Only mine to touch

Life had settled into a heavy, perfect routine over the weeks after the Liam incident. Silas was more obsessed, more protective, more possessive than ever before. If he had been glued to Eliot’s side previously, now he was practically a second skin. He rarely let Eliot out of his sight, always had a hand resting somewhere on his body—on his waist, the small of his back, tangled in his hair, or curled firm and proprietary around the back of his neck—constantly reminding anyone who looked too long exactly who Eliot belonged to.

Eliot, sweet and pliant as always, adored every second of it. He loved being wanted this fiercely, loved that Silas saw him as something precious worth guarding so desperately. He didn’t mind the constant touches, the public claims, or the way Silas would growl low in his throat if anyone so much as made eye contact with him for longer than two seconds. He was happy. Safe. Completely loved.

And then came the day that nearly set Silas off the edge of sanity all over again.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Silas had popped out for barely forty minutes—just long enough to grab groceries and pick up the takeout they’d been craving—leaving Eliot alone in their apartment for the first time in weeks. He’d been reluctant to go, pressing three hard, claiming kisses to Eliot’s lips before he left, muttering darkly about how he missed him already and promising he’d be right back. Eliot had laughed, pushing him playfully out the door, completely unaware of the storm that was about to break.

Ten minutes after Silas left, the doorbell rang.

Eliot opened it, and immediately let out a loud, delighted shriek of surprise. Standing there was Julian Hayes—his older brother, five years his senior, who had moved overseas for work almost two years ago and hadn’t come home once since.

“Julian! Oh my god! You didn’t tell me you were coming!” Eliot gasped, beaming from ear to ear as he threw himself straight into his brother’s open arms.

Julian laughed, catching him easily, lifting him right off the ground and spinning him around in a circle like he weighed absolutely nothing. “Surprise! Got a few weeks off and decided there was no way I was spending them anywhere but here. Missed you like crazy, little bro.”

And that was how it started.

Julian had always been incredibly affectionate—touchy, clingy, the type of brother who never seemed to know when to stop hugging or teasing or touching. To him, it was just normal brotherly love. He had practically raised Eliot when they were younger, and old habits died hard.

For the next half hour, while they caught up on everything, Julian never stopped touching him. He kept an arm slung heavy and casual around Eliot’s shoulders as they sat on the sofa. He kept reaching over to ruffle Eliot’s hair until it was a messy heap, or pinch his pink, round cheeks playfully, or rest his hand warm and heavy on Eliot’s thigh right above his knee. At one point, when Eliot laughed so hard he tipped sideways, Julian pulled him straight back, dragging him right against his chest, wrapping both arms tight around him and resting his chin on top of Eliot’s head, holding him there like he was a teddy bear he didn’t want to let go of.

Eliot didn’t think anything of it. He was used to this. It was just Julian being Julian—loud, loving, overbearing family affection. He laughed and leaned into every touch, happy and comfortable, completely oblivious to how it looked to anyone walking in from the outside.

Like right then.

The front door unlocked and swung open. Silas stepped inside, bags in his hands, a soft, eager smile already tugging at his lips—ready to come home, sweep his boy into his arms, and kiss him breathless like he did every single time he came back to their apartment.

And then he froze.

Everything dropped. The grocery bags hit the floor with a loud, heavy thud, apples and cartons of juice rolling out across the hallway tiles, completely ignored. Silas didn’t even notice. His eyes were fixed entirely on the living room, on the sight that had just turned his blood into boiling, burning acid in his veins.

There was Eliot—his Eliot—curled up against some strange man. A man Silas had never seen before. A man who was holding him. Touching him. His arms were wrapped around Eliot’s body, his hand resting possessively high on his thigh, his face pressed close to the side of Eliot’s head. Eliot was smiling, laughing, leaning right into the stranger’s embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world—like he belonged there.

Silas saw red. Pure, blinding, murderous red.

His mind spiraled instantly, all his worst fears and insecurities surging to the surface. Not again, his brain screamed. Not another one. Another boy who wants him. Another boy who thinks he can touch him, hold him, steal him away from me. He let him in. He let him get close. He’s smiling for him like he never smiles for anyone else—

The rage that flooded his system was unlike anything he had ever felt, even with Liam. This was worse. This was betrayal. This was the terrifying, unhinged jealousy of a man who believed his most precious treasure was being stolen right under his nose.

