The obsession

The Only Exception

Genre: BL Romance / Dark Romance

Target Audience: Adults 18+

Word count: Approx. 9,000 words

Everyone knew Silas Hale.

Standing six-foot-three, with broad, corded shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and messy ink-black hair that fell perfectly over sharp, dark eyes, he was exactly the kind of man people turned to look at when he walked into a room. Captain of the university basketball team, popular enough that he could get anyone he wanted with a single smile, openly gay since he was sixteen and never shy about it—he was confident, charismatic, and entirely unapologetic about who he was.

And everyone knew Eliot Hayes was his best friend.

Eliot was… average, by most standards. Five-foot-nine, lean but soft around the edges, with warm honey-blonde hair that was always a little messy, wire-rimmed glasses that slid down his nose when he was focused, and a wardrobe consisting almost entirely of faded hoodies, loose jeans, and old sneakers. He was the kind of handsome that crept up on you—soft jawline, warm hazel eyes, pink lips that were always slightly parted like he was thinking too hard about something. He was the top student in their year, spent most of his free time buried in textbooks or coding on his laptop, tutored freshmen for extra cash, and had dated three girls in total over the course of his life, none of those relationships lasting longer than two months.

And Eliot was straight.

He said it all the time, actually. Joked about it, even. “Nope, sorry, I’m 100% straight. No use trying to flirt with me, Silas, not even you.” He’d laugh when he said it, nudging his best friend in the ribs, completely oblivious to the way Silas’ smile would tighten, his dark eyes glinting with something sharp and hungry that he hid well.

They had been inseparable for seven years. They met when they were teenagers—Silas the new kid who got into a fight defending the quiet boy who’d dropped his books, and Eliot the shy nerd who followed Silas around like a lost puppy after that, grateful to the boy who’d become his first real friend. They did everything together: ate lunch together, studied together, spent weekends at each other’s houses, and when they got into the same university, they immediately rented an apartment off-campus, deciding it was cheaper and far better than living in dorms with strangers.

For Eliot, Silas was family. His protector, his favorite person, the one person in the whole world who got him, who didn’t think he was too quiet or too boring or too much of a nerd. He loved Silas—of course he did—just in the way you love your best friend. The way you love the person you trust with your life.

For Silas? It had never been that simple.

Silas knew exactly when it changed for him. He was seventeen, already well aware he liked boys, already had a few casual flings that never meant anything, when he watched Eliot laugh at something stupid he’d said, sunlight hitting that pretty face, and felt like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs. That was the moment he knew he was ruined.

He loved everything about Eliot. Loved how smart he was, how kind, how easily he blushed when someone paid him a compliment. Loved how he rambled about his favorite books or coding projects, his hands moving excitedly, completely unaware of how adorable he looked. Loved that he was soft, that he was gentle, that he relied on Silas for everything.

And God, he wanted him.

He wanted him so badly it hurt. It was a constant, burning ache in his chest, a hunger that never went away. He had spent years biting his tongue, holding back, forcing himself to be satisfied with being just friends, because he knew Eliot didn’t feel the same. Eliot was straight. He liked girls. He looked at Silas as nothing more than his best mate.

But Silas was patient. And Silas was possessive, greedy, and far darker than anyone—least of all sweet, naive Eliot—knew.

He had spent years clearing the path for himself, after all. He’d scared off every boy and girl who had ever tried to get too close to Eliot, subtle enough that Eliot never noticed, but effective all the same. He’d made sure that Eliot relied on him for everything—emotional support, fun, protection—until he was the center of Eliot’s entire world. He’d conditioned Eliot to his touch, too—always an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers brushing through his hair, a hand resting low on his back, leaning his full weight against Eliot when they sat together, pressing a kiss to his forehead when he left or came home.

All things that were a little too much for regular best friends, but things Eliot just laughed off, used to Silas being overly affectionate. Silas was like that with everyone, right? That’s what Eliot told himself, anyway. He never noticed that Silas never touched anyone else that way. Never touched any of his flings half as gently, half as possessively, as he touched Eliot.

