The amber hue of twilight bled into Aidan’s apartment, casting long, lazy shadows across the walls. He lay sprawled on his bed, sketchbook discarded beside him, fingers still smudged with charcoal from earlier doodles he hadn’t bothered to finish. His phone buzzed against the pillow, a short vibration that felt sharper than it should have.
He picked it up. Unknown number.
"Hey, how are you? It’s Damian. I have a few free hours tomorrow morning around 10am and was wondering if you’d like to stop by the studio."At the end of the message, a bicep emoji flexed, playful, self-assured. Pure Damian.
Aidan’s breath hitched—his thumb hovered over the screen for a heartbeat too long. He could feel his pulse quickening, pounding in his ears, echoing through his ribcage like a drum. His mind spun through scenarios faster than he could control. Was this professional? Was this something more? Did it even matter?
He typed out his response:"Yeah, thanks. I’d love to."
But he hesitated, staring at the message like it might give away too much. His lips pressed into a thin line as he deleted the word love and replaced it with a more neutral like. He settled on:"Yes, thank you."
Short. Polite. Unassuming. He hit send before he could overthink it any further.
Immediately, a reply flashed back."Great. Come by at 10. I’ll be waiting."No punctuation, no elaboration. It left Aidan’s mind spiraling into possibilities.
He exhaled sharply, tossing the phone beside him. But it wasn’t over yet. The pounding in his chest hadn’t slowed. He needed an excuse, fast. His job wasn’t exactly forgiving when it came to last-minute absences.
Typing rapidly, he shot off a message to his boss:"Hi, not feeling great. I’ll need to take tomorrow off. Thanks."Vague. Just enough to pass unnoticed. The kind of excuse no one questions unless they’re looking for trouble.
The reply came faster than expected."Hope you feel better. Rest up."
He exhaled, sinking into the sheets. His hand drifted over the fabric of his T-shirt, brushing against the flutter in his chest. His body was betraying him, alive with anticipation. Damian’s message played on repeat in his mind.
That night, Aidan struggled to fall asleep, his thoughts circling endlessly. When he finally drifted off, his dreams twisted into something strange and unclear—the only image that remained vivid when he woke was Colt, standing motionless on the white pedestal, bathed in light.
He woke before dawn, his body tense, a heavy erection straining beneath the sheets. His breath was ragged as he considered finishing it off right there and then but decided against it, biting his lip as he exhaled sharply.
The clock read 5 a.m., and he was wide awake. Without hesitation, he swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his workout clothes—a fitted tank top clinging to his torso and shorts that hugged his thighs just right. The chill of the early morning barely fazed him as he padded into the kitchen and powered up his small espresso machine. The sharp hiss of steam filled the room, and within moments, a quick shot of espresso warmed his chest.
With the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, he stepped outside into the cool embrace of dawn and began his run. The rhythmic pounding of his sneakers against the pavement mirrored the thumping in his chest, steady and relentless. By the time he returned, drenched in sweat and glowing with exertion, he grabbed his dumbbells and cranked out a quick set of reps, muscles straining and flexing with each curl.
Breathless, he wiped his brow, dropped the weights, and headed straight for the shower. The warm water cascaded over his body, washing away the sweat but leaving behind a lingering pulse of energy that refused to fade.
After drying off, he threw on a clean T-shirt and some comfortable joggers before heading to the kitchen to fix himself a light breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and a banana. The food settled his nerves, though the anticipation never fully left.
With his plate pushed aside, Aidan flipped open his laptop and began typing. His fingers moved purposefully as he searched for the studio’s website. The header greeted him with a sleek minimalist design and a name that stood out: Damian Laurent.
Curiosity gnawed at him. He opened a new tab and typed Damian’s name into Google, then the major social media platforms. But the search yielded frustratingly little—no personal profiles, no public posts. Just a small website showcasing his work: a collection of drawings ranging from delicate charcoal sketches to vivid oil paintings, each depicting breathtaking male figures in various poses. Some were tasteful studies of anatomy, while others were far more provocative, their sensuality leaving little to the imagination.
And then, he saw it—a pencil sketch that made his breath catch in his throat. The lines were precise yet full of motion, depicting two muscular men intertwined, their bodies pressed tightly together, limbs tangled in a way that blurred the line between intimacy and raw sensuality. Their erections touched, fused in a charged moment frozen in time.
