Riley stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of the brick walk-up that used to be home. The late-October wind knifed straight through his thin gray hoodie and the white tee underneath; both clung to his narrow chest and flat stomach, damp with nervous sweat.
Six months unemployed. Everything gone. The landlord had laughed in his face while boxing up the PlayStation and his limited-edition sneakers. She'd taken one look at Kevin the cactus, the one Riley talked to when he was drunk and lonely, and shoved it into the box. Likely to never see daylight again.
Riley hadn’t fought the eviction. Hadn’t even shown up to court. He’d blown the last of September’s tips on vodka tonics and a smug finance bro who’d sworn he’d Venmo for the Uber home. Blocked before the bill hit the table. When Riley stumbled back, the door was already chained; he’d barely been allowed inside to grab a change of underwear.
Now he owned exactly what he was wearing: faded black skinny jeans that still made his ass look illegal, the white tee, and the cute hoodie. Phone on 8%, bill due. Wallet with one maxed-out credit card and the crumpled receipt from that ghosting douchebag. He tasted copper where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek too many times.
Just when he was about to give up waiting, Jake came out the main door, earbuds in, scrolling. Stopped dead when he saw Riley.
“Jesus fuck, Ry. You look like a crackhead’s after-picture.”
Riley flipped him off, half-hearted. “Thanks, babe. Love the support.”
Jake’s gaze raked over his greasy curls and the purple bruises under his eyes.
“You can crash on the couch a couple days,” Jake said. “Larry won’t mind.”
Riley shook his head. “Just need a few bucks.”
Jake shrugged, fished out twenty-something crumpled ones and pressed them into Riley’s palm. They stood there for forty seconds of nothing: weather, some mutual friend’s drama, anything but the obvious. Then Jake headed for the bus stop.
“Later, Riley,” he called over his shoulder, throwing a lazy wave. “Try not to suck too much dick on the way to nowhere.”
Riley’s grin cracked his chapped lips wide enough to sting. He turned and started walking. Any direction, just moving so the cold couldn’t catch him.
The next few days blurred into sleet and hunger. One morning Riley woke curled in the doorway of a shuttered Subway, knees jammed to chest. The wind clawed under the glass awning and straight for his balls.
The shelter on 12th had a line longer than pride, snaking around the block in the dark. The guy ahead reeked of piss and muttered about demons in cop uniforms chasing him. Riley tried his mom’s number again. Straight to voicemail, same as every other attempt in the past few years. Sometimes she called back. Just not often.
He blew three guys that night. Quick, mechanical trades in idling sedans that stank of pine air freshener and old cum. One guy tried to stiff him; Riley grabbed his nuts and squeezed until the cash hit his palm, then helped himself to the half-finished Taco Bell bag on the way out. Enough calories to keep the body running. Not enough to stop the shame from spreading like rot through his gut.
A boot nudged his frozen sneaker.
Riley squinted up. Late morning light, pale and merciless. Jake crouched there, close enough that Riley could smell the faint trace of his old cologne under the coffee steam. The same one from when Riley used to bury his face in Jake's neck after sex.
For one stupid heartbeat, the world tilted: he saw Jake sliding under the covers beside him, broad shoulders blocking out the cold, hands warm on Riley's hips, pulling him close like nothing had ever broken between them. The urge flared hot. Reach out, grab his jacket, drag him down into this doorway and pretend the last two years were just a bad dream.
Then the 7-Eleven cup filled his vision, cheap plastic lid fogged with heat, and reality slammed back like the wind. Jake looked warm. Clean. Untouchable. The leather jacket Riley had given him four birthdays ago still fit perfectly, hugging shoulders that used to be Riley's to claim.
“Fuck me, you really did hit rock bottom,” Jake said, not unkindly. He pushed the coffee into Riley’s blue-tinged fingers. “Offer still stands. Not asking you to go out with me. Just come stay and get warm. Nothing more than that.”
The first sip scalded Riley's tongue and made his eyes water. He hated how good it felt.
"No," Riley finally answered.
Jake stared at him. “I’ve heard stories. You've been sucking off the trolls who cruise the park after midnight."
Riley shrugged, "Warm car. Sometimes they feed me.” He tried for a smirk at his private joke, but it came out a grimace.
Jake didn’t laugh. He studied Riley for a long, uncomfortable moment, then pulled out his phone.
“If you won't come home with me, then how about this. I know a guy,” he said finally. “Loaded. Private address near the park. Likes pretty boys who are… between opportunities.” He typed, then turned the screen. A single address in Notes. “Knock three times. Wait for the intercom. When he asks who it is, you say: ‘It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you.’ Exact words. No negotiation.”