Just wait, Silas told himself, over and over again. Just wait. He’ll be yours. Eventually. Straight people don’t crave their best friend’s touch like he does. Straight people don’t look at you like you hung the moon. He just doesn’t know yet.

The tension had been building for months, thick and heavy, filling every room they were in together. Silas got more and more reckless with his touches, his comments, testing the waters, pushing Eliot just a little further every time. Eliot, for his part, had started acting strange, too. He got flustered easier around Silas, avoided looking him in the eye sometimes, spent more time locked in his room, and he stopped talking about girls entirely.

Silas noticed everything. He noticed the way Eliot’s breath hitched when Silas pressed close to him. The way his cheeks turned pink when Silas complimented his looks. The way he never pulled away, not even once, no matter how intimate Silas got.

He knew. He knew Eliot was fighting it, fighting the realization that he wasn’t as straight as he thought he was. And Silas was going to be right there, waiting, when he finally gave in.

It started on a rainy Saturday night, just over a month into their second university year.

They were alone in their apartment, as they usually were. Silas had ordered takeout, and they’d gotten through half a bottle of cheap whiskey, passing it back and forth between them while they watched an old movie on the couch. Eliot was tipsy, his cheeks flushed pink, his glasses slipping down his nose, his usual quiet reserve melted away by the alcohol. He was leaning against Silas, like he always was, his head resting on Silas’ shoulder, their legs pressed together from knee to ankle.

Silas’ arm was slung along the back of the sofa, his fingers playing idly with the soft ends of Eliot’s hair, something he did constantly. He could feel the warmth radiating off Eliot’s body, smell the faint scent of his shampoo and the sweet, warm smell that was just him, and he was half-hard already, just from sitting this close. He had been hard around Eliot more often than not for years. It was torture, sweet, perfect torture.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Eliot mumbled, turning his head just enough to look up at him, his hazel eyes big and glassy, so trusting it made Silas’ chest ache. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Silas looked down at him, his gaze heavy, dark, tracing the line of Eliot’s pretty pink lips, the curve of his jaw, the soft column of his throat. If you knew what I was thinking, you’d run, he thought. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d let me do exactly what I want to do to you.

“Just thinking about you,” Silas said, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges. He didn’t bother hiding it anymore. Not tonight.

Eliot blinked, a confused little smile tugging at his lips. “Me? What about me?”

“How pretty you are.”

The words left Silas’ mouth before he could stop them, bold and honest. Eliot froze, his eyes widening, the flush on his cheeks darkening, spreading down his neck. He let out a nervous, breathy laugh, shifting a little like he wanted to pull away, but he didn’t move far.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, looking away, his heart beating fast enough that Silas could feel it where their bodies were pressed together. “You’re such an idiot. Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not teasing.” Silas’ fingers moved from his hair, slowly, deliberately, trailing down the side of Eliot’s neck, over his jaw, his touch light as a feather but burning hot against Eliot’s skin. He felt Eliot shiver violently at the contact, his breath catching in his throat. “I mean it, El. You’re beautiful. You have no idea, do you? How many people look at you and want you? How long I’ve looked at you and wanted you?”

The air in the room shifted instantly, turning thick and heavy, charged with electricity. Eliot turned back to look at him, his eyes wide, confused, scared, and something else—something that looked startlingly like want.

“What… what are you saying, Silas?”

Silas leaned down, his face coming closer to Eliot’s, until their noses were almost touching, until Eliot could feel the heat of his breath against his lips. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushed slowly over Eliot’s lower lip, watching the way Eliot’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second, his lips parting instinctively under the touch.

“I’m saying,” Silas whispered, low and rough, his voice dripping with the dark, hungry desire he’d kept locked away for years, “that I have been in love with you since we were seventeen years old. That I have wanted you, every single day, for longer than I can remember. That I would burn down the whole world just to get five minutes alone with you like this.”

Eliot’s eyes flew open, his chest heaving. He looked shocked, terrified, his hands trembling where they rested on his own knees. “Silas… you can’t… we’re best friends. And I’m… I’m straight. You know that.”

