Chapter 38: Loyalty
The hot water hammered Pete’s shoulders, drumming a chaotic rhythm that matched the frantic beating of his own heart. Steam swirled thick and opaque, clinging to Karn’s skin where he’d pressed his face into Pete’s back mere moments before. Pete had felt the damp heat of Karn’s tears, heard the raw fracture in his voice. It had unlocked something reckless and desperate inside him – a need to bridge the chasm he’d carved with his own terrified stupidity.
Karn hadn't pulled away yet. He remained pressed against Pete, rigid with shock, the water plastering his dark hair to his forehead. Pete forced his stiff muscles to move. He couldn’t bear the barrier of his back any longer. He twisted within the circle of Karn’s arms, the movement awkward in the confined, slippery space. Karn’s arms fell limply to his sides as Pete turned to face him.
The sight punched the air from Pete’s lungs. Karn looked… shattered. Red-rimmed eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, stared at him with a bewildered vulnerability Pete had never witnessed. Water streamed down Karn’s handsome face, indistinguishable now from tears. The polished confidence was gone, stripped bare by Pete’s clumsy betrayal and his even clumsier attempt to fix it.
Without a word, Pete surged forward. He wrapped his arms tight around Karn’s lean torso, burying his face against the damp skin of Karn’s collarbone. It wasn't graceful. His nose bumped awkwardly against Karn’s sternum. He clung, fingers digging into Karn’s back, anchoring himself against the terrifying fragility he’d uncovered in the man he thought was unshakeable. Karn remained frozen for a heartbeat, then a shudder ran through him. Slowly, hesitantly, his arms lifted, folding around Pete in return, pulling him close. The embrace was fierce, almost bruising, as if Karn was trying to weld them together.
The drumming water muffled Pete’s voice, but he forced the words out against Karn’s skin, hot and urgent. "I’m sorry, Karn. I’m so, so sorry. For being blind. For being scared. For being… such an idiot." He pulled back just enough to look up, meeting Karn’s stunned gaze. Karn’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated in the steam, searching Pete’s face as if deciphering a complex code. Pete took a shaky breath, the air thick and humid in his lungs. "I swear to you," he said, his voice gaining a strength born of sheer, terrified conviction. "I swear on everything. I'll be loyal. Only to you. I'll respect you. Trust you. Believe you." He swallowed hard. "No more running. No more hiding. No more… stupid phone calls."
He saw the faintest flicker in Karn’s eyes, a ghost of the old intensity returning. Pete held his gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity he possessed into his next words. "Whatever I am to you… Red Tag, whatever else… you’re my best friend. You always have been. My mentor. My…" He faltered, the word catching in his throat, then pushed it out, raw and true. "My Master." He dropped his gaze for a second, gathering courage, then looked back up, a flicker of his old, stubborn spark lighting his eyes. "And I will definitely reclaim you as my lover." He stated it simply, fiercely. "Really soon."
Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the relentless hiss of the shower. Steam curled around them. Karn stared down at him, water dripping from the tip of his nose onto Pete’s cheek. His expression was unreadable, a mask of shock slowly giving way to something deeper, more complex. His arms were still locked around Pete, the grip almost painful. Pete held his breath, the seconds stretching into eternity. Had he just made everything infinitely worse?
Then, a sound escaped Karn’s lips. Not a word. Just a low, breathy, "Umm." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He blinked, water clinging to his dark lashes. The intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a profound, almost dazed contemplation. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, quieter than the falling water. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I would be waiting."
Relief, hot and dizzying, flooded Pete. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet. But it was a door, cracked open. A possibility. A terrifying, exhilarating chance. Karn hadn’t thrown him out. He hadn’t laughed. He’d said… he’d be waiting.
The absurdity of the moment struck Pete suddenly. Here they were, naked and dripping, standing ankle-deep in water in Karn’s ridiculously oversized shower cubicle, having just traversed a battlefield of humiliation, fury, tears, and now… this tentative, earth-shattering declaration. Karn Thorne, the rising Titan star, looking utterly poleaxed, water plastering his usually impeccable hair flat against his skull. Pete couldn’t help it. A small, choked laugh bubbled up in his chest, escaping as a snort.
Karn flinched, startled. His brow furrowed. "What?"