He stalked forward, his footsteps heavy, thudding against the floorboards like approaching thunder, his whole body radiating a cold, lethal fury. His hands were clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood, his dark eyes burning with a wild, dangerous intensity that made even Julian pause and look up, confused by the terrifying stranger storming toward them.

Eliot heard the noise and turned, his face lighting up instantly when he saw Silas—thank god, at least he still reacted to him like that—but Silas didn’t even see the happy smile. All he saw was that other man still touching him, still holding onto him, refusing to let go.

“Get your hands off him.”

The words came out low, guttural, and deadly—so quiet yet so full of unspoken threat that both Eliot and Julian froze completely.

Silas closed the distance in seconds, reaching down and grabbing Julian’s wrist in a grip like iron, yanking his hand violently away from Eliot’s body like he was ripping something filthy and poisonous off his skin.

“I said—get off him,” Silas snarled, his voice rising to a roar, towering over the other boy, his face twisted with unmasked hatred and jealousy. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Touching him like that? Holding him like he belongs to you? You think you can just walk in here and put your filthy hands all over what belongs to me?!”

Eliot gasped, scrambling backwards away from Julian, eyes wide with shock. “Silas! Silas stop—what are you doing?!”

But Silas didn’t even look at him yet. He was too busy glaring down at Julian, looking seconds away from throwing a punch, chest heaving, whole body trembling with the force of his possessive rage.

“You think I won’t hurt you?” Silas spat, leaning down into Julian’s space, looming over him, terrifying and powerful. “You think because you smiled and charmed him you get to have him? You’re wrong. You are nothing. You are no one. He is mine. Mine. His body, his time, his smiles, his touches—everything belongs to me. And if you ever touch him again, if you even look at him again with those greedy, wanting eyes—I will break every single bone in your body. Do you understand me? I will destroy you before I let you take even a second of him away from me.”

Julian stared up at him, completely stunned, eyes wide, his face pale. He looked between the raging giant in front of him and his shocked little brother, finally putting the pieces together.

“Silas—stop!” Eliot shouted, scrambling between them, grabbing onto Silas’ heaving chest with both hands, pulling at him desperately. “Silas, calm down! Please! You’ve got it all wrong—this isn’t some stranger! This is Julian! My brother! My older brother! He just came to visit!”

The words hit Silas like a bucket of ice-cold water.

The rage drained out of him almost instantly, replaced by a stunned, disbelieving pause. He blinked hard, his eyes darting between Eliot’s flushed, scared face and the man sitting on the sofa.

Brother?

It clicked then. The same shaped eyes, the same nose, the way they laughed the same way. Family resemblance.

Silas’ jaw dropped. He slowly released his grip on Julian’s wrist—leaving bright red fingerprints indented in the skin—and stepped back, his face burning hot, his chest still heaving.

Julian let out a breathy, nervous laugh, holding up his hands in surrender, shaking his head with disbelief. “Whoa… okay then. I see exactly how things are here. Nice to meet you too, Silas. You really… you really love him, huh?”

Silas didn’t answer him. He didn’t care about Julian right now. He turned immediately to Eliot, his expression shifting from murderous rage to something darker, heavier—still burning with jealousy, still hungry, still possessive, even now.

Because even knowing it was his brother? Even knowing it was family?

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t change the way Silas felt. It didn’t erase the sight of another man’s hands all over Eliot’s body, touching places only Silas was allowed to touch, holding him close, making him laugh and smile like that. Family or not—no one got to touch his Eliot like that. No one.

“Your brother,” Silas repeated slowly, his voice low and rough, his eyes scanning Eliot’s body like he could still feel the ghost of Julian’s hands on his skin. “Right. Your brother.” He paused, his gaze sharpening again. “And he thinks it’s okay to wrap his arms around you like that? Hold your thigh like that? Press his face against your neck like that? Since when does family touch like that, Eliot?”

