Smut

The silence of the Van Eck mansion was never truly silent. It was a heavy, suffocating thing, filled with the ghosts of Jan Van Eck’s disapproval and the ticking of clocks that felt like countdowns to disasters that had already happened. But in Wylan’s workshop, tucked away in the belly of the house, the air felt different. It smelled of sulfur, linseed oil, and—more recently—the expensive, spicy gunpowder scent that followed Jesper Fahey like a loyal hound.

Wylan sat on his workbench, his legs dangling, fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on his waistcoat. He didn't look up when he heard the familiar, rhythmic click of spurs against the floorboards. He didn't need to.

"You're brooding again, sunshine," Jesper’s voice drawled, rich and smooth as expensive brandy. "It’s a terrible waste of a face as pretty as yours."

Wylan finally looked up, his face flushing a dusty rose. Jesper was leaning against the doorframe, his long limbs draped with an effortless, arrogant grace. His pearl-handled revolvers were strapped to his hips, but his hands were empty, fingers twitching with a restless energy that Wylan had learned to recognize as a craving.

"I’m not brooding," Wylan murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I was just... thinking."

Jesper pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the room, reclaiming the space as if he owned it. He stopped right between Wylan’s knees, forcing the smaller boy to look up at him. Jesper was tall, lithe, and radiating a cocky confidence that usually made Wylan want to hide, but tonight, it made his stomach do a slow, dizzying flip.

"Thinking is dangerous," Jesper said, reaching out to tuck a stray golden curl behind Wylan’s ear. His touch was lingering, his thumb grazing the line of Wylan’s jaw. "Especially when you do it with that look in your eyes. Like you’re waiting for someone to give you permission to breathe."

Wylan’s breath hitched. "I don't need permission."

"Don't you?" Jesper leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching Wylan’s face. "You’re so wound up, Wylan. So eager to please, so worried about doing the wrong thing. It’s adorable, really. Like a pup waiting for a command."

Wylan’s heart hammered against his ribs. The comparison should have been insulting, but the way Jesper said it—low, teasing, and strangely fond—sent a shiver down his spine. He looked down at Jesper’s chest, unable to maintain eye contact.

"I've never... I don't know what I'm doing, Jesper," Wylan whispered, the confession tasting like lead in his mouth.

Jesper’s hand moved from Wylan’s jaw to the back of his neck, his long fingers tangling in the curls there. He squeezed gently, a grounding, dominant pressure. "I know. And that’s exactly why you’re going to be perfect. You just have to listen to me. Can you do that for me, Wylan? Can you be a good boy?"

The words hit Wylan with the force of a physical blow. *Good boy.* It was a title he had spent his whole life failing to earn from his father, but coming from Jesper, it sounded like a reward. It sounded like safety.

"Yes," Wylan breathed, his hands instinctively reaching out to grip Jesper’s waist.

Jesper grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Wylan’s forehead, then his eyelids, then finally, his mouth. The kiss was slow and deep, tasting of salt and heat. When Jesper pulled back, his eyes were dark with a hunger that made Wylan tremble.

"Let's get you off this bench," Jesper murmured.

He led Wylan toward the small cot in the corner of the workshop, a place Wylan usually used for naps between long nights of chemical experiments. Now, it felt like an altar. Jesper sat Wylan down and began to undress him with a focused, reverent intensity. Every button undone was accompanied by a soft word of praise.

"Look at you," Jesper whispered, sliding the silk shirt off Wylan’s shoulders. "Skin like cream. You’re a masterpiece, Wylan. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

Wylan shook his head, his hands trembling in his lap. "I'm just... I'm just me."

"No," Jesper corrected him, his voice firm. He knelt between Wylan’s legs on the floor, looking up at him with an expression that bordered on worship. "You’re the smartest, bravest, most breathtaking person I’ve ever met. And tonight, you’re mine. Only mine."

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Wylan’s throat. "Good boy. Just stay still for me."

As the rest of their clothes were discarded, the air in the room grew heavy with anticipation. Jesper moved with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, but there was a sharpness to his movements tonight, a predatory focus that was entirely centered on Wylan.

When Jesper joined him on the narrow bed, the heat of his body was overwhelming. He hovered over Wylan, pinning him down with his weight, his hands roaming over Wylan’s ribs, his hips, his thighs.

"You’re shaking," Jesper noted, his voice a low vibration against Wylan’s ear.

"I'm scared," Wylan admitted, his voice small. "Scared I'll do it wrong."

Jesper nipped at his earlobe, making Wylan gasp. "You can't do it wrong. Not when you’re being this good for me. Every sound you make, every time you flinch or melt under me—it’s exactly what I want. You're doing so well, Wylan. Such a good boy."

Jesper began to work his fingers between Wylan’s thighs, his touch firm and demanding. Wylan let out a soft, high-pitched whimper, his head lolling back against the pillow.