Riley barked a laugh that cracked in the middle. “You’re fucking pimping me now?”
Jake shook his head softly, eyes dropping to the snow between them for a beat too long. “No.” His voice came out quieter than before, almost rough. “I used to live with him.” No shame in his words, but the way Jake said it felt like a confession he'd never planned to make.
Then Jake reached out slow, careful and wiped away a streak of dirt from Riley's cheek with his thumb. The touch lingered longer than necessary, rough skin against cold skin, warm enough to make Riley's breath hitch. Tender. Familiar. Like muscle memory from nights when that same thumb had traced Riley's jaw after they fucked slow and deep.
Riley didn't pull away. Didn't lean in either. He just let it happen, heart thudding traitorously.
“It isn't bad,” Jake continued, steadier now but still low. “You get food, heat, a bed. Whatever you need. Hell, whatever you want... But he’s… specific.” The shrug was small, almost apologetic. He offered a small smile.
Riley snapped back, breaking the spell. Sudden. He laughed a sharp, brittle giggle that cracked into something almost hysterical. “So I just whore myself to your old boyfriend. Some rich Dom because I’m too broke for a bed? Hard pass.”
Jake stayed kneeling there. Snow on his jeans. “Or come sleep on my couch, man," he said softly. "Seriously you're going to die out here. He’s forty-five, six-four, built like he could snap you in half without breathing hard. And hot in that scary-quiet way. Your type, actually.”
“More my type than you’ll ever be,” Riley snapped, the words out before he could stop them.
Jake flinched like he’d been slapped. “Damn… man… I said I’m sorry. I meant it. I can’t stand to see you like this…” He dug into his pocket, stuffed a single fifty into Riley’s pocket like it burned his fingers. His voice cracked as he said, “Offer stands. Or don’t." Then he was on his feet, shoving the words out like they burned. "Fuck it. Just freeze, I don’t care. Up to you.”
He turned and walked away without looking back, shoulders hunched against the wind. Riley watched the shape of him recede, saw the swipe of Jake’s hand across his cheek. Tears? No, just melting snow, Riley decided. Didn’t matter.
He could have shouted. Could have jumped up, chased him. Begged. The impulse flared hot in his chest, then guttered out just as fast. His legs felt glued to the concrete. His lips still remembered how Jake’s mouth had tasted; heat and promises. But the rest of him remembered the silence that followed for months after he left. The night Jake quietly emptied his side of the dresser, grabbed his pillow from their bed, and walked out without a single word. No fight. No goodbye. Just gone.
Pride wasn’t the only thing holding him down. It was easier to freeze than to beg for scraps of a love that had already walked away once.
Riley sipped the cooling coffee and stared at the empty street. The phrase Jake had given him crept back in, uninvited: It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you. It looped, obscene and rough against the inside of his skull. He gagged a little, throat closing around the taste of it. Not yet. He wasn’t that far gone.
He still had some fucking dignity left.
Just not enough to call Jake back.
The following week the cold turned vicious. Sleet lashed sideways, teeth chattered until he tasted blood from his bitten tongue, and his throat ached deep from nights spent on his knees in idling cars. Dignity didn't keep him warm. It didn't fill his stomach. It didn't stop the shivering that never quite left.
Halfway to Jake's apartment, he stopped at a bus stop. The vehicle idled, doors open, exhaust curling white in the dark. People stepped off, bundled and hurrying. Riley stared at the lit interior, warm air leaking out, then climbed aboard on pure impulse. He sank into a seat, hood up, staring at nothing as the bus lurched forward.
Eight blocks later, he got off.
He found the house.
It sat back from the road behind a row of evergreens loaded with ice. A few streetlights, no neighbors close by. Dark windows and one steel door.
Riley stepped onto the porch. Sleet soaked through his hoodie fast; it hung heavy and cold on his shoulders. His fingers were stiff and numb, hard to move.
He looked at the brass door knocker. He’d seen ones like it in videos. For a second he just stood there, staring. His stomach was tight. He knew what he was about to say. He knew how it sounded. But the cold was worse, and the night was long, and he had no other place to go.
He knocked the way Jake had instructed.
The sound echoed into silence.
A few minutes later the intercom crackled. A deep, calm voice came through.
“Who is it?”
Riley closed his eyes. Snow melted on his lashes and ran down his cheeks like tears.
“It’s Riley, Master,” he managed, voice cracking in the cold. “I want to come for you.”
He waited, shivering violently, every inch of pride screaming at him to run.
The door unlocked with a heavy, final click.
