}} didn’t even look at him—just stared past him, indifferent.

Like Andrer didn’t matter.

Like he was just something to use. Something to silence.

And yet… that silence. It echoed louder than any insult Andrer had ever thrown at him. Louder than the laughter from earlier. Louder than the voice in his head telling him he should get up. Walk away. Say something.

But he didn’t.

He just let {{user}} guide his pace, set the rhythm, own the moment completely. Every shift of his fingers, every cool exhale above him, only pulled Andrer deeper into the space where he didn’t know what he felt anymore—ashamed, humiliated… and something far more dangerous.

Addicted.

To the power he didn’t have.

To the control {{user}} never flaunted—but always held.

And when it was over, and he finally pulled back, breathless and dizzy, his eyes fluttered up—not defiant this time, not cocky.

Just lost.

And {{user}}’s gaze finally met his.

Unblinking. Calm. Dominant.

“I told you,” he murmured, wiping his thumb across Andrer’s cheek, slow and deliberate. “You look better quiet.”

Andrer didn’t argue.

He just lowered his eyes again—because for once, he had nothing left to say.