Chapter Text
The afternoon light slanted in through the tall windows, gilding the edges of the meeting room in narrow streaks of light. It was a quiet, heavy room, the kind where the air seemed to hold its breath. Carlos sat at the head of the long mahogany table, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips in unhurried intervals. Smoke curled upward in slow, silvery threads, catching the light before dissolving into the shadows that pooled in the corners. No guards, no subordinates—just him. This was not a gathering for witnesses.
His gaze never strayed far from the double doors opposite him. The crystal glass of brandy remained untouched, its amber contents glowing faintly under the chandelier light above. The only sound was the faint crackle from the burning cigarette, each exhale releasing a ghost into the stillness. Charles was late. Not unusual, but noticeable. The kind of lateness that could be deliberate—or dangerous.
The door handle clicked. Carlos' eyes narrowed just slightly, though his posture remained a picture of calm. The doors opened, and Charles stepped in as though he owned the air in the room, the faint scent of iron bleeding into the space ahead of him. His suit was a ruin: the fine tailoring undone by dark stains and creases, the pale shirt beneath patterned with fresh splatter. His tie hung loose, and his hair bore the faint trace of recent violence—not wild, but disturbed. Despite it all, the sharp smile was there, curved and knowing.
Max, Charles' right hand man, followed in his wake, the second disturbance to the room's stillness. His clothes bore their own constellation of dark stains, irregular smudges across sleeves and front, the kind that would dry stiff if left long enough. His face carried no apology, no explanation—just the calm aftermath of a man who had already done what needed doing. He trailed Charles by a step, silent, his eyes unreadable, yet the air around him carried the same metallic tang, the same echo of whatever had unfolded before their arrival.
Charles reached the table without pause, the subtle rasp of his shoes on the polished floor the only sound in the silence. He didn't sit right away—he let the moment stretch, gaze flicking over Carlos, as if weighing something. Then he lowered himself into the chair opposite, his smile sharpening just a fraction. Carlos' cigarette burned low, the ember a faint red as he exhaled smoke in a slow, measured stream, eyes fixed on the man across from him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Charles said, his voice a smooth, velvety thing that made the words sound almost courteous. "My other meeting with a special client ran a little long."
Carlos didn't answer immediately. He let the silence grow teeth, the smoke between them twisting lazily before it vanished. His gaze slid down to the stains on Charles' suit, not with shock or disapproval, but with the quiet, calculating curiosity of a man who preferred to know exactly what kind of storm had just walked into his house. He took one last pull from the cigarette, before he pushed it down to the ashtray.
"Long," Carlos repeated, voice low and even, as though tasting the word for something hidden. His eyes lifted from Charles' shirt to his face again, meeting that sharp smile without returning it. He didn't need to ask what had happened—Charles' arrival was its own explanation—but he let the pause linger just long enough to make it clear he was considering how much of it had been intentional.
From the corner of his vision, Carlos let his gaze drift—briefly, pointedly—toward Max. No greeting, no words. Max didn't move, didn't speak. The faint scent of iron in the air seemed to deepen.
Carlos leaned back slowly, one arm draped over the chair's armrest, the other curling around the untouched brandy glass. He swirled it once, the amber liquid catching the light, though he still didn't drink. The glass was just an idle prop in his hand, a mark of control.
"I suppose," Carlos said finally, the words deliberate and unhurried. "You won't have to waste time for this client anymore. He's already dead, sí?"
The faintest flicker of amusement passed over Carlos’ face—there, and gone again—before he set the glass down without taking a sip. He didn't break eye contact, letting the weight of the moment press down between them. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the wall clock, each second stretching longer than it should.
Only then did Carlos reach for the next cigarette, sliding it from the pack with the same care one might give to pulling a trigger. He lit it slowly, exhaled, and said, almost idly. "Shall we begin?" His eyes stared at Max just for a moment.
Max stood at Charles' back like an unspoken shadow, hands clasped loosely in front of him, his stillness more watchful than passive. Max’s eyes didn't roam, didn't wander toward the gilded walls or the tall windows, his attention was fixed entirely on the two men seated at the table, as if every syllable spoken was something worth filing away.
Charles leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the polished surface, the posture casual but the air around him taut with intent. "Let's not waste time," He began, voice a velvet thread that cut straight to the point. "I want to know where you've been getting your components."
The faintest flicker of surprise might have crossed Carlos' eyes, though it was gone before it could settle into expression. He leaned back, cigarette balanced between his fingers, and exhaled a ribbon of smoke that curled toward the ceiling. Then he chuckled—low, quiet, the sound steeped in dry amusement. "Your family manages weapons," He said, the words almost indulgent. "Why are you asking me this? Is this why you insisted on a private meeting?"
Charles' mouth curved, sharp and slow, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Your family also manage weapons," He replied, drawing out the words as though savoring them. "Perhaps not as widely known as ours, but power—" He spread his hands slightly, palms upward, the motion fluid and deliberate. "—power is power, you know? I want to know where you've found such interesting components for your toys."
Carlos watched him for a long beat, letting the smoke from his cigarette drifted lazily between them. "It's not as good as yours." He said at last, tone light, as though stating a harmless fact.
Charles leaned back in his chair, that smile deepening. "Now, now," He murmured, his voice soft but threaded with steel. "We both know that's not true. You shouldn't lie to me, Carlos." His fingers tapped idly on the table's edge, slow and measured. "Like you said, my family manage weapons—I manage weapons. A lot of them. I know which ones are worth the trouble," He let the pause hang, eyes fixed on Carlos' with unnerving steadiness. "And which ones are shit."
