The rain outside blurred the city lights, but inside, Hobie’s flat was dim, warm, and filled with the crackle of video game sound effects. You sat in his lap, trying to keep your focus on the two-player match. Every time you shifted, Hobie’s hands slid instinctively to your waist, his long fingers pressing in just enough to remind you exactly where you were.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his thick accent low and rough in your ear, “you’re killin’ me here, love. Can’t tell if you’re tryin’ t’ win the game or wind me up.”

His smirk was sharp, daring, the kind that made your pulse skip. He leaned back, one hand tugging his shirt higher, exposing the piercings and tattoos he wore like a second skin.

“You know I don’t play by rules,” Hobie said, voice laced with heat as the controller slipped from his hand. “And right now… I don’t give a damn about this game.”

The storm outside roared louder, but inside, the tension was thick enough to drown it out.