Ellios wanted to ask.
He really did.
He wanted to ask about Hastur's family—what they looked like.He wanted to see them, to understand them, to place them into something his human mind could organize.
In-laws.
The word alone felt strange and warm in his chest.
But he stayed quiet.
Honestly sometimes Hastur talk like he isn't human. Like he's too far from them. Maybe his family made him think he's far from normal humans.
The new knowledge he had just received was still settling in his mind—an absent father who belonged to everyone except to his own family, a mother who was dangerous even to her newborn babies, siblings who were rivals instead of companions.
It wasn't the kind of family story that invited curiosity. It was the kind that invited silence.
So Ellios kept the thought to himself.
Hastur noticed.
He didn't even need to read his mind.
Ellios was transparent in ways humans never realize they are—his microexpressions, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his brows knit together when he thought, the way his lips pressed together when he felt pity, the way his eyes softened when he felt compassion.
Hastur watched him with quiet amusement.
He had spoken vaguely on purpose.
He had chosen his words carefully, knowing Ellios would fill in the blanks with human logic, human stories, human empathy. Humans always did. They build narratives out of fragments, meaning out of misunderstanding. And Ellios bring that to a new level.
And like now, Ellios was doing exactly that.
He was creating a tragic human family where none existed.
And Hastur found it… pleasing.
Watching Ellios frown in thought, watching his lips press together, watching pity fill his eyes—Hastur felt something unfamiliar but satisfying.
If it had been anyone else feeling pity for him, he would have punished them for it. Showed them hell.
Pity implied superiority. Pity implied judgment. Pity implied weakness.
But from Ellios—
It felt good.
It felt right.
It felt like something that belonged to him.
He wanted that pity.
He wanted that compassion.
He wanted that love.
He wanted all of Ellios's emotions—every single one of them—directed only at him.
Those eyes should only look at him.
Those feelings should only exist for him.
That heart should only beat for him.
Before the thought fully formed, Hastur leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't planned.
It wasn't calculated.
It was instinct.
Ellios froze in shock, eyes wide, body stiff for a second. Before he can understand Hastur pulled back.
Looking at him.
Then Ellios pouted slightly, confused and flustered.
"What was that for?" he muttered softly.
Hastur didn't answer. He thought, 'So this is what mortal kissing feels like.'
His lips were too close.
Too warm.
Too inviting.
He kissed him again.
This time slower.
Deeper.
Longer.
Ellios's body softened. Hastur licked his lips. And Ellios's lips parted naturally, instinctively, and Hastur followed the movement, closing the space between them.
The world narrowed to warmth, breath, closeness, presence.
Nothing else existed.
No Marcus Blade.
No Blade family.
No enemies.
No city.
No universe.
Just two beings on a couch. Having a connection.
Hastur tasted Ellios's breath, the faint sweetness of food, the warmth of his body, the softness of his mouth. A dangerous thought crossed his mind:
Do all humans see Ellios like this?
This irresistible.
The answer disturbed him.
That was not acceptable.
He kissed him harder, deeper, until Ellios lost his breath, until his hands gripped Hastur's clothes, until his body leaned fully into him. Like wanted to have these lips be his.
Then Hastur pulled back.
Ellios gasped softly for air, his head resting against Hastur's chest, his breathing uneven.
He looked up.
Hastur's eyes normal yellow glowed.
Not brightly.
Not violently.
But intensely.
"You're too damn irresistible," Hastur muttered.
Ellios followed his gaze instinctively and blushed when he realized what he had noticed. Some part of Hastur was hard wanting to be free from the pants and claim it's prize.
Heat rushed to his face, embarrassment and awareness colliding in his chest.
Before he could speak, Hastur leaned down and pressed his lips to his neck.
Biting.
Ellios shivered. The pain and pleasure jolting in his body.
"Wait—" he whispered, breath unsteady. "Stop—"
But Hastur didn't stop.
Not because he didn't hear him.
He did. But he didn't want to.
Ellios's voice sounded like confusion.
Overwhelm.
Fear of intensity, not fear of Hastur himself.
Hastur moved slowly, deliberately, exploring—not rushing, not breaking, but claiming through presence.
"Human," Hastur murmured against his skin, "you are something else."
His voice was low. Controlled. Heavy with meaning.
"Your hair," he said, fingers threading through it possessively.
"Your eyes."
"Your nose."
"Your mouth."
"Your neck."
"Your chest."
"Your hands."
"Your legs."
Each word was spoken like a claim.
"All of it is irresistible," Hastur said. "I want all of it for myself."
Ellios's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might break his ribs.
His emotions were chaotic.
Fear. Desire. Trust. Affection. Love. Confusion. Longing.
He understood what it means a saying 'no words can explain what he feels right now.'
Hastur's voice was low and commanding.
"Give yourself to me," he said quietly. "Make yourself mine."
Ellios's thoughts collapsed into noise.
He didn't think.
He didn't analyze.
He didn't calculate.
He felt.
And what he felt was trust.
Safety.
Desire.
Belonging.
Connection.
Hastur was his boyfriend. Thus he was his.
Hastur was the one who wanted him. His boyfriend wanted him to be his. Is this another confession.
"I am yours," Ellios whispered.
The moment he said it, the world tilted.
Not into clarity—
But into intensity.
Into sensation.
Into something too private, too personal, too deep to be described.
What followed belonged only to them.
Not to words.
Not to pages.
Not to narration.
Only to feeling.
Only to presence.
Only to possession and connection that they shared.
Elsewhere
The city was in lockdown.
Streets blocked.
Checkpoints established.
Anonymous personnel searching the whole city.
No names given.
No explanations offered.
People whispered.
Rumors spread.
Fear moved faster than truth.
No one knew who was missing.
Only that someone important was gone.
Blade Corporation
Judy sat in Ellios's office, exhausted.
Another meeting finished.
Another crisis handled.
Another lie she told.
She leaned back in the chair and muttered quietly,
"Where are you, Ellios…"
Blade Estate
Marcus Blade stood in his private office, voice cold and controlled.
"Continue searching."
His secretary hesitated. "Sir, the entire city is already—"
"Locked," Marcus interrupted. "Yes. I know."
"What if Ellios already knows?" the man asked carefully.
Marcus's expression darkened.
"He can't," Marcus said flatly. "And he won't."
Silence.
Then—
"As long as Alice is here," Marcus continued, "Ellios belongs to me."
King's Night Club
Gabriel stood outside.
In his hand was a card.
The one Ellios had been given by Hastur before.
He stared at the card that he found and looked at the night club.
A car pulled up.
Dan stepped out casually and walked toward the entrance. The guards bowing a little.
Gabriel watched him.
Then followed.
Silently.
Carefully.
Muttering " I'll find you Ellios." While following Dan into the club.