Carlos didn't flinch from the words, didn't blink. He drew once more from the cigarette, the ember burning bright for a moment before he pressed it down in the ashtray. It was time to focus. His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but something that might pass for one in the right light. He knew exactly what Charles was doing, knew the push beneath the polite edges.
Carlos let the silence pool between them, his fingers curling loosely around the stem of his brandy glass. He didn't drink from it—he only turned it in his hand, letting the amber liquid swirled once more.
When Carlos finally spoke, his tone was measured, almost conversational. "You've always been good at sniffing out quality, Leclerc. I'm sure you've gotten half the world tripping over themselves to hand you whatever you want." His eyes lifted, catching Charles' with deliberate steadiness. "And yet, here you are, sitting in my home, asking about my suppliers. Makes me wonder what exactly you're looking for—components, or something else entirely."
Charles' smile didn't falter, but the air between them tightened. "You're avoiding the question."
"I'm answering it," Carlos countered softly, setting the glass down with a muted click. "I just prefer to answer in ways that mean something." He leaned back in his chair. "Besides, it would be rude of me to hand you everything so easily. Where's the fun in that?"
Charles' fingers stilled on the table, his smile turning thinner, more deliberate. "Careful, Carlos. You know I like games, but I like winning them even more." His words were soft, but the edge in them was unmistakable.
Carlos' chuckled, low and deliberate. "Is that so?" He said simply, the words slipping into the air like smoke—light, but impossible to catch.
Charles' smile shifted—not wider, but heavier somehow, as if he had been holding something in reserve. His fingers resumed their faint tapping on the table, each tap deliberate, steady, like a clock counting down to something inevitable. "Don't worry," He said, voice velvet-smooth. "I don't come here empty-handed, you know."
Carlos arched a brow, the motion slow, deliberate. "Whatever do you mean?" The question was mild, but there was a sliver of curiosity threading through the calm.
Charles' answer came with a smile that could almost be mistaken for sweet, if not for the way his eyes held it too firmly, too knowingly. "If you give me what I want," He said, his tone smooth enough to glide over the sharp edges beneath. "I'll lend you the most precious thing I own."
The quiet in the room seemed to shift—no louder, no brighter, but denser somehow, the air pressing closer. Carlos tilted his head, a small spark of intrigue lighting behind his gaze. "Oh?" He murmured, the word low, drawn out just enough to suggest genuine interest. "And what would that be?"
Charles leaned back slightly, his shoulders settling into the chair with unhurried ease, as though revealing the answer was a pleasure in itself. His eyes didn't waver from Carlos' gaze. "I will lend you my Max."
There was a beat—a sharp, suspended moment where the words settled like the crack of a match in a dark room.
"What?"
The word came from both Carlos and Max at the exact same time, the difference in tone unmistakable. Carlos' was edged with disbelief and a hint of amusement, Max's with something closer to alarm—though even that was quickly swallowed under his usual composure. The synchronized reaction broke the tight rhythm of the meeting, just for a breath.
Charles chuckled—low, warm, and threaded with amusement—as though he had orchestrated that reaction just to savor it. "Ah," He said lightly. "I thought that might get your attention." His gaze flicked briefly toward Max, then back to Carlos, the smile never faltering. "Consider it a show of good faith. Or perhaps, a temporary exchange of assets. He's worth far more than any component, and you know it."
Max stood a fraction straighter behind him, eyes fixed on his boss, but he didn't speak. The faintest ripple of tension passed through the air between them, almost imperceptible, but Carlos caught it. He always caught things like that.
Carlos let the silence hang again, watching Charles as if weighing the true cost of what was being offered—and whether the offer itself was bait.
The clock on the wall ticked on, indifferent to the fact that the tension in the room had deepened.
"You'll lend me Max." Carlos repeated slowly, as though testing the shape of the words in his mouth. His tone wasn't incredulous—it was measured, composed. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped loosely over the armrest, the other reaching for his glass of brandy. This time, he took a sip. The liquid rolled over his tongue, warm and rich, and when he set the glass down again, there was a faint, thoughtful smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"That's a generous offer," Carlos said at last, voice low and almost conversational, though the weight beneath it was unmistakable. "And a dangerous one. You hand me your right hand man, even temporarily, and I could...do all sorts of things. To him. With him." His gaze flicked toward Max for just a second—not enough to break the thread of control, but enough to make the implication clear—before returning to Charles. "Why would you give me that kind of leverage?"
Charles didn't rush his answer. His shoulders relaxing as if this was the easiest thing in the world, the faint glint in his eyes betraying something sharper beneath. "Because," He began, his voice rich with a mock-kindness that felt more dangerous than any threat. "You're my dearest friend." The words lingered in the air, dripping with the kind of familiarity that could just as easily be affection or insult.
Charles’ smile curled a little further, wicked in its ease. "And as a good friend," Charles let the pause stretch, watching Carlos with the kind of gaze that could pick a man apart if it lingered too long. "I'm allowed to share my own joy, non?"
The word landed like a velvet blade—soft to the ear, but sharp enough to draw blood if handled carelessly. Max's stillness behind him felt heavier now, the weight of his silence pressing into the space between the two men.
Carlos didn't move, didn't blink, but the faintest ghost of a chuckle slipped past his lips, more exhale than sound.
"My dearest friend," Carlos echoed, voice dipped in that same low amusement, though his eyes betrayed nothing but calculation. "And here I thought your generosity had its limits." Carlos let the smile come now—small, deliberate, and far from kind. "To share your joy with me, either you're a very good friend, or you're trying to see just how far I'll go to keep it."
Max didn't move behind Charles, but Carlos caught the subtle shift in his gaze—just enough to betray that he was listening closely, even if his expression remained unreadable.