He recognized one of the men instantly. It was Colt. The sculpted physique, the chiseled jaw, and the unmistakable massive endowment—there was no mistaking him.
Aidan’s heart pounded harder, as though trying to punch its way out of his chest. A strange sensation bloomed in his gut, somewhere between fascination and dread. Was it jealousy? He couldn’t quite tell. The emotion was foreign, disorienting, yet inescapable.
At 10 a.m., Aidan arrived at the entrance to the studio, only to find the doors locked. He frowned, pulling out his phone and typing a quick message to Damian.
"Hey, I’m downstairs."
Several moments passed before his phone buzzed in his hand. Damian’s reply appeared:
"Sorry, got held up in a meeting. Be there soon. Go to the side entrance on the left and take the elevator to the fifth floor. Someone will meet you."
Aidan’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Why hadn’t Damian told him earlier that he’d be late? Now he’d have to make small talk with some assistant or secretary until Damian arrived. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, muttering under his breath as he made his way to the side entrance.
On the fifth floor, he found himself standing before a stylish iron door, its intricate design catching the soft glow of the hallway lights. He knocked firmly, the sound echoing faintly. Heavy footsteps approached from the other side.
"Coming," a deep male voice called out, resonant and warm.
The footsteps stopped just behind the door. There was a click as the lock turned, and the door swung open.
Aidan froze in place. It was Colt—alive, breathing, and fully clothed.
For a moment that stretched like eternity, Aidan couldn’t move. His breath hitched, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile the living, smiling man in front of him with the perfect, motionless figure from the day before yesterday.
"You must be Aidan," Colt said warmly, extending his hand. "Damian sends his apologies. He’ll be here soon."
Aidan stared at the outstretched hand before taking it, his fingers trembling slightly as they gripped Colt’s firm shake.
"I’m Co—"
"Colt. Yeah, I know," Aidan blurted, cutting him off before he could finish.
"Ah, right." Colt chuckled softly, the sound awkward but genuine. "Damian mentioned that we’d already met at the studio. Well, more like you met me."
His words hung in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning.
Aidan shook himself out of the daze, blinking rapidly. "Sorry for cutting you off. I’m not used to—"
"Seeing me dressed?" Colt teased, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned slightly against the doorframe.
Aidan flushed, his cheeks warming under Colt’s gaze. "Hang on a second, I’ll grab the keys to the studio," Colt said, pushing off the doorframe and disappearing down the hallway.
Left alone, Aidan exhaled sharply, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the hem of his shirt to smooth out any wrinkles. He checked his reflection in the polished elevator door, adjusting himself until he looked somewhat composed.
"Ready?" Colt’s voice returned, and Aidan turned to see him holding a keyring.
Together, they entered the small, cramped elevator that barely fit them both. The confined space amplified every breath, every shift in weight. Aidan’s arm brushed against Colt’s once, twice, and each time, his skin prickled with awareness.
"So, how long have you been studying with Damian?" Colt asked casually.
"I had my first lesson two days ago," Aidan replied, willing his voice to sound steady.
"Just one lesson? Interesting. You must have made quite an impression," Colt said, a mysterious smile curling his lips.
The elevator dinged as they reached the ground floor, and they stepped out into the quiet street. Colt led him to the front entrance of the studio, unlocked the door, and held it open.
"After you," he said, his gaze lingering briefly before Aidan walked inside.
The studio was empty, silent except for the faint hum of distant traffic outside. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
"So it’s just us here?" Aidan summoned the courage to ask, his voice tentative.
"Yep, just you and me. Damian will join us later," Colt replied, his tone casual but with an underlying warmth that made Aidan’s pulse jump.
"I figured we could get started," Colt continued, and before Aidan could respond, Colt grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled it off in one long, fluid motion. The fabric slid over his torso, revealing the same sculpted physique Aidan had studied meticulously just days ago.
Aidan wasn’t ready for it. His cheeks burned as he quickly averted his eyes.
"Ahem... start with what, exactly?" he stammered.
"Anatomy," Colt replied with a teasing grin. "That’s what you’re here for, right?"
"Yeah, anatomy. Right. I’m here to learn about anatomy," Aidan repeated, feeling like he was grasping for any solid ground.
"Relax," Colt said with a soft chuckle. "After all, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?"
Aidan found himself smiling back, the tension in his chest loosening just a little. Colt wasn’t just handsome—he was charming, approachable. The perfect combination.
