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The only sounds were the occasional rustle of papers, the soft tapping of Wolfgang’s laptop keys, and Ulysses turning the pages of a thick, leather-bound book. The scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, evidence of Wolfgang’s earlier attempt to stay awake, now abandoned in favor of simply existing in the same space as Ulysses.
The girls were out for the night; Grace confiding in the two others that she'd built up an amazing plan to please Wenona. Both of them putting in quite a bit of work to mend their previously broken relationship. Regardless, that left the boys alone for the evening.
Wolfgang stretched, rolling his sore shoulders before casting a glance at Ulysses, who sat hunched over his notes. His fingers traced the edges of the pages, but Wolfgang could tell his mind wasn’t on the words. The slight tremble in his fingertips, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek—telltale signs of a mind wandering somewhere far darker.
“You should take a break,” Wolfgang said, his voice cutting through the silence.
Ulysses blinked, as if only now realizing Wolfgang was watching him. “I’m fine.”
Wolfgang narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
Ulysses sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he rubbed his temples, letting the book rest in his lap. He looked exhausted, and Wolfgang hated seeing him like this—like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, and he was too proud to let it go.
Wolfgang stood, stretching out his back before jerking his chin toward the bathroom. “Come bathe with me.”
Ulysses froze, fingers tightening against the book’s spine. He swallowed hard, his hesitation written plainly across his face.
“I—”
“No thinking,” Wolfgang interrupted. “You’re coming.”
Ulysses let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculously stubborn.”
“And you love me for it.” Wolfgang smirked, grabbing Ulysses by the wrist and tugging him up.
Ulysses didn’t resist.
The bath was filled with warm, steaming water, the scent of something faintly herbal drifting in the air. Wolfgang stepped in first, sinking into the heat with a sigh. He glanced up at Ulysses, who stood by the edge, arms crossed over his bare chest. His thighs—littered with old, self-inflicted scars—were tense, his body language screaming discomfort.
Wolfgang reached out, palm up.
Ulysses hesitated, then took his hand and stepped in, settling between Wolfgang’s legs.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Wolfgang reached for the soap, lathering it in his hands before running his fingers over Ulysses’ shoulders, slow and deliberate. His touch was gentle, tracing the dip of Ulysses’ collarbone before sliding lower, across his chest, down his arms, mapping out the places he had memorized a hundred times over.
“You’re being careful,” Ulysses murmured, tilting his head slightly.
Wolfgang hummed, dipping his hands beneath the water. His fingers brushed over Ulysses’ thighs, his touch light. “You don’t like me seeing them,” he said, voice quiet. “But you don’t stop me from touching.”
Ulysses let out a slow breath. “You don’t flinch when you do.”
Wolfgang’s lips curled faintly. “Why would I? They’re yours.”
Ulysses exhaled sharply, tipping his head back against Wolfgang’s shoulder. His body relaxed further, his trust evident in the way he let Wolfgang’s hands wander, his touch both soothing and teasing.
Wolfgang’s fingers trailed along Ulysses’ thigh, tracing the raised scars before sliding upward, his palm pressing against the dip of his waist. His lips ghosted against the nape of Ulysses’ neck, barely a touch, but enough to make Ulysses inhale sharply.
“Wolfgang.”
His name was said in that low, breathy way that sent a thrill down his spine.
“I’ve got you,” Wolfgang murmured, lips brushing against Ulysses’ ear.
Ulysses let out a slow, shuddering breath, sinking further into Wolfgang’s hold. “Yeah,” he whispered. “You do.”
The heat of the bathwater wasn’t the only thing making Ulysses’ skin feel feverish.
Wolfgang’s fingers were slow, deliberate, mapping the ridges and dips of his body with a reverence that made his throat tighten. He wasn’t used to being touched like this—not with patience, not with care. Not in a way that made him feel wanted rather than simply tolerated.
Wolfgang pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, lips soft but firm, sending a shiver straight down Ulysses’ spine.
“Turn around,” Wolfgang murmured.
Ulysses hesitated, but the warmth in Wolfgang’s voice—so sure, so steady—coaxed him into moving. He shifted carefully in Wolfgang’s lap, now straddling his thighs. His knees pressed against the porcelain, hands resting tentatively against Wolfgang’s shoulders.
Wolfgang’s sharp lilac eyes took him in, studying him with a gaze that was neither pitying nor judgmental. Just… admiring.
Then Wolfgang’s fingers slid up Ulysses’ waist, tracing the faint indent of his ribs before moving to his chest. He let his fingertips ghost over the scars there—the lines left behind from top surgery—before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the left side, right over his heart.
Ulysses inhaled sharply.
“I don’t see flaws,” Wolfgang murmured, lips brushing against his skin. “I see you.”
Ulysses let out an unsteady breath, something thick and unfamiliar catching in his throat. He had been worshipped before in shallow ways—by lovers who only saw the intellectual mind, the reputation, the quiet mystique. But Wolfgang was looking at him. The things he never spoke about, the things he had buried.
He wanted to return the gesture.
Lifting his hands, Ulysses traced along Wolfgang’s arms, following the faint, barely-healed scratches that marred his skin. Wolfgang tensed, instinctively moving to pull away, but Ulysses grabbed his wrists before he could.
“Let me,” Ulysses whispered.
Wolfgang swallowed hard but allowed it.
Ulysses leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of Wolfgang’s wrist—the skin rough from old scars, from nights spent digging his nails in too hard, from moments of quiet self-destruction hidden behind an untouchable mask.
He kissed higher, trailing soft, deliberate lips along the length of Wolfgang’s forearm, over each imperfection Wolfgang had once tried to hide. When he reached Wolfgang’s shoulder, he bit down—just enough to make the lawyer suck in a sharp breath.
Wolfgang exhaled a quiet chuckle. “You’re testing me, historian.”
Ulysses looked up at him, lips curled slightly. “You worship me like something sacred. I want to do the same for you.”
Wolfgang’s pupils darkened, something unreadable flashing across his face.
Then he grabbed Ulysses by the chin, tilting his head up as he kissed him—deep, consuming, like he was claiming every part of him at once.
The bathwater sloshed around them as Wolfgang pulled Ulysses closer, hands gripping his waist, nails digging in just enough to leave marks. The heat between them burned hotter than the water, hotter than anything Ulysses had ever felt before.
And for once, he didn’t mind being undone.