Pete shook his head, pressing his forehead back against Karn’s collarbone, the laughter subsiding into shaky breaths. "Nothing," he mumbled, the coarse hair on Karn’s chest tickling his nose. "Just… this shower is ridiculous." He gestured vaguely at the multiple chrome heads raining down on them. "Feels like getting hosed down at the car wash back home. After… well, after a really weird day."
A beat of silence. Then, a low, rumbling sound vibrated through Karn’s chest. Not quite a laugh. More like the distant echo of one. Pete felt Karn’s arms tighten briefly before relaxing their crushing hold, shifting into something almost… protective. His hand came up, not to strike, but to awkwardly pat Pete’s wet hair. "Car wash," Karn repeated, his voice still rough, but a note of bewildered amusement threading through. "Right." He took a deep breath, the air hissing between his teeth. "We should… get out. Before we prune beyond recognition."
He moved first, reaching past Pete to twist the main faucet. The torrential downpour ceased abruptly, leaving only the drip-drip-drip of water from their bodies onto the marble floor and the suddenly loud silence of the penthouse beyond the glass. Karn stepped back, pulling Pete with him onto the bathmat. Pete shivered as the cooler air hit his wet skin, instantly missing the steamy cocoon.
Karn snagged two thick, absurdly plush towels from a heated rail, tossing one at Pete. He began drying himself with brisk, efficient movements, avoiding Pete’s eyes, the familiar mask of composed control settling back over his features, though it seemed thinner, more fragile than before. Pete clumsily wrapped the towel around his waist, watching Karn. The sheer normalcy of the act – drying off after a shower – felt surreal after the emotional tempest.
The thick terrycloth rasped against Pete’s still-pink skin, absorbing the shower’s remnants. He knotted the towel securely at his waist, its plush warmth a stark contrast to the office marble’s memory. Karn moved with his usual economical grace, already pulling on soft, dark grey pajama pants, the fabric whispering against his skin as he turned towards a tall, lacquered wardrobe set into the marble wall.
He opened it, revealing neat stacks of clothing, and pulled out two folded bundles. "Here," Karn said, his voice still carrying that rough edge from the shower, but calmer now, almost casual. He tossed one bundle towards Pete. "Put these on. Think you'll like them."
Pete fumbled the catch, the soft fabric landing against his chest. He unfolded it slowly: a set of pajamas, top and bottom, in a deep, comforting navy blue. He pulled on the pants first, the material soft and warm against his legs. Then the button-up top. As he fastened the last button, he finally looked down properly at the pattern. Tiny, fluffy white rabbits. Dozens of them. Hopping, nibbling imaginary carrots, peeking from behind stylized blades of grass. A wave of startled confusion washed over him. Rabbits?
His eyes flicked up to Karn, who had finished dressing in his own pajamas. Karn’s pajamas were a deep charcoal grey, covered in stylized, prowling wolves. Sleek. Powerful. Predatory silhouettes against the dark fabric. The contrast was jarring. Innocent, fluffy rabbits versus sharp, watchful wolves. Pete’s mouth went dry.
Pete stared down at the tiny hopping rabbits adorning his pajamas, then back up at Karn’s sleek grey wolves. The contrast was ludicrous, almost insulting. Fluffy prey versus sharp predator. His throat tightened. Was this a joke? A subtle reminder of his place? The warmth from the shower evaporated, replaced by a familiar, icy prickle of inadequacy.
Karn raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Problem, Riverton?" He gestured towards Pete’s chest. "Bunny brigade not fierce enough for you?"
Pete flushed, fumbling with a pajama button. "It’s… unexpected." He managed. The soft fabric suddenly felt like a costume. A ridiculous one. He pictured Karn explaining it to some unseen audience: See? Even his pajamas scream ‘Red Tag’. Harmless. Contained.
A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, the emotional whiplash of the afternoon catching up. The office punishment, the terrifying walk, Karn’s devastating tears, his own desperate promises… it all swirled together. He’d sworn loyalty, respect, trust. He’d demanded Karn back as his lover. Now, standing in ridiculous bunny pajamas, the sheer impossibility of leading anything, especially with Karn, slammed into him.
Tears welled, hot and sudden, blurring the cheerful rabbits. He couldn't orchestrate this. He wasn't the strategist, the planner. He was the one who panicked, who misinterpreted, who needed… direction. And the realization, instead of crushing him, brought a strange, tearful relief. Following Karn – trusting Karn’s lead, whether navigating Titan’s treacherous corridors or whatever tangled path their relationship was now on – felt suddenly, overwhelmingly right. It wasn't weakness; it was coming home.
