“Wounds We Don’t Speak Of”
Setting: A dim, quiet safehouse apartment above an old jazz bar. Late at night. Just Luca and Alban.
The air smelled like smoke and rain — the window was cracked open just enough to let the city bleed in. Rain hitting glass, bass from the street below, tires skidding through puddles.
Luca sat on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, bruises painting his ribs like a confession. He didn’t say anything when Alban stepped in.
He didn’t have to.
Alban didn’t ask questions either. Just closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, eyes soft and tired. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Maybe neither of them had.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Luca muttered.
“You texted me,” Alban replied, voice quiet. “And you knew I would.”
Silence.
Alban crossed the room slowly, his steps deliberate but hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he was walking toward comfort or collapse.
Luca didn’t look up as Alban sat beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch.
“Everything’s going to shit,” Luca said eventually. “The cops are sniffing. Sonny’s acting weird. And Ike…”
He trailed off. The name hung in the air.
Alban didn’t say anything. Just reached over and rested a hand on Luca’s thigh. Not teasing — just grounding.
“I know,” he finally said. “That’s why I came.”
What followed wasn’t romantic, not really. It wasn’t tender in the way love is.
It was two people breaking in the same direction, using each other like a tourniquet. Making love while not being in love.
Luca kissed him hard, rough — not asking for permission, needing it.
Alban didn’t resist. He gave in, not because he had to, but because he wanted someone — anyone — to touch him without expecting something back. Just once.
In that moment, neither of them were soldiers. Or monsters. Or kings of anything. Just tired men, pretending they could make the silence go away if they pushed hard enough into each other.
Afterward, they lay side by side, breathing in sync, not speaking.
Alban stared at the ceiling. Luca stared at him.
“You gonna leave like he did?” Luca asked.
Alban’s lips curled into something like a smile — tired and mean.
“Nah,” he said. “I’ll probably get arrested before then.”
They both laughed. Quiet. Hollow.
They didn’t talk about what it meant.
Didn’t label it. Didn’t promise anything.
But for one night, they weren’t alone. And that was enough.
>>100365442Anon can even generate really suggestive scenarios on their own if they know hoe to prompt right.
