Kian had met Victor under different circumstances than most of the Vault’s guests. It wasn’t in the haze of the main hall or during the hushed whispers of a private encounter— it was in a moment of quiet observation, where Victor had studied him like a puzzle, the kind of gaze that didn’t just look at you but through you.
Victor was composed, confident in a way that wasn’t performative. He carried himself with an ease that only came from knowing oneself deeply. When he requested to see Kian at night, there had been no urgency in his voice, only certainty.
Kian had told Selene about it, expecting her to offer some insight.
“Victor and Mira?” She had smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re good people. If they asked for you, they probably need you to solve something for them.”
Kian had taken her words at face value. He had assumed it was some issue within the Vault— a dispute, a favor, perhaps even a concern about safety. What he hadn’t expected was to be invited into their world.
Now, standing outside their private lounge, he hesitated. The door was slightly ajar, an unspoken invitation, yet his pulse thrummed with something unfamiliar. He had always been the observer, the enforcer of boundaries. What did they want from him?
He stepped inside.
The room was a contrast to the rest of the Vault— less theatrical, more intimate. Low, ambient lighting bathed everything in warmth, the air scented with something rich and indulgent. A lounge chair sat in the center, deep blue in color, with silken ropes draped across its arms and legs.
Victor was there, lounging with the kind of comfort that came naturally to him. He was dressed in an open-collared black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms inked with subtle, intricate tattoo designs. His dark eyes met Kian’s with an easy kind of amusement.
Mira was beside him. She was breathtaking in a way that wasn’t just about beauty but presence. She had a dancer’s poise, her movements unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world. A deep emerald dress clung to her curves, the fabric pooling around her legs as she sat with one arm draped over Victor’s shoulder.
“You came,” Victor said, his voice smooth, inviting.
Kian exhaled, closing the door behind him. “You asked for me.”
Mira tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you always answer when called?”
Kian met her gaze, unreadable. “I’m the Guardian. It’s my role.”
Victor chuckled. “Spoken like a man who has never let himself be anything else.”
Kian stiffened slightly. “If this is about a Vault matter, I’d rather—”
“This is about you,” Mira interrupted gently. “If you’re willing.”
Silence stretched between them.
Victor leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “We see things, Kian. We’ve been coming to the Vault long enough to recognize a man who lives on the outside looking in. You keep order, you enforce rules, but do you ever let yourself… experience?”
Kian frowned. “I don’t mix my duty with pleasure.”
Mira’s lips curled in a knowing smile. “And yet, here you are.”
Something in her tone made heat prickle at the base of Kian’s neck. He swallowed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
Victor gestured to the chair. “An exercise in trust. In surrender.”
Kian’s gaze flicked to the silk ropes. His body tensed instinctively. “I don’t—”
“It’s not about restraint,” Mira said softly. “It’s about choice. You can stop at any moment. But if you let yourself… you might discover something.”
Kian’s breath felt heavier. A war raged inside him— logic against curiosity, control against something deeper. He had spent years mastering himself, keeping his needs buried beneath obligation.
And yet, his feet didn’t move toward the door.
Mira stood and approached him, her movements slow and gentle. When she reached him, she didn’t touch him— not yet. She simply stood close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence.
“Tell me no,” she whispered, “and we’ll stop.”
Kian’s throat was dry. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, only that his body was betraying him, heat curling low in his stomach at the mere idea of giving in.
He exhaled slowly. “Show me.”
Mira smiled.
Victor stood, rolling up his sleeves a little further. “Let’s begin.”
Kian expected restraint. Expected something confining. But what he got was control wrapped in silk.
Mira took his wrist first, her fingers featherlight against his skin. There was no force, no urgency. Just patience. A question lingered in her touch, waiting for permission.
“Trust isn’t about losing control,” she murmured, watching him. “It’s about knowing you’re safe even when you let go.”
Victor stood behind him now, his presence grounding. “Let her,” he said, voice low. “Let yourself.””
Kian swallowed hard. His body remained stiff, his mind warring with itself. He was the Guardian. He was supposed to be untouchable. But something about this moment— about them— unraveled that foundation.
He gave Mira the smallest nod.
She rewarded him with a smile before guiding his wrist to the arm of the lounge chair. The silk rope curled around his skin, whispering rather than binding. She didn’t pull tight. She didn’t make it absolute. It was just there, a presence, nothing more.
His breathing slowed.
“You can stop this anytime,” Mira reminded him as she took his other wrist, repeating the motion. “Say the word, and it’s undone.”