“He’s just affectionate! You know how Julian is!” Eliot said quickly, though he was already backing away a little, sensing that Silas was far from done, far from calm. “He’s always been like that—”

“Too affectionate.” Silas cut him off sharply, stepping forward and grabbing Eliot by the waist, dragging him bodily right up against his chest, crushing him close until there was zero space between them. He buried his face straight into the side of Eliot’s neck, inhaling deeply, practically growling against his skin, like he was trying to scrub away every trace of his brother’s scent and touch. “Way too affectionate. I don’t care if he’s blood. No one touches you like that. No one holds you. No one gets to be that close. That is my place. My right. My privilege alone.”

He lifted his head, glaring over Eliot’s shoulder straight at Julian, his eyes still burning with open warning.

“Make yourself comfortable, Julian,” Silas said, his voice cold and dripping with unspoken threat. “But understand one thing clearly while you stay here. This boy you are so fond of touching? He belongs to me. Completely. Every inch of him. And if you touch him anywhere below his shoulders again? If you hug him too long? If you lean too close? I won’t care that you’re family. I will still break you. Do not test me.”

Julian just nodded, eyes wide, looking completely convinced that Silas meant every single word. “Got it. Loud and clear. Hands strictly to myself. Message received.”

Silas didn’t wait for anything else. He turned and immediately started dragging Eliot away towards their bedroom, his grip firm and unyielding on his waist.

“Where are we going?” Eliot whispered, breathless, his heart hammering—half nervous, half already buzzing with the familiar, thrilling anticipation that always came when Silas got like this: dark, jealous, hungry, and utterly determined to claim him.

Silas kicked the bedroom door shut behind them with a heavy bang, turning the lock with a sharp, deliberate click. He spun Eliot around and pushed him back hard against the solid wood, caging him in with both arms on either side of his head, leaning down until his face was inches away, his dark eyes blown completely black, swirling with raw, unquenchable desire and lingering possessive fury.

“We are going to fix this,” Silas murmured, his voice rough and deep, vibrating right through Eliot’s chest. “We are going to wipe away every trace of his touch. Every single place that man laid his hands on you—I am going to cover it with my own. I am going to mark you so thoroughly, so clearly, that even you will never forget again exactly who you belong to. You think I was jealous before, baby? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

He didn’t give Eliot a chance to reply. He crashed his mouth down onto Eliot’s, kissing him with a punishing, consuming intensity—hard, rough, demanding, far more aggressive than usual. He kissed him like he wanted to devour him entirely, his tongue sweeping deep into his mouth, claiming every inch, biting hard at his soft lips until they were swollen and red, drawing breathless little whimpers right out of Eliot’s throat.

His hands were everywhere at once—greedy, rough, possessive—roaming over Eliot’s body, squeezing his waist, gripping his hips, kneading his soft thighs, exactly where Julian had been touching him earlier. Every touch was harder than usual, intentional, heavy, pressing hard enough to bruise, staking his claim over every inch of skin that had been touched by someone else.

“Mine,” Silas growled against Eliot’s skin, biting and sucking hard right over the spot on his thigh Julian had rested his hand, marking the skin bright red and purple, right where it would be visible if Eliot wore shorts or loose trousers tomorrow. “This skin is mine. This body is mine. No one else gets to touch it. No one else gets to feel how soft you are. No one else gets to make you shiver like this. Do you understand me, Eliot? Do you understand that you are private property? My property?”

“Yes!” Eliot cried out, arching his back desperately against the door, his head thrown back, completely unraveled already. “Yes! I’m yours! Only yours! Oh god—Silas—please—mark me more—”

“Gladly.”

Silas tore his own clothes off quickly, then stripped Eliot bare, dragging him towards the bed and pushing him face down into the mattress, dragging his hips high up into the air exactly how he wanted him. He crawled over him immediately, pressing his heavy, solid weight right down onto Eliot’s back, trapping him completely.

He started at the top, kissing and biting his way down the back of Eliot’s neck, over his shoulders, down his spine, sucking dark, bruising marks into every inch of pale skin, painting him over and over again with his signature—proof, ownership, visible signs that screamed to anyone who ever looked: This belongs to Silas Hale. Don’t even think about touching.

He spent extra time on Eliot’s hips, his thighs, his ass—everywhere Julian had been near—leaving harsh, love-bites and fingerprints, making sure they would stay dark and visible for days. Every time he bit down hard enough to make Eliot gasp and buck back against him, Silas would smirk, low and wicked, whispering filthy, possessive praise against his skin.