Charles' smile stayed fixed, Carlos could feel the push underneath it, the deliberate challenge.
Carlos reached for another cigarette. The flame from his lighter flared briefly, reflecting in his eyes before he snapped it shut. He inhaled and let the smoke curl lazily from his lips, his gaze shifting—not hurried, not obvious—but directly toward Max. It was the same kind of glance he might give a loaded gun, checking for weight, balance, the faintest sign of a flaw. Max's face was composed, expressionless, but Carlos caught it—the brief, unscripted flicker from earlier when that unison "What?" had broken the rhythm of the meeting. It was small, but in a man like Max, who rarely let anything slip, it was as loud as a gunshot.
Carlos leaned back once more, eyes still fixed on Max, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the discomfort to settle. Max didn't avert his gaze. He didn't need to. But Carlos knew him well enough to read the things not said: the tension sitting just behind the stillness, the faint shift of weight in his stance, the subtle tightening of his jaw. That told Carlos everything—Charles hadn't breathed a word of this "loan" beforehand.
Interesting.
Carlos knew exactly what Max was worth—had known for years. Max was no decorative guard dog; he was efficient, quick-thinking, unshakably loyal to Charles. If Charles truly intended to place that kind of asset into someone else's hands, even temporarily, then there were only two possibilities: either Charles was recklessly confident, or he was playing a far deeper game.
And if this was a game, Carlos intended to find the rules before making his move.
Carlos turned his gaze back to Charles, the faintest upward pull at the corner of his mouth. "It's generous of you," Carlos murmured, voice even. "To offer me something so valuable without even letting him know in advance." He let that hang for a beat, the words more observation than challenge, but their edge was deliberate. "If I took him, I wouldn't just be borrowing your right hand—I'd be holding half your empire in mine."
Charles didn't flinch, didn't break that sharp smile, but Carlos could see the glint in his eyes—approval, perhaps, or simply the thrill.
Carlos' fingers idly tapped the ash from his cigarette into the tray, the sound soft, precise. "And yet," He continued, leaning forward, "You drop him in front of me like an unopened case of contraband. I have to wonder—are you offering me a treasure, or bait?"
Charles reclined in his chair as if the air between them hadn't just tightened another notch. His hands rested lightly on the arms, his posture loose in a way that was anything but careless. "Like I said," He spoke, his voice warm enough to be mistaken for sincerity. "I just want to be a good friend." The words landed softly, but they were threaded with the same deliberate weight he had been weaving through the conversation since he walked in—offhand, almost affectionate, and yet sharp enough to cut if handled wrong.
Charles' gaze slid briefly toward Max, and something shifted in it—subtle, proprietary, the kind of look one might give a weapon polished to perfection. "And I don't need to worry about Max," He continued, his tone carrying the kind of confidence that wasn't bluster but certainty carved from experience. "I trust him enough to not do something stupid...like revealing any secrets." He let the pause after stupid stretch just long enough for it to settle, the faintest shadow of amusement touching his lips before it was gone again. "Max is very valuable, you see."
The way he said valuable was deliberate—drawn out, weighted—not just a compliment, but a claim. The kind of claim that marked territory in a way more intimate than aggression, more binding than a contract.
Carlos studied him through the faint haze of cigarette smoke curling between them, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. There was no mistaking the way Charles had phrased it. Not loyal, not skilled—but valuable. It was a merchant's word, a collector's word. The kind of word that turned a man into a commodity without stripping away the fact that he was still dangerous.
Carlos shifted his gaze back to Max, slow and deliberate, letting the silence pool in the room again. Max, to his credit, didn't react. No flicker in the eyes, no tightening in the jaw this time—just stillness.
When Carlos looked back to Charles, Carlos' expression hadn't shifted from that calm, unreadable mask. But his next words were measured, wrapped in a faint thread of something almost like amusement. "Trust is a fragile thing," He said softly, the smoke curling from his mouth. "Lend it out too easily, and it breaks. Hold it too tightly, and you crush it." His eyes flicked toward Max again, just long enough to make the gesture intentional. "I see you must be very sure of the balance."
Charles' smile didn't falter—in fact, it deepened, slow and deliberate. "Always."
The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in ever so slightly, though neither man moved.
"So?" Charles continued, tone warm but threaded with steel. "What do you think?"
Carlos' mouth curved into a grin—not a friendly one, but the kind that carried the sharp edge of a dare. He leaned forward, the chair giving a faint creak under the shift of his weight. "You sure?" The words were low, almost intimate, but their bite was unmistakable. "I can do whatever I want with him, as I please. Will you be okay with that?"
The challenge hung between them.
Charles didn't flinch. If anything, his expression deepened into that familiar smirk, slow and sharp, like a man savoring the turn of a card he had been waiting to play. "Of course," He stated, the words rolling easily off his tongue. "Do as you please. Use him however you want."
Max stood perfectly still behind Charles, but Carlos caught the subtle shift with his body—small, controlled, but there.
Then Charles leaned in just slightly, elbows resting on the table, his gaze never wavering. "But remember," He said, his tone smoothing into something quieter, more dangerous. "Max is still the most precious thing to me." The way he said precious wasn't soft—it was proprietary, a word that wrapped chains as neatly as silk. "I still own him."
There was no heat in his voice, no raised tone, just that low certainty that made the words heavier than any shout could have been.
"If something happened to him while he's working for you," Charles' smirk lingered, but his eyes had gone colder, the glint in them sharp as broken glass. "You know I'll get very mad, right?"
