Kota sat at the long glass table in the kitchen, the empty plate in front of him still carrying the faint briny scent of caviar and the buttery aftertaste of the crepes. His body felt marginally more alive—energy trickling back into his limbs like a slow-drip IV—but the ache between his legs and the deep fatigue in his muscles remained stubbornly present. Theo hovered nearby, wiping nonexistent crumbs from the counter with a cloth, his movements nervous and attentive. Grayson had wandered off toward the pool deck a few minutes earlier, muttering something about needing fresh air after being "rejected so cruelly." The kitchen clock read 2:52 p.m. Kota had maybe thirty-five minutes before he absolutely needed to leave if he wanted any chance of getting home before Khalil started asking questions.
A soft slap of bare feet on marble announced Beckett's arrival before he appeared in the doorway.
The youngest Hawthorne stepped inside from the pool deck, water still dripping from his body in slow, glistening trails. His skin carried the faint golden hue of someone who spent most of their life under UV-protected sunlamps—slightly tanned but never burned, smooth and flawless. He was still completely naked, not a stitch of clothing or towel in sight, his slim but toned physique on full display: narrow waist flaring into dramatic hips, a small but pert ass that jiggled faintly with each step, and a tiny cock hanging soft between his thighs. Droplets slid down his chest, catching the kitchen light and sparkling like tiny diamonds. His platinum hair damp and tousled from the water framed a face that was almost eerily blank: no smile, no frown, just calm, unreadable neutrality behind oversized sunglasses that he hadn't bothered to remove.
He stopped three feet from the table, water pooling at his feet on the marble. His gaze settled on Kota—slow, deliberate, studying him from head to toe like a curator examining an unfamiliar sculpture. No words. No greeting. Just that long, silent appraisal.
Kota shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Uh… hey."
Beckett didn't respond. Instead, he lifted one hand and pointed a single finger directly at Kota's chest.
"Follow."
The word was quiet, flat, almost bored—but it carried the unmistakable weight of someone who had never once been told no.
Kota blinked. "What?"
Beckett didn't repeat himself. He simply turned and walked back toward the hallway, bare feet leaving wet prints on the floor. The expectation was clear: Kota would follow.
Theo froze mid-wipe, cloth dangling from his hand. "Beckett? What are you—"
But Beckett didn't acknowledge him. He kept walking, disappearing around the corner without a backward glance.
Kota stared after him, confusion warring with the lingering fog in his brain. He wasn't sure why he stood up—maybe sheer bewilderment, maybe the lingering haze of submission from earlier—but he did. His legs still felt unsteady, but he followed anyway, trailing the dripping trail of water like breadcrumbs.
Theo called after him, voice rising. "Kota, wait—you don't have to—"
But Kota was already moving.
He rounded the corner just in time to see Grayson re-enter from the pool deck, phone in hand. Grayson stopped short, eyes flicking from Kota to Beckett's retreating naked back.
"What the hell is going on?" Grayson asked, half-laughing, half-baffled. "Beckett's actually walking? And Kota's following him like a lost puppy?"
Theo appeared behind them, hands twisting together. "I—I don't know. He just pointed and said 'follow.' Beckett never talks to anyone."
Grayson shrugged, already losing interest. "Whatever. Probably wants to show him his aura crystals or some shit. Have fun, Kota. Don't let him drown you in essential oils."
Theo hesitated, clearly torn between following and giving space, but Grayson slung an arm around his shoulders and tugged him back toward the kitchen. "Come on. Let the kid have his weird little moment. We'll be here when he comes back."
Kota kept walking.
The hallway stretched long and quiet, lined with more art and closed doors. Beckett's wet footprints led him past several rooms before turning into a side corridor. At the end stood a sleek, modern bathroom—floor-to-ceiling black marble, gold fixtures, a massive rainfall shower visible through frosted glass. Beckett stepped inside without pausing. Kota followed, confusion mounting.
The door slid shut behind them with a soft hydraulic hiss—and locked automatically with a quiet click.
Kota spun. "What the—"
Before he could finish the question, Beckett was on him.
One pale hand clamped over Kota's mouth, firm but not bruising. The other gripped the back of his neck. Beckett's body pressed close—still damp from the pool, cool skin against Kota's hoodie, the faint scent of chlorine and coconut sunscreen filling his nose. Kota's eyes widened, body tensing instinctively.
Then Beckett leaned in.
His tongue dragged slowly up the side of Kota's neck—wet, deliberate, tasting the salt of sweat still clinging to his skin from earlier. Kota froze, heart slamming against his ribs. Beckett's breath ghosted hot against his ear, then teeth sank in—not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to sting. A sharp, possessive bite that left a throbbing mark blooming red against dark skin.
Beckett held it for three long seconds, then released.
He stepped back, expression still utterly blank, sunglasses reflecting Kota's stunned face back at him. Without a word, he reached out and pressed a hidden panel on the wall. The door unlocked with another soft click and slid open.
Beckett walked out, dripping water the entire way, and vanished down the corridor as if nothing had happened.
Kota stood frozen in the middle of the bathroom, hand slowly rising to touch the fresh bite mark on his neck. It throbbed in time with his pulse—warm, tingling, undeniably real. Confusion crashed over him in waves. What the actual fuck had just happened?
He stumbled out of the bathroom, still dazed, rubbing the mark absently.
The moment he stepped back into the main hallway, Theo and Grayson—now standing near the kitchen entrance—saw him.
Their eyes locked on the bite.
Theo's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh my god—"
Grayson's jaw dropped. "Holy shit. He marked you."
They both screamed—high, startled, almost identical yelps—then shoved past Kota in a frantic rush, nearly knocking him over as they sprinted down the corridor after Beckett.
"BECKETT!" Theo yelled, voice cracking. "What did you do?!"
Grayson was right behind him. "You little freak! Get back here!"
Kota stood alone in the hallway, hand still pressed to the throbbing mark on his neck, mouth open in stunned silence as the twins disappeared around the corner in pursuit of their youngest brother.
He blinked once, twice.
Then muttered to the empty air:
"What the fuck just happened?"