“Look at you… perfect canvas for my marks. You love it, don’t you? Love me claiming you like this. Love knowing that every bruise on your pretty skin was put there by me. That every ache in your body is caused by me. That you are shaped entirely by my hands.”

“I do!” Eliot sobbed, writhing beneath him, pleasure already coiling tight and burning hot in his belly, his cock hard and leaking between his legs. “I love it! I love being marked by you! I want everyone to see! I want everyone to know I belong only to you!”

Silas groaned loudly, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into Eliot’s bones. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He didn’t waste any more time. He lined himself up and pushed inside Eliot in one smooth, punishing thrust, burying himself completely deep inside his tight, warm heat, groaning like he was finding his way home after being lost for years.

He set a rhythm immediately—hard, fast, relentless—far rougher and deeper than usual. He pounded into Eliot over and over again, driving him right down into the mattress, gripping his hips so tight his fingers dug painful, claiming indents into the soft flesh, using his body exactly how he wanted, exactly how he was entitled to.

Every thrust was a declaration. Every deep, powerful push inside him was a reminder.

“Mine,” he gritted out, over and over again, matching the word to the heavy slap of skin against skin. “Mine. Mine. Mine. You feel this? Feel how deep I go? How perfectly I fit? No one else could ever fill you like this. No one else could ever own you like this. Not your friends. Not your family. No one. Just me.”

Eliot screamed his agreement, tears of overwhelming pleasure rolling down his cheeks, his hands clutching the bedsheets so hard his knuckles turned white. He was completely wrecked, completely lost in the sensation—stretched full and aching with Silas’ size, pounded relentlessly, filled completely, claimed thoroughly. It was rough, it was intense, it was exactly what Silas needed to calm his raging jealousy—and exactly what Eliot needed to feel truly, undeniably loved and owned.

Silas reached around him, wrapping his big hand firm and tight around Eliot’s leaking cock, stroking him fast and hard in time with his thrusts, twisting his wrist just right to make Eliot see stars, to drag every drop of pleasure out of him.

“You come for me only,” Silas commanded, dark and possessive, pounding even harder, hitting that perfect sensitive spot deep inside him every single time. “You feel pleasure only for me. You ache only for me. You belong body and soul only to me. Now come—come for me, show me you know who you belong to.”

With a loud, wailing cry of Silas’ name, Eliot shattered, his whole body convulsing violently, spilling all over Silas’ hand and the sheets, pleasure crashing over him in wave after blinding wave. Silas didn’t stop—he kept pounding through every spasm, driving deeper and harder, chasing his own release right behind him.

With a deep, guttural roar, Silas came too, spilling himself hot and endless deep inside Eliot, pumping every drop of his release right into the center of his body, claiming the very core of him, filling him up completely until it leaked out even as he slowly pulled back.

He collapsed forward, heavy and spent, pressing his chest right down against Eliot’s back, breathing hard, his heart hammering fast against Eliot’s spine. He stayed there for a long time, just breathing him in, feeling the warm, sated peace settle over him, the burning jealousy finally soothed, replaced by the heavy, glowing satisfaction of knowing: He had taken back what was his. He had reclaimed every inch.

When he finally pulled out and turned Eliot over gently onto his back, Eliot was a beautiful, wrecked sight—his skin flushed bright pink, covered head to toe in dark, fresh bruises and love-bites, his lips swollen red, his eyes heavy and hazy with pleasure.

Silas leaned down, pressing soft, worshipful kisses to every single mark he had left, pride swelling in his chest.

“Perfect,” Silas whispered, his voice soft now, warm and possessive. “Absolutely perfect. Now you look like it. Now anyone who looks at you will know immediately. You belong to me.”

He paused, his fingers tracing gently over a dark bruise right on Eliot’s jaw, right where Julian had leaned close earlier.

“And just so you know,” Silas murmured, a sharp, jealous edge still lingering in his tone. “Even if it is your brother… I still don’t like it. I never will. You are mine to hold. Mine to touch. Mine to love. And I will fight anyone—family, friend, stranger, the whole world—before I ever let anyone else treat you like you belong to them. Understand?”

Eliot smiled sleepily, reaching up to cup Silas’

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