It wasn't a threat so much as a promise—matter of fact, inevitable. The kind of statement that didn't need volume to carry weight, because both men knew the consequences were real.
Carlos' grin didn't fade. If anything, it deepened, a spark of intrigue flickering in his gaze. Then he crushed his cigarette to the ashtray without breaking eye contact.
"And I would expect nothing less." Carlos said, the words smooth, but threaded with the same unspoken warning Charles had given him.
Carlos' gaze drifted from Charles to Max and back again, the movement measured, calculated to feel almost lazy.
"You know, you do make it sound so tempting," Carlos said finally, his tone carrying the faintest thread of amusement, as though this were an indulgence rather than a calculated risk. "A gift from a friend...something precious...and the freedom to do whatever I want with it." He tilted his head, as if testing the weight of those words in his mouth. "It would be rude to say no, wouldn't it?"
Charles' smirk widened, but it was the kind of widening that didn't touch the eyes—it was approval and provocation in equal measure.
Carlos rested his elbows lightly on the table, leaning forward, his eyes catching the warm light from the chandelier. "Fine," He said at last, his voice soft but unmistakably final. "I'll take him."
The words were thrown like a coin into deep water—meant to sink, meant to ripple.
Max didn't move, but Carlos watched him closely, reading the faint shift in posture, the imperceptible recalibration of a man already thinking several steps ahead. Not defiance. Not unease. Just readiness.
Charles chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm but carrying that wicked undertone that never quite left his voice. "Then it's settled," He said, his fingers tapping the table once before going still. "Enjoy my gift, mon ami."
The way he said enjoy was almost indecent—layered, weighted, leaving the door open to every possible interpretation.
"Oh, I intend to." Carlos responded, a feigned smile on his face.
"Very well. I shall go now, there's another matter that requires my attention."
Charles carefully stood, straightening his suit jacket with an easy flick of his wrists despite the faint stiffness in the fabric from blood. His smirk never wavered, even as his eyes met Carlos' one last time across the table.
Charles turned toward the door, walking smoothly—then stopped. Without warning, he pivoted back toward Max.
In four unhurried steps, Charles was in front of him, one hand curling around Max's throat, thumb brushing the pulse point with casual possession. Max's breath hitched, barely, before Charles drew him in and pressed their mouths together—slow, deliberate, unbothered by the watching eyes. His grip never loosened, the faint pressure at Max's throat a wordless reminder of who was in control.
Across the table, Carlos only leaned back in his chair, the faintest flicker of amusement touching his eyes as he watched.
When Charles finally broke the kiss, he kept his hand where it was, tilting Max's chin just enough to meet his gaze. "Now you stay with Carlos, okay?" He murmured, voice low, almost indulgent. "Be good to him, mon cher."
Charles' fingers tightened briefly around Max's throat—enough to make the point, enough to make it feel. "You understand, right?"
Max gave a quick nod.
Satisfied, Charles released him and turned once more for the door. This time, he didn't look back. The heavy oak swung shut behind him with a muffled thud, leaving Max standing all by himself.
Silence.
It was a different kind of quiet now—no longer the sharp, volatile stillness between two predators circling each other, but something slower, heavier, the kind that came when the stage cleared.
Carlos still leaned back in his chair, letting the moment stretch, eyes on Max. He didn't speak right away—just studied him, noting the subtle shifts in stance, the controlled breathing, the faint shadow of drying blood along his jaw.
"You didn't know about this." Carlos said finally, his voice low, more statement than question.
Max's gaze met his without flinching. "No."
The answer was clean, clipped, with no attempt at explanation.
Carlos' mouth curved, just barely. "And yet here you are."
"Here I am." Max replied, his tone even. No defiance, no submission—just fact.
Carlos let his eyes linger a moment longer before rising from his chair, moving with deliberate slowness.
Slowly closing the distance, stopping just a step closer than necessary.
"You're supposed to be precious to him," Carlos stated, almost thoughtful. "I wonder how much of that is because of what you can do."
Max didn't answer, though the faintest flicker passed through his eyes—there and gone again.
Carlos smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "We'll find out."
Carlos turned away then, moving toward the decanter on the sideboard, pouring himself another glass of brandy. Without looking back, he said. "Follow me. You'll be working tonight."
The corridors of Carlos' mansion stretched long and quiet, the polished marble floors reflecting the soft, golden light from ornate sconces. Every step Max took behind him was measured, soundless despite the blood still stiffening the fabric of his clothes.
Carlos didn't speak for a while. His pace was unhurried, and it wasn't until they passed the last of the grand portraits lining the hall that he finally stopped before a set of double doors.
He pushed them open, revealing another room—less opulent than the meeting hall, but no less deliberate in its design. A heavy wooden table stood at the center, littered with an array of objects: neatly arranged papers, maps, and small, gleaming metal components. Against the far wall sat a steel case, the kind that required both a key and a code.
"Tonight," Carlos began, stepping inside. "You're going to prove to me exactly what kind of gift I've been given."
Max entered behind him, his expression unreadable, though his eyes did a slow sweep of the table. He didn't touch anything.
"There's a shipment coming in," Carlos continued, sipping in the brandy he brought along with him and gesturing faintly toward the maps. "Components. Rare ones. The kind your main boss likes to pretend are impossible to track."
Max didn't respond.
Carlos turned then, leaning against the table, his glass in one hand, the other resting loosely on the wood. "I want them intercepted before they reach the port. You'll have the location by midnight." He sipped once more, watching him over the rim of the glass. "You'll do this without your boss' men, without his resources. You'll work with mine."
There was a pause—brief, but weighted. "And if your people aren't up to my standard?" Max asked.