Riley stared at it for several long moments, hesitating before he stepped over the threshold into warmth that smelled faintly of leather and control.
Six months unemployed. Everything gone. The landlord had laughed in his face while boxing up the PlayStation and his limited-edition sneakers. She'd taken one look at Kevin the cactus, the one Riley talked to when he was drunk and lonely, and shoved it into the box. Likely to never see daylight again.
Riley hadn’t fought the eviction. Hadn’t even shown up to court. He’d blown the last of September’s tips on vodka tonics and a smug finance bro who’d sworn he’d Venmo for the Uber home. Blocked before the bill hit the table. When Riley stumbled back, the door was already chained; he’d barely been allowed inside to grab a change of underwear.
Now he owned exactly what he was wearing: faded black skinny jeans that still made his ass look illegal, the white tee, and the cute hoodie. Phone on 8%, bill due. Wallet with one maxed-out credit card and the crumpled receipt from that ghosting douchebag. He tasted copper where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek too many times.
Just when he was about to give up waiting, Jake came out the main door, earbuds in, scrolling. Stopped dead when he saw Riley.
“Jesus fuck, Ry. You look like a crackhead’s after-picture.”
Riley flipped him off, half-hearted. “Thanks, babe. Love the support.”
Jake’s gaze raked over his greasy curls and the purple bruises under his eyes.
“You can crash on the couch a couple days,” Jake said. “Larry won’t mind.”
Riley shook his head. “Just need a few bucks.”
Jake shrugged, fished out twenty-something crumpled ones and pressed them into Riley’s palm. They stood there for forty seconds of nothing: weather, some mutual friend’s drama, anything but the obvious. Then Jake headed for the bus stop.
“Later, Riley,” he called over his shoulder, throwing a lazy wave. “Try not to suck too much dick on the way to nowhere.”
Riley’s grin cracked his chapped lips wide enough to sting. He turned and started walking. Any direction, just moving so the cold couldn’t catch him.
The next few days blurred into sleet and hunger. One morning Riley woke curled in the doorway of a shuttered Subway, knees jammed to chest. The wind clawed under the glass awning and straight for his balls.
The shelter on 12th had a line longer than pride, snaking around the block in the dark. The guy ahead reeked of piss and muttered about demons in cop uniforms chasing him. Riley tried his mom’s number again. Straight to voicemail, same as every other attempt in the past few years. Sometimes she called back. Just not often.
He blew three guys that night. Quick, mechanical trades in idling sedans that stank of pine air freshener and old cum. One guy tried to stiff him; Riley grabbed his nuts and squeezed until the cash hit his palm, then helped himself to the half-finished Taco Bell bag on the way out. Enough calories to keep the body running. Not enough to stop the shame from spreading like rot through his gut.
A boot nudged his frozen sneaker.
Riley squinted up. Late morning light, pale and merciless. Jake crouched there, close enough that Riley could smell the faint trace of his old cologne under the coffee steam. The same one from when Riley used to bury his face in Jake's neck after sex.
For one stupid heartbeat, the world tilted: he saw Jake sliding under the covers beside him, broad shoulders blocking out the cold, hands warm on Riley's hips, pulling him close like nothing had ever broken between them. The urge flared hot. Reach out, grab his jacket, drag him down into this doorway and pretend the last two years were just a bad dream.
Then the 7-Eleven cup filled his vision, cheap plastic lid fogged with heat, and reality slammed back like the wind. Jake looked warm. Clean. Untouchable. The leather jacket Riley had given him four birthdays ago still fit perfectly, hugging shoulders that used to be Riley's to claim.
“Fuck me, you really did hit rock bottom,” Jake said, not unkindly. He pushed the coffee into Riley’s blue-tinged fingers. “Offer still stands. Not asking you to go out with me. Just come stay and get warm. Nothing more than that.”
The first sip scalded Riley's tongue and made his eyes water. He hated how good it felt.
"No," Riley finally answered.
Jake stared at him. “I’ve heard stories. You've been sucking off the trolls who cruise the park after midnight."
Riley shrugged, "Warm car. Sometimes they feed me.” He tried for a smirk at his private joke, but it came out a grimace.
Jake didn’t laugh. He studied Riley for a long, uncomfortable moment, then pulled out his phone.
“If you won't come home with me, then how about this. I know a guy,” he said finally. “Loaded. Private address near the park. Likes pretty boys who are… between opportunities.” He typed, then turned the screen. A single address in Notes. “Knock three times. Wait for the intercom. When he asks who it is, you say: ‘It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you.’ Exact words. No negotiation.”