"Which pose would you like to work on today? I’m at your disposal," Colt said, his tone gentle yet suggestive.
"Uh... I hadn’t really thought about it," Aidan admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I figured Damian would have something planned."
"That’s okay," Colt reassured him. "Come with me."
He took Aidan’s hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver up Aidan’s spine, and led him to the round, white platform in the center of the studio. As they stepped onto it, Aidan’s gaze drifted downward, his memory flashing back to the pole from two days ago. There was no sign of it now, just a small, barely noticeable hole where it had once been.
Colt stood on the platform directly in front of Aidan, his bare chest rising and falling gently. Up close, the sheer perfection of his physique was almost overwhelming, every curve of muscle highlighted by the soft light.
Colt raised his right arm and flexed, the bicep swelling impressively. "Like this?" he asked, his voice warm.
"Yeah, that’s good," Aidan replied briefly, unsure where this was headed.
"Great. Now what should I do with the other arm?"
"Uh... raise it the same way," Aidan suggested.
Colt grinned. "No, you raise it. Don’t be shy—mold me. That’s what I’m here for."
Aidan hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and gently taking Colt’s left arm. He curled Colt’s fingers into a fist and lifted the arm until the muscle tensed in perfect alignment. When it was positioned, Colt flexed hard, the muscle springing to life beneath Aidan’s fingertips.
"Keep going," Colt encouraged.
Emboldened, Aidan stepped closer, his fingers lightly grazing Colt’s skin as he adjusted the model’s stance with meticulous care. He placed a hand on Colt’s shoulder and gently rotated his torso, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath his palm as Colt’s body twisted gracefully. The motion caused Colt’s chest to jut forward at just the right angle, the ridges of his pectorals catching the soft light and casting faint shadows over his sculpted abs.
Satisfied with the upper body, Aidan crouched slightly, his hands brushing Colt’s thighs as he widened the model’s stance, shifting one leg forward and the other back. His movements were slow, deliberate, ensuring that the pose conveyed both strength and fluidity. The tension in Colt’s legs was palpable, every sinew taut and brimming with energy, as if he were a statue mid-motion, frozen in time.
Aidan stood back, taking in the full display. Colt’s arms flexed powerfully, biceps bulging with controlled force, while his chest seemed to expand with each held breath. The pose exuded dominance, like a bodybuilder at the peak of competition, radiating raw masculinity and precision.
When he stepped back to admire the results, Colt’s physique was on full display—his arms flexed, his chest expansive, every muscle sculpted and taut.
"Finished?" Colt asked, his voice strained as he held the pose.
"Yeah... I think so. You look incredible. So, what’s next?" Aidan asked, swallowing hard.
"Now, you draw," Colt said with a wink. "But first, I need a little help from you."
Aidan blinked, confused. "Help with what?"
"Reach behind my head," Colt instructed, tilting his chin upward. "Feel along the back, near the hairline. There’s a small bump."
Aidan’s fingers grazed the warm skin of Colt’s neck, searching until they found it—a slight, firm protrusion beneath the surface.
"Got it," Aidan whispered.
"Good," Colt murmured, locking eyes with him. "Careful now. Hold me steady. I think the pose is stable, but just in case."
"Hold you steady for what?" Aidan asked, his breath hitching.
Colt smiled. "Just press it and see. Don’t worry. I’ll see you on the other side."
Aidan hesitated, his fingers lingering over the small bump as he swallowed hard. With a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he pressed down gently. What followed was instantaneous—Colt’s warm, animated eyes dulled as though a light inside them had been snuffed out. His pupils dilated briefly before freezing in place, the warmth draining from his expression as if someone had pulled the plug on his emotions.
His lips, once curved in that teasing smile, slackened, falling into a neutral line. His jaw, which had flexed subtly as he held the pose, became still, his features smoothing into a mask of serene vacancy. The life that had radiated from his presence moments ago was gone, replaced by an eerie calm. His entire body stiffened, muscles locking with uncanny precision, preserving every curve and line that Aidan had so carefully shaped.
Aidan’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as he watched Colt transform into something eerily perfect. His hand remained pressed against the back of Colt’s neck, fingers trembling slightly as if reluctant to pull away. His palm could feel the tension beneath the skin—solid, unyielding, like touching marble.
He stared at the now-frozen figure before him, the air thick with disbelief. The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence stretching endlessly, broken only by the faint sound of Aidan’s ragged breathing.