"That's it," Jesper encouraged, his thumb circling Wylan’s hip bone. "Let me hear you. Tell me it feels good."

"It... it feels good," Wylan gasped, his eyes fluttering shut.

Jesper’s praise didn't stop. It was a constant stream of adoration that filled the gaps where Wylan’s insecurities usually lived. He called him brilliant, he called him precious, he called him *his*. He treated Wylan’s body like it was made of the rarest gold, his hands worshipping every inch of skin they touched.

When the time came for them to truly join, Jesper was agonizingly slow. He kept his eyes locked on Wylan’s, watching the way his pupils dilated, the way his mouth hung open in a silent plea.

"Look at me, Wylan," Jesper commanded softly. "Stay with me."

Wylan gripped Jesper’s shoulders, his knuckles white. "Jesper, please."

"Shh, I've got you," Jesper whispered. He leaned down to catch Wylan’s whimper in a kiss as he pushed forward.

Wylan’s world narrowed down to the sensation of Jesper filling him, the friction, and the overwhelming intensity of being the sole focus of someone so vibrant. It was a sensory overload, far more potent than any chemical reaction he’d ever triggered in a beaker.

"You're taking it so well," Jesper groaned, his cocky facade finally cracking to reveal the raw desire underneath. "Look at you. So perfect. Such a good, sweet boy for me."

The repetition of the phrase acted like a catalyst. Wylan felt a surge of heat coil in his belly, a desperate need to please Jesper, to be exactly what he wanted. He arched his back, his legs wrapping around Jesper’s waist, pulling him closer.

"More," Wylan sobbed out, the word a broken prayer. "Please, Jesper."

Jesper didn't need to be told twice. He began to move with a rhythmic, driving force, his hands sliding under Wylan’s back to hold him steady. The bed creaked beneath them, a steady metronome to the frantic sounds of their breathing.

Jesper’s dominance wasn't cruel; it was an anchor. He took control so Wylan didn't have to think, didn't have to worry about the letters that wouldn't stay still on a page or the father who thought he was a failure. In this room, under Jesper’s body, Wylan was a success. He was a marvel.

"You're so tight," Jesper hissed, his head dropping to Wylan’s shoulder. "God, Wylan. You’re going to be the death of me. You’re doing so perfectly. Best I’ve ever had, do you hear me? No one compares to you."

Wylan’s heart soared. He knew Jesper was a flirt, knew he’d had plenty of lovers in the dark corners of the Barrel, but the sincerity in Jesper’s voice was unmistakable. He felt worshipped. He felt like a king and a servant all at once.

The climax hit Wylan like an explosion, white-hot and blinding. He cried out Jesper’s name, his body convulsing as he shattered. Moments later, Jesper followed with a low, guttural growl, his grip on Wylan tightening as he found his own release.

In the aftermath, the silence of the workshop returned, but it was no longer heavy. It was soft, muffled by the sound of their synchronized breathing. Jesper didn't pull away. He stayed draped over Wylan, his face buried in the crook of Wylan’s neck.

"Wylan?" Jesper whispered after a long moment.

"Mmh?"

Jesper lifted his head, his hair a mess, his eyes softened with an affection he usually hid behind jokes and bravado. He reached out and wiped a stray tear from Wylan’s cheek with his thumb.

"You were incredible," Jesper said, his voice devoid of its usual teasing edge. "Truly. Thank you for trusting me."

Wylan felt a fresh wave of warmth spread through him. He reached up, his fingers shyly tracing the embroidery on Jesper’s discarded waistcoat nearby before finding Jesper’s hand.

"Was I... was I really a good boy?" Wylan asked, the question sounding vulnerable even to his own ears.

Jesper’s expression melted into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. He leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to Wylan’s lips.

"The best," Jesper promised. "My brilliant, beautiful, good boy."

Wylan smiled, a genuine, radiant thing that lit up his face. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like a puzzle with missing pieces. He felt whole. He felt like gold that had finally survived the fire.

Jesper pulled the thin blanket over them, tucking Wylan into his side. Wylan rested his head on Jesper’s chest, listening to the steady, frantic thrum of the sharpshooter’s heart. It was a rhythm he decided he could listen to forever.

"Jesper?"

"Yeah, sunshine?"

"Don't stop," Wylan murmured, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally began to pull at him.

"Stop what?"

"Calling me that," Wylan whispered. "Calling me yours."

Jesper squeezed him tighter, his chin resting on top of Wylan’s head. "Never, Wylan. I’m a greedy man, and I’ve finally found something worth keeping. You’re stuck with me."

And as Wylan drifted off to sleep, safe in the arms of the man who saw him as a masterpiece, he decided that being stuck was exactly where he wanted to be. In the alchemy of their joined bodies and whispered praises, Wylan Van Eck had finally found the formula for happiness.