Riley barked a laugh that cracked in the middle. “You’re fucking pimping me now?”
Jake shook his head softly, eyes dropping to the snow between them for a beat too long. “No.” His voice came out quieter than before, almost rough. “I used to live with him.” No shame in his words, but the way Jake said it felt like a confession he'd never planned to make.
Then Jake reached out slow, careful and wiped away a streak of dirt from Riley's cheek with his thumb. The touch lingered longer than necessary, rough skin against cold skin, warm enough to make Riley's breath hitch. Tender. Familiar. Like muscle memory from nights when that same thumb had traced Riley's jaw after they fucked slow and deep.
Riley didn't pull away. Didn't lean in either. He just let it happen, heart thudding traitorously.
“It isn't bad,” Jake continued, steadier now but still low. “You get food, heat, a bed. Whatever you need. Hell, whatever you want... But he’s… specific.” The shrug was small, almost apologetic. He offered a small smile.
Riley snapped back, breaking the spell. Sudden. He laughed a sharp, brittle giggle that cracked into something almost hysterical. “So I just whore myself to your old boyfriend. Some rich Dom because I’m too broke for a bed? Hard pass.”
Jake stayed kneeling there. Snow on his jeans. “Or come sleep on my couch, man," he said softly. "Seriously you're going to die out here. He’s forty-five, six-four, built like he could snap you in half without breathing hard. And hot in that scary-quiet way. Your type, actually.”
“More my type than you’ll ever be,” Riley snapped, the words out before he could stop them.
Jake flinched like he’d been slapped. “Damn… man… I said I’m sorry. I meant it. I can’t stand to see you like this…” He dug into his pocket, stuffed a single fifty into Riley’s pocket like it burned his fingers. His voice cracked as he said, “Offer stands. Or don’t." Then he was on his feet, shoving the words out like they burned. "Fuck it. Just freeze, I don’t care. Up to you.”
He turned and walked away without looking back, shoulders hunched against the wind. Riley watched the shape of him recede, saw the swipe of Jake’s hand across his cheek. Tears? No, just melting snow, Riley decided. Didn’t matter.
He could have shouted. Could have jumped up, chased him. Begged. The impulse flared hot in his chest, then guttered out just as fast. His legs felt glued to the concrete. His lips still remembered how Jake’s mouth had tasted; heat and promises. But the rest of him remembered the silence that followed for months after he left. The night Jake quietly emptied his side of the dresser, grabbed his pillow from their bed, and walked out without a single word. No fight. No goodbye. Just gone.
Pride wasn’t the only thing holding him down. It was easier to freeze than to beg for scraps of a love that had already walked away once.
Riley sipped the cooling coffee and stared at the empty street. The phrase Jake had given him crept back in, uninvited: It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you. It looped, obscene and rough against the inside of his skull. He gagged a little, throat closing around the taste of it. Not yet. He wasn’t that far gone.
He still had some fucking dignity left.
Just not enough to call Jake back.
The following week the cold turned vicious. Sleet lashed sideways, teeth chattered until he tasted blood from his bitten tongue, and his throat ached deep from nights spent on his knees in idling cars. Dignity didn't keep him warm. It didn't fill his stomach. It didn't stop the shivering that never quite left.
Halfway to Jake's apartment, he stopped at a bus stop. The vehicle idled, doors open, exhaust curling white in the dark. People stepped off, bundled and hurrying. Riley stared at the lit interior, warm air leaking out, then climbed aboard on pure impulse. He sank into a seat, hood up, staring at nothing as the bus lurched forward.
Eight blocks later, he got off.
He found the house.
It sat back from the road behind a row of evergreens loaded with ice. A few streetlights, no neighbors close by. Dark windows and one steel door.
Riley stepped onto the porch. Sleet soaked through his hoodie fast; it hung heavy and cold on his shoulders. His fingers were stiff and numb, hard to move.
He looked at the brass door knocker. He’d seen ones like it in videos. For a second he just stood there, staring. His stomach was tight. He knew what he was about to say. He knew how it sounded. But the cold was worse, and the night was long, and he had no other place to go.
He knocked the way Jake had instructed.
The sound echoed into silence.
A few minutes later the intercom crackled. A deep, calm voice came through.
“Who is it?”
Riley closed his eyes. Snow melted on his lashes and ran down his cheeks like tears.
“It’s Riley, Master,” he managed, voice cracking in the cold. “I want to come for you.”
He waited, shivering violently, every inch of pride screaming at him to run.
The door unlocked with a heavy, final click.
Riley stared at it for several long moments, hesitating before he stepped over the threshold into warmth that smelled faintly of leather and control.