Carlos smiled faintly, almost indulgently. "Then you'll adjust. You're valuable, aren't you? Precious, even?"
The words hung between them, and for a fleeting moment, Max's gaze hardened—not in open defiance, but in that dangerous, quiet way of a man filing the statement away for later.
Carlos set his glass down, the sound soft against the table. "If you succeed, we'll have plenty to talk about. But if you fail," His tone didn't change, but the faint curve of his lips suggested something far more final than simple disappointment. "Then I will send you back to Charles. I don’t need anything useless after all."
Carlos straightened, brushing past Max toward the door, his shoulder almost grazing the other man's. "But first, I need to prepare you a new set of clothes.”
The night air was thick with the scent of salt and cold ocean spray. Carlos sat inside his sleek black sedan, parked on a widened pull-off just above a sharp bend on the coastal highway. From this vantage point atop the cliff, he had a clear, almost commanding view of the road below, which curled tightly along the jagged coastline.
Down on the narrow shoulder of the road stood Max, with four of Carlos’ men. The wind tugged at Max’s dark coat, the ocean's roar faint but persistent beneath the distant rumble of tires on wet asphalt.
Ahead of them, two vehicles approached: a black SUV in front, followed closely by a heavy truck hauling crates. The SUV slowed deliberately, swinging wide to block the single lane just before the curve, forcing the truck to reduce speed and come to a cautious halt behind it.
Max didn't hesitate. He stepped directly into the truck's bright headlights, weapon raised, body angled just so—a silent command to stop or face the consequences.
The truck's driver froze, hesitation fleeting before Max closed the distance in three powerful strides. Without a word, Max yanked the door open and slammed the man out, pinning him against the vehicle's cold metal side. The sickening sound of bone meeting asphalt echoed under the night sky.
Behind Max, the four men moved instantly, subduing the truck's second driver before he could react.
The black SUV remained blocking the road, engine idling. A few meters behind the truck, parked off to the shoulder but still close enough for quick access, was a second black SUV—waiting silently with its doors closed, windows dark.
After the drivers were handled, Max turned to the truck's rear. He gestured sharply, and the back doors swung open, revealing rows of crates stamped with coded markings.
Max crouched, running a gloved hand over the latch before carefully prying it open just enough to peer inside. His gaze flickered with quick assessment before he stepped back and signaled to the men.
The crates were loaded with precise efficiency into both SUVs: the first blocking the road and the second waiting slightly off to the side.
With the job complete, Max paused for a moment, glancing briefly toward the jagged cliffs where water thrashed against the rocks far below. Then, without hesitation, he climbed into the second SUV and shut the door with a sharp click.
From his higher vantage point, Carlos threw his cigarette outside, a slow, thoughtful smile curling on his lips.
He had seen everything: not just Max’s cold efficiency, but the quiet confidence—the way he controlled the scene without unnecessary moves or hesitation.
Charles' gift was indeed precious.
Carlos liked it. Carlos really liked quick witted people—people that knew how to work fast. He definitely going to like Max.
The fire place in Carlos' private sitting room burned low, painting the walls in a deep orange glow. He sat in a high-backed chair by the window, his posture at ease in that calculated way only someone truly comfortable in their territory could be.
On the table beside him, a porcelain plate sat perfectly arranged with churros—golden, crisp, dusted with cinnamon sugar so fine it glimmered under the firelight. Beside it, a delicate porcelain cup of hot chocolate released slow curls of steam into the air, rich and dark, the scent heavy with cocoa and spice. Everything on the table was placed with the same precision as the rest of the room—no excess, no clutter, just deliberate indulgence.
The knock at the door was quiet—polite, even—but Carlos didn't miss the underlying weight of it.
"Come in." Carlos called, his voice smooth, low.
The door opened, and Max stepped inside. He had cleaned up—at least somewhat—but the faint shadow of the night's work still clung to him. Carlos took a bite on his churro as he noticed the meticulous way Max had straightened his coat.
"It's done," Max said simply, somehow almost sounded offhanded. "Everything you asked for. Do you want me to handle anything else tonight?"
Carlos chuckled, the corner of his mouth curling. "No," He said, gesturing lightly with the churro in hand. "It's your first day of work. I don't want to give you anything too heavy yet."
Max's gaze didn't waver. "I'm fine with anything," He replied, his tone even. "I can do anything you want."
That made Carlos pause mid-bite. Then he leaned back, studying the man near him with a lazy sort of interest that didn't mask the sharper undercurrent in his eyes.
"Anything," Carlos repeated, as though testing the word on his tongue. "Careful with promises like that. People might think you mean it."
"I do." Max said without hesitation.
Carlos' smile deepened, though it wasn't entirely friendly. "And if I told you to burn down one of Charles' safehouses? To disappear one of his men? Would you still be so agreeable?"
Max didn't blink. "If that's what you want."
Carlos chuckled—quiet, almost warm, though the sound didn't reach his eyes. "You really are his right hand. Trained well. Loyal." He reached for another churro, tapping it lightly against the edge of the plate. The sugar stuck faintly to his fingers, and he licked it off without hurry, still watching Max.
"Sit, Max." Carlos said at last, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "If you're going to tell me you'll do anything, I want to see if you know what that means."
Max moved, but not in a rush. When he sat, his posture was as controlled as before, though there was a subtle shift in the air between them—like the temperature had dropped a degree, though the fire still burned.
Carlos leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice dipping just enough to draw the other man in. "I saw you tonight, you know. Out on the road."
There was no flicker of surprise from Max, no tightening of his jaw, but Carlos noticed the way his shoulders seemed to set just a little firmer.