Kian didn’t reply. He just felt.
The silk was cool against his skin, contrasting with the heat spreading beneath it. His chest rose and fell steadily, his body aware of every sound, every breath.
Victor came into view again, standing beside Mira. “You hold yourself like you’re waiting for battle,” he observed, amused. “But this isn’t war, Kian. This is sensation. Just feel.”
Kian wanted to scoff, to tell them this was nothing. But then Mira touched him.
Not his wrists. Not anywhere restrained.
She dragged her fingertips along the line of his collarbone, the touch so light it almost wasn’t there. But he felt it like a spark, a slow burn through his nerve endings.
Kian’s breath hitched.
Mira leaned in, her voice a whisper against his ear. “You think control is strength. But surrender… surrender is power, too.”
Victor knelt before him, his gaze steady. “Tell me what you feel.”
Kian’s jaw tightened. The words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t used to this. The slow unraveling. The way they studied him like they wanted to know every reaction, every thought. Selene had made him say enough, he didn’t think he could feel more. His body was his enemy. The enemy he trained all by himself.
Mira’s fingers traced down his arm, following the rope’s path. “You’re holding back,” she noted. “Still guarding yourself.”
Kian bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t—”
Victor touched his knee. It was firm, grounding. Not meant to tease— meant to remind.
“You don’t have to fight this,” Victor said, his voice steady. “Just be in it.”
Kian exhaled sharply, forcing himself to loosen, just slightly. And when he did, it was like something shifted.
Mira’s touch became more deliberate, tracing slow, meandering paths over his clothed chest, teasing over the fabric as if she could feel the way his body responded.
Victor’s hands mirrored her, fingertips pressing gently over the sharp lines of his thighs, feeling the tension there.
“Good,” Mira praised.
Kian swallowed. He didn’t know if he was doing anything right, but they acted like he was. Like every twitch of his muscles, every breath he took, was something to be savored.
Mira shifted, the faint rustle of her clothing barely audible over the heavy silence between them. Her fingers trailed lower, tracing slow, deliberate patterns over Kian’s abdomen, never rushing, never demanding. Just exploring.
Kian’s breathing had changed. Shallower now, more uneven. He wasn’t used to this— to being the one at the center of something, stripped of his usual role.
Victor watched him closely, his expression unreadable. “You’re processing,” he noted, amusement laced in his tone. “You overthink everything, don’t you?”
Kian tensed instinctively, but Mira soothed him with a slow stroke of her hand down his chest. “You don’t have to answer,” she murmured. “Just let yourself feel.”
Feel.
It was such a simple thing, yet so foreign to him in this way. Kian had always equated touch with power— either exerting control or resisting it. But this was different. There was no force, no expectation.
Just sensation.
Mira leaned closer, her breath warm against his jaw. “Tell me one thing that feels good right now,” she whispered.
Kian swallowed. His throat was dry, his mind fogged. He almost didn’t realize when his lips parted.
“The silk,” he admitted, voice rough. “It’s… not what I expected.”
Mira smiled, dragging her fingers along the rope’s path on his wrist. “Because it’s soft?”
“Because it’s there,” Kian said. “But it doesn’t take. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It reminds me”
Victor’s gaze flickered with interest. “Of what?”
Kian hesitated. “That I’m letting it happen.”
Mira exchanged a glance with Victor, something knowing passing between them.
“That’s the point,” Victor said finally. “It’s not about restraint, Kian. It’s about choice.”
Kian closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing that.
Choice.
From our workshop
It was a choice, wasn’t it? He could ask them to stop at any moment, and they would. But he hadn’t.
Mira’s fingers ghosted over his sternum, her touch light but reverent. “You don’t have to hold yourself so tightly all the time,” she said softly. “You’re allowed to have moments just for yourself.”
That shouldn’t have hit as deeply as it did. But it did.
Victor reached out, his fingers pressing lightly against Kian’s forearm. “You’ve spent so much time watching over everyone else. When’s the last time someone took care of you?”
Kian didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Because he honestly didn’t know. Aside from his make out session with Selene a few days back, he couldn’t remember anytime he let go like that.
Mira’s lips brushed his shoulder, her hands tracing his body with an intimacy that felt almost worshipful.
“You don’t have to surrender everything,” Mira murmured. “Just… let us give something to you.”
Kian exhaled shakily, his body humming with awareness, every nerve attuned to their touch.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember… He let go.
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