“Are you?” Silas challenged, leaning even closer, pressing his body fully against Eliot’s now, trapping him against the back of the sofa. He wasn’t asking. He knew the answer. “Tell me, El. If you’re so straight… why are you shivering right now? Why is your heart beating like you’ve been running? Why haven’t you pushed me away yet? Why did you just lean into my touch?”

Eliot opened his mouth to answer, to deny it, to say anything, but no words came out. Because Silas was right. He couldn’t explain it. For years, he had told himself he was straight. He liked girls, right? He had dated girls. He had thought about girls. But… never like this. Never with this burning, all-consuming need. Never with this desperate ache to be touched, held, claimed.

And all this time, all those feelings he thought were just friendship… he had been lying to himself. He loved Silas. Of course he did. He loved him more than anything. And somewhere along the line, that love had shifted, twisted into something deeper, something terrifying, something he had been too scared to name, too scared to even think about.

He had spent years wondering why no girl ever felt right. Why none of his relationships ever lasted. Why he felt empty whenever he was with anyone else, but whole whenever he was with Silas.

Oh, he thought, his head spinning, half from the whiskey, half from the overwhelming realization. Oh my god.

Silas watched the realization wash over Eliot’s face, watched the denial crumble away, replaced by shock, confusion, and finally, bright, burning want. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Silas whispered, his thumb stroking Eliot’s cheek, soft and reassuring, even as his eyes remained dark, possessive. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you, baby. I promise. Just let me show you. Let me give you everything you’ve been craving this whole time.”

Eliot let out a shaky breath, his eyes darting between Silas’ dark, intense eyes, down to his lips, and back again. He was terrified. This was his best friend. This was wrong, wasn’t it? But his body was screaming at him, aching for Silas, pulling him closer like a magnet. He wanted this. He wanted him.

“Show me,” he whispered, barely audible, his voice trembling. “Please.”

That was all the permission Silas needed.

He didn’t hesitate for a second. He leaned down and captured Eliot’s mouth with his own, kissing him fiercely, desperately, like he was starving and Eliot was the only thing that could feed him. It was nothing like Eliot had ever imagined, nothing like the chaste, boring kisses he’d shared with his ex-girlfriends. It was hot, wet, claiming, Silas’ lips moving against his with a rough, confident skill that made Eliot’s head spin.

Eliot gasped into the kiss, his hands flying up to grip Silas’ broad shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of his t-shirt. He melted instantly against him, his body pliant and soft, exactly how Silas had always known he would be. He kissed back clumsily, eagerly, completely out of his depth but desperate for more, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might break out of his chest.

Silas groaned low in his throat when Eliot kissed him back, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into Eliot’s bones. He slid one big hand around the back of Eliot’s neck, tangling his fingers in his soft hair, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sweeping boldly into Eliot’s mouth, tasting every inch of him, claiming him completely.

God, he tasted perfect. Sweet, a little like whiskey, entirely Eliot. Silas had dreamed of this for years, had touched himself to the thought of this a thousand times, but nothing—nothing—compared to the real thing.

He pulled away only when they were both breathless, panting, their lips swollen and red, Eliot’s face flushed bright pink, his eyes hazy and unfocused. Silas rested his forehead against Eliot’s, his thumb brushing over his kiss-swollen lower lip, his dark eyes burning with unbridled lust.

“See?” he whispered, his voice rough. “Tell me again you’re straight, baby. Tell me again you don’t want this.”

Eliot shook his head, unable to speak, his chest heaving. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t lie, not anymore. He wanted this more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted Silas. He wanted everything he could give him.

“I… I don’t,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what I am. But I want you. God, Silas, I want you so much.”

Silas smiled then, a sharp, possessive, beautiful smile that made Eliot’s stomach flip. “Good. That’s all I need to hear.”

He didn’t waste any time. He stood up, lifting Eliot effortlessly into his arms like he weighed nothing—another thing that made Eliot’s breath catch; Silas was so big, so strong, and he held him like he was something precious, something fragile. Eliot wrapped his legs automatically around Silas’ waist, his arms around his neck, burying his face in the crook of Silas’ neck as he carried him easily down the hallway, straight towards Eliot’s bedroom.