"I didn't tell you I'd be there," Carlos continued. "Wanted to see what you'd do when no one was watching. You didn't disappoint." He said, voice deep and collected. "You're efficient. Cold. Clean. I like that. It means when I ask for something, I won't have to worry about a mess I didn't order."
Max's gaze stayed level. "Good. Then you'll know I meant what I said."
Carlos let the silence stretch, his eyes narrowing faintly—not in suspicion, but in that predator's way of measuring prey that wasn't quite prey. Carlos smiled again, a sharper curve this time.
"Anything, huh?" He said, the word curling into something that was almost a dare.
Max's answer came without even the ghost of hesitation. "Yes. Anything. I can do anything for you—it doesn't matter."
Carlos' chuckle was low, lazy, but it curled around the air between them like smoke. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee. "Doesn't matter, you say," He murmured, as though tasting the words. "You know how dangerous that sounds, right?"
Max didn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of dangerous."
Carlos' lips twitched into a grin that was just a shade too sharp. "Mmm. If you say so." He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. The firelight cut across his face, catching in his eyes in a way that made them gleam warmer.
"Anything," Carlos repeated, slower this time. "Do you have any idea how many people have said that to me over the years?" He let the silence answer for him. "Most of them didn't walk away easily."
Max's gaze stayed locked on his, level and steady. "I'm not most people."
That earned him another low laugh, and Carlos' hand lifted—not to touch, but to gesture lazily in his direction, the movement somehow more intimate for its restraint. "You talk like you believe that. And maybe you do. But belief," He leaned back again, drawing it out. "Belief is just air until someone tests it."
The words hung between them, heavy, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire.
Carlos reached for his cup, taking a slow sip, watching Max over the rim. Then, without looking away, he set it down and let his tongue sweep idly across his lower lip, catching the faint trace of chocolate there. "Tell me," He said, voice lower now, silk threaded with steel. "If I told you to get on your knees for me right now, would you do it?"
Max didn't move, but something in his stillness sharpened. "If that's what you wanted."
Carlos smiled—slow, dangerous, the kind of smile that was as much a warning as it was an invitation. He leaned in again, close enough that the heat from the fire and the faint sweetness of the chocolate clung between them. "Careful," He spoke. "You're making me curious."
Max's eyes didn't waver. "Is that a command? If so, I will do it." His voice was almost too cold, stripped of hesitation, and the lack of heat made it hit harder—like a knife pressed to the skin without warning.
Carlos' grin deepened, the edge of amusement glinting sharper. Too fun. "Well," He drawled, leaning back into his chair like he had all the time in the world. "First thing first. Since you already did a good job on your first day," He paused, as if considering, letting his gaze drag over Max in an unhurried, unapologetic sweep. "Why don't you tell me what you want first?"
Max blinked once, and the smallest furrow touched his brow. "What?" He frowned.
Carlos tilted his head, savoring the reaction. "What do you mean, 'what'? C'mon cariño, I'm feeling generous." He chuckled. "Since you're a very, very precious thing that my friend owns," He went on, tone turning almost silky. "I should at least treat you a little more generously, right?"
"I'm just doing my job," Max said flatly.
Carlos' mouth curved higher, not missing the way Max deflected without actually answering. "Tell me—what reward does Charles usually give you after you have done a good job in completing a task?"
Max's gaze slid just slightly away, not enough to break contact entirely, but enough to make Carlos' instincts sharpen. "I don't think it's important," Max said, but there was something—just a subtle drop in tone—that made the words heavier.
Carlos caught it immediately, the way a predator notices the briefest hitch in prey's step. Carlos leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice dipping lower. "Just tell me." Then, after the faintest beat, he added. "It's an order."
For a moment, silence hung thick between them. Then, almost too quietly to catch, Max said. "...kiss."
Carlos' smile turned slow and feline. "Come again?"
Max's eyes flicked back to his, steady now. "Charles kisses me. Or..." He hesitated just enough for the air to thicken further. "...or have sex with me while kissing me. Depends on his mood."
Carlos didn't blink. He didn't need to—he wasn't surprised. Not at all. He already knew exactly what kind of relationship Charles had with Max. In fact, there was something almost pleased in the way Carlos' mouth curved, like a man who had been handed exactly the kind of confirmation he had been hoping for. "Ah," He murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to satisfaction. "Is that so."
The fire popped softly in the background, but it was the way Carlos' gaze stayed locked on Max's that made the space between them feel hotter, tighter—like the whole room had just shifted in gravity.
"So," Carlos began again, his voice low, almost conversational. "You get kissed. Or fucked. Or both." His tone didn't rise at the last word, but it sharpened, like the flick of a blade.
Max didn't flinch. "That's right."
Carlos leaned back again, fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his chair. The motion was lazy, but the intent wasn't. Carlos was studying Max—no, unpacking him—piece by piece, as though the man across from him was a puzzle worth solving.
"And tell me, Max." Carlos' eyes glinted faintly in the firelight. "Do you like that?"
Max's stillness was the only answer at first, a careful kind of non-reaction that only made Carlos' smile deepen.
"It's an honest question," Carlos pressed, tilting his head slightly. "If I'm to reward you properly, it's only fair I know what pleases you."
There was the faintest flicker—less than a heartbeat—in Max's gaze, but Carlos caught it. Oh, he caught everything.
"I didn't ask to be pleased," Max replied, his tone a bit on edge now, nervous, in a way that made the air between them shift. He turned away for a moment, hiding his heated face.
Carlos chuckled under his breath, that low, dangerous sound that made even the warm room feel colder. "No," He said. "But you told me you would do anything. And I take people at their word."
Carlos rose then, slow enough for the movement to feel deliberate, and crossed the small distance between them. Max looked at him, Max didn't lean back—didn't move at all—but Carlos could feel the way the air grew taut, like the moment before a spark jumps from flint.
Standing just beside the arm of Max's chair, Carlos looked down at him, his voice dropping to something that threaded danger and amusement together in one silk-soft line. "If I want to kiss you for your reward, right now, would you do it?"
"Yes." Max answered instantly.
"Even knowing I'm not him?"
Max's eyes met his, steady and determined. "I said anything."
Carlos' grin was sharp enough to cut.
"Stand up." He said, eyes still focusing on the other man.
Max rose without hesitation, every movement precise. That obedience, that lack of question—it was something Carlos could respect. Or exploit.
Carlos took his time stepping in, letting the space between them shrink to nothing. Up close, the firelight caught in the faint sheen of Max's skin, the faint trace of cold air still clinging to him from outside.
Carlos lifted one hand, not to grab, but to hover just near Max's jaw—close enough for him to feel the heat of it. "Stay still." Carlos said, voice low enough to curl between them like smoke. Then he leaned in, brushing his mouth against Max's in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn't forceful—not yet. Just enough pressure to test, to see if Max would yield.
Max's breath caught, a faint, unguarded gasp that slipped free before he could stop it. Carlos felt the corners of his own mouth twitch upward against the kiss, nearly chuckling into it. The sound would've been soft, but edged with that same predator's amusement.
Carlos drew back just slightly, not even a full inch, just enough to speak. "Sensitive," He murmured, his breath warm against Max's lips. "Didn't think I'd get a reaction that quickly."
Max's jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed locked on Carlos'. "You told me to stay still." He said evenly, though the faint flush across his cheekbones betrayed more than his words did. Not that Carlos could see it clearly anyway.
Carlos' grin widened. "Good." He said softly, his hand finally cupping Max's jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make it clear who was steering this. "Let's see if you can keep doing that."
Carlos kissed him again—slower this time, but deeper, tasting the faint sweetness of cinnamon sugar still on his own lips mingling with the sharper, cleaner taste of Max.
Carlos didn't rush. He wanted to see every flicker of change in Max's expression, every shift in his breathing. This wasn't about affection. It was about seeing how far he could push without breaking that composure yet.
The second kiss dragged longer—Carlos' hand anchoring Max by the jaw, his thumb stroking idly over the line of his cheekbone like he was cataloging the texture of obedience.
Carlos deepened it without warning, the slow heat of it turning heavier, his mouth pressing harder, stealing more than Max offered. The shift was deliberate—a hunter closing in once he knew his prey wouldn't run.
Max didn't resist. If anything, the stillness he had promised earlier became a weapon of its own. He didn't push forward, didn't pull away. He let Carlos take, his control chillingly intact even as their mouths moved harder together.
Carlos' free hand finally moved, slipping to the front of Max's coat, curling into the lapel to pull him flush. The faint scent of expensive wool and the coppery ghost of blood threaded between them.
"Mmm," Carlos breathed against Max's lips, almost a hum of approval, though it was low and predatory. "You taste...disciplined." His teeth grazed the corner of Max's lower lip, not enough to break skin—just enough to feel the twitch of breath that followed. Carlos caught it. He always caught it.
Then the kiss turned hungrier. Not a test now, but an act of possession, his mouth parting against Max's tongue pressing in with the ease of someone who didn't need permission to take.
Max's breath hitched, sharper this time. Carlos swallowed the sound, his grip on the lapel tightening until the fabric strained faintly. Carlos' thumb traced lower now, from Max's jaw down the column of his throat, pressing just enough to feel the steady, unflinching beat of his pulse.
"You really will let me do anything." Carlos murmured against Max's mouth, but this time it wasn't a question—it was a statement, heavy and edged.
And then Carlos kissed him harder, rougher, tilting his head to seal their mouths in a way that demanded more response. The sound between them shifted—breath and heat and the faint scrape of teeth. Carlos' hand slid further down the line of Max's chest, almost idly, but with the kind of idleness that masked intent.
When he finally broke the kiss, it wasn't to give space—it was to speak into the narrow heat between them. "Tell me," He said, voice low and threaded with that dangerous warmth. "How much of this is you doing your job...and how much of it is you enjoying it?"
Max's eyes met his, level as ever—but there was something there now, something smaller, more dangerous, like the crack of heat inside a locked furnace.
"I'm doing my job." Max said. The words were calm, but his voice was a shade lower, and Carlos could hear the faint roughness that hadn't been there before.
Carlos' smile deepened. "Is that what you said to Charles too?" He teased.
Carlos caught Max's chin again. The proximity was suffocating now—Carlos' scent, the faint cinnamon on his breath, the heat of him pressed close enough that it was impossible not to feel every inch of his presence.
"I can always tell when someone enjoys being handled," Carlos went on, his tone dipping to something velvety, dangerous. "It's in the way you breathe...the way you're still here, still letting me."
"I'm here because you told me to be." Max replied, cold as ice.
"And that's exactly why it's so fun."
Carlos didn't give him the chance to argue—his mouth was on Max's again, harder this time, no slow build. His hand slid into Max's hair, gripping, pulling just enough to angle his head where Carlos wanted it. The kiss was all teeth and hunger now, the kind that bruised, the kind that dared the other man to stop it.
Max made a sound—not loud, not obvious, but a low, restrained exhale that trembled almost imperceptibly.
"There it is," Carlos breathed against his lips, eyes bright with sharp amusement. "A little crack in the ice."