He laid him down on the bed, crawling over him immediately, caging him in between his arms, his big body covering Eliot’s smaller, softer one completely. It felt right. It felt perfect. Like this was exactly where they were always meant to be.

“You’re mine now,” Silas murmured, kissing along his jaw, down his neck, nipping gently at the soft skin, marking him, claiming him in every way possible. “Do you understand that? All mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

Eliot nodded frantically, arching his back up against him, chasing every touch, every kiss. “Yours. I’m yours.”

Silas undressed him slowly, reverently, pulling off his hoodie, his t-shirt, his jeans, his underwear, revealing every inch of that soft, pale body he had spent years daydreaming about. He took his time touching him, kissing every inch of skin, worshiping him, his big hands spanning Eliot’s narrow waist, his soft hips, his thighs, touching him everywhere, making him writhe and whimper beneath him.

Eliot was so responsive, it was almost overwhelming. Every touch, every kiss, every word Silas whispered against his skin drew a desperate sound from him, his hips bucking instinctively, his hands clutching at Silas’ arms, the sheets, anything he could reach. He had never felt anything like this—this pleasure, this need, this overwhelming sense of belonging. He was completely out of control, completely at Silas’ mercy, and he loved it. He loved being led, loved being taken care of, loved being claimed by the man he loved more than anything.

Silas made sure it was perfect. He was careful, patient, gentle even as he was dominant, guiding him through every step, checking in constantly, making sure Eliot knew exactly what was happening, exactly what he wanted. He prepared him thoroughly, stretching him slowly, whispering filthy, sweet things into his ear the whole time, telling him how perfect he was, how good he felt, how long Silas had dreamed of this.

When he finally pushed inside him, slow and steady, watching Eliot’s face twist with pleasure and a little bit of pain, Silas felt like he was finally whole. He groaned, burying his face in Eliot’s neck, his arms wrapped tight around him, holding him close.

“God… you feel incredible,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “So perfect for me. Made for me, weren’t you, baby?”

Eliot could barely speak, his head thrown back, his fingers digging into Silas’ back, his body adjusting to the intrusion, pleasure already rolling through him in waves. He nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of his eyes—happy tears, overwhelmed tears.

“Yes,” he sobbed softly. “Yes. Only for you.”

Silas set a steady, slow rhythm, gradually speeding up, hitting deep inside him, making Eliot cry out his name over and over again, his body moving instinctively, meeting every thrust. It was intense, overwhelming, everything Eliot had ever wanted and more. He surrendered completely, letting Silas take control, let him use his body however he wanted, let him make him feel things he had never even imagined possible.

Silas was everything he expected—confident, skilled, dominant, powerful. He took what he wanted, gave what he wanted, and Eliot loved every second of it. He loved being the one Silas wanted. Loved being the soft, pliant thing beneath his big, strong body. Loved that Silas knew exactly how to make him feel good, exactly what he needed, before he even knew it himself.

When they finally came, together, crying out each other’s names, the pleasure so sharp and overwhelming it almost hurt, Eliot collapsed back against the mattress, completely spent, his body trembling, his mind completely blank. Silas collapsed on top of him, his weight heavy and comforting, resting his head on Eliot’s chest, listening to his racing heart, his arms wrapped tight around him like he never intended to let go.

For a long time, they just lay there, quiet, catching their breath, the air filled with the smell of sex and sweat and them. Eliot felt dazed, happy, complete, even as the reality of what had just happened started to sink in. He had just slept with his best friend. He had just let a man—Silas—take him, and he had loved every second of it.

He wasn’t straight. That much was obvious now. He had never been straight. He had just been saving himself, waiting for Silas, even when he didn’t know it.

Silas lifted his head, kissing Eliot softly on the lips, sweet and gentle now, nothing like the hungry, claiming kisses from earlier. He brushed a strand of messy hair out of Eliot’s face, his dark eyes soft but still burning with that possessive intensity.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Eliot nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. More than okay. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re mine,” Silas murmured, his fingers tracing over Eliot’s cheek. “Say you want this. Say you want me. Because I’m not letting you go, El. Now that I finally have you

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