Carlos pulled back just enough to make Max feel the loss, his lips hovering a breath away. The grip he kept in Max's hair was firm—possessive without apology—as his thumb traced along the sharp cut of Max's jaw. His voice came low, slow, almost velvety in its danger.
"Does Charles kiss you like this too?" Carlos' lips brushed the corner of Max's mouth, not quite touching—taunting. "Or does he keep it gentle with his favorite possession?"
There was no outward reaction—no flinch, no narrowing of the eyes—but Carlos caught the subtle change in Max's focus, the way his stillness took on a different weight.
Max's jaw tightened. "You don't need to talk about him."
"Oh, but I think I do." Carlos' smile cut sharper, predatory now. "Because the moment I touch you, I want to know whether you're thinking about me...or him."
Carlos didn't wait for an answer—his mouth was on Max's again, slower this time, deliberate in its precision. Each press of his lips felt like a question, each drag of breath a challenge.
"Tell me," Carlos murmured against him. "When he's got you like this, do you stand so still for him? Or do you break for him?"
Max's breathing deepened, but his voice stayed flat—almost chilling in its lack of hesitation. "Does it really matter?" He replied evenly. "Like I said, I would do anything for you. I work for you too now, Charles said so."
That earned a low, dark laugh from Carlos—deep and dangerous, a sound like the start of something sharp.
The grip on Max's jaw tightened. Carlos dragged him forward into a kiss that stripped away every shred of restraint—teeth knocking, lips crushed together in a clash of hunger and will. The force of it drove Max half a step closer, his balance shifting, but Carlos didn't give him the chance to recover.
Carlos' mouth moved like he meant to own it—deep, consuming, his tongue sliding past Max's lips without invitation, tasting him with slow, deliberate sweeps before changing the rhythm without warning, turning it sharp, possessive. The faint taste of sugar still lingered on his tongue, mixing with something darker, something entirely his own.
Max groaned—slow, but not weak. Carlos caught the sound, pressed harder, fingers in his hair twisting just enough to make the movement impossible to pull away from. The angle shifted as Carlos leaned in deeper, stealing more space, more air, his kiss messy now, wet, the kind that left no doubt it was meant to leave marks unseen.
When Max's lips parted further under the pressure, Carlos took it as victory, deepening the kiss until it was almost unbearable, the heat of it winding tight in the space between them. The hand that was previously on Max’s jaw settled low against Max's hip now.
Carlos didn't pull back—not fully—but slowed for a moment, his mouth dragging over Max's lower lip, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go. His breath was warm when it hit Max's mouth again, voice low and edged with amusement.
"Such an obedient, loyal thing you are." Carlos spoke, his voice threading between mockery and genuine appreciation. His mouth was still so close that Max could feel every syllable. "Is that why Charles likes you so much?"
The words landed like a strike, timed perfectly between the bruising heat of another kiss. Carlos' teeth caught at Max's lower lip again, not enough to break skin, but enough to sting.
Max didn't answer immediately—he only breathed deeper through his nose, steady, collected. That composure made Carlos hungrier. He pressed harder, his kiss turning rougher, testing, trying to crack something open beneath that calm.
"Hmm," Carlos murmured against him. "Or is it the way you never, ever say no?"
Carlos kissed him again, slower this time—one of those deliberate drags of lips and breath meant to burn all the more for its pace. Then, with that same feline curl of his mouth, Carlos whispered. "If I asked you right now to tell me exactly what you've done for him—every last filthy thing—would you obey?"
Max's fingers flexed slightly at his sides, but his voice was steady when it came, rough and iron-solid. "Like I said, I would do anything."
That earned a low, dangerous laugh from Carlos. "God, you make it far too tempting to see just how deep that loyalty runs."
Carlos didn't let go of Max immediately, his fingers still threaded in his hair, the grip firm enough to make it clear he could pull him back in if he wanted. But instead, he leaned away just enough to watch him properly, his hands weren’t pressing on Max anymore, his eyes dark and sharp in the low firelight.
Intriguing. That was the word that stuck. Max wasn't simply competent—Carlos had already known for a long time because Charles always used him for important tasks—but up close, he was something even more fun to play with. Cold, yes, but in a clean, purposeful way, the kind that didn't falter or overcompensate. There was a steadiness there, unshaken even by the way Carlos had just kissed him like he intended to steal the air from his lungs. Honest, too, in the peculiar way only someone without illusions about themselves could be.
Charles hadn't just lent him a useful man; he'd lent him a challenge, a very fun one. A puzzle that moved and breathed and obeyed without hesitation, yet kept some hidden layer tucked just out of reach. Carlos wanted to find that layer. He wanted to take it apart, piece by piece, and see what happened when that unshakable composure finally splintered. That would definitely be a sight worth savoring.
The fire snapped, casting brief gold over the lines of Max's face. Neither of them moved back further, which made the space between them feel intentional, taut.
"So what now?" Max's voice was rough, unbothered, almost careless. "Do you want me to say thank you or something?"
Carlos' mouth curved into a slow, feline grin, the sound of his low laugh threading through the heat in the air. He moved back into his chair, one arm draped lazily along the armrest, still watching Max like a man watching the weather for a storm he had ordered himself.
"Cariño," Carlos stated, letting the word slip like something sweet. "You really are something else. No wonder Charles keeps you."
Max's answer came quick, as if there was nothing to think about. "I do my job very well."
"That," Carlos said, his grin sharpening. "Must be why he loves rewarding you so much."
Carlos let the words hang, the weight of them settling between them like smoke, their meaning too deliberate to mistake. The fire popped again, the scent of cinnamon sugar from the few untouched churros still lingering in the warm air.
Carlos was definitely going to have so much fun with this one.