Without warning, Pete surged forward. He wrapped his arms tightly around Karn’s waist, burying his face against the soft, wolf-covered fabric of Karn’s pajama top, ignoring the height difference that made it awkward. He held on, breathing in the clean scent of Karn’s skin mixed with expensive soap. He just needed to hold onto this anchor.
Karn stiffened momentarily, surprised by the suddenness. Then, slowly, his arms encircled Pete, one hand coming up to rest lightly on the nape of Pete’s neck beneath the damp strands of his hair. Karn’s voice, when it came, was a low rumble against Pete’s temple, laced with familiar, dry humor. "Bit forward there, Riverton. Did you forget to request permission to hug a Purple Tag?"
Pete pulled back just enough to look up, a watery, genuine smile breaking through his tears. He met Karn’s gaze directly. "Permission?" He shook his head, the smile widening. "I’m not asking permission to hug a Purple Tag right now. I’m just Pete. Hugging Karn. My best friend." He paused, the next words feeling bold and utterly true. "And soon-to-be lover. That’s all."
The amusement in Karn’s eyes deepened, warming into something else entirely. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, transforming his usually sharp features into something open, almost boyish. "Correct answer," he murmured, his voice losing its teasing edge, becoming soft, satisfied.
He didn’t wait for another word. Karn dipped his head, his free hand coming up to gently cradle Pete’s jaw. Pete instinctively tilted his face up, meeting him halfway. Their lips met – not with the frantic desperation of Pete’s earlier surprise kiss, nor the terrifying dominance of the collar kiss. This was different. Slow. Searching. A tentative exploration that quickly ignited into something deep and resonant.
Pete’s hands slid up Karn’s back, feeling the solid muscle beneath the soft pajamas. Karn’s arm tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, eliminating the space between them. The kiss deepened, a shared breath, a silent conversation of relief, forgiveness, and a fierce, burgeoning hunger that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with the two men finally seeing each other clearly. It was passion, yes, but also a profound, unspoken love finally finding its voice.
The kiss deepened, a slow, liquid slide of lips and tongues that tasted like forgiveness and a terrifying, exhilarating future. Pete’s hands fisted in the soft fabric of Karn’s wolf-patterned pajama top, anchoring himself as the world tilted. Karn’s fingers tangled gently in Pete’s damp hair, holding him close, pulling him deeper into the warmth blooming between them. It was a promise sealed, a fragile bridge built over the chasm of misunderstanding, thrumming with a love finally spoken without words.
Then, the shrill, insistent chirp of Pete’s phone shattered the silence, vibrating violently from where it lay discarded with his wet towel on the marble vanity. Pete flinched, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp, his eyes flying open. Karn stiffened, his gaze snapping towards the offensive device, the softness in his eyes hardening instantly into something glacial.
The caller ID glowed brightly: MOM.
Karn’s expression didn’t change, but Pete felt the air temperature plummet. The hand that had been cradling Pete’s head dropped away. Karn’s voice, when he spoke, was terrifyingly smooth, devoid of the warmth that had been there seconds ago, layered with a chilling veneer of control. "It’s fine, Pete. Answer it." He took a deliberate step back, putting a foot of charged space between them, his predator’s gaze fixed on Pete. "Go on."
Pete’s stomach clenched. He knew that tone. It was the prelude to an execution. Heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, he shuffled towards the vanity on bare feet. The cheerful rabbits on his pajamas felt absurdly mocking. He swiped the answer button with a trembling finger, holding the phone to his ear. "H-Hello?"
"Pete! Hey, bro-in-law!" Tarn’s unmistakably cheerful, slightly breathless voice boomed through the speaker, loud enough Karn could undoubtedly hear it. "So? Spill! Did it work? Did you finally pin my stuffy cousin down? Claimed dominance yet? Oh man, I gotta know – did he beg? Please tell me he begged for a gentle touch! I’ve been imagining that scenario all afternoon, it’s gold!"
Pete’s jaw dropped. He froze, phone clutched like a live grenade, eyes wide with utter, horrified disbelief. He couldn’t form words. He could only stare at Karn, whose face had gone utterly, terrifyingly blank, the fury radiating off him in almost visible waves.
Before Pete could stammer a syllable, Karn moved. Swift, silent, he plucked the phone from Pete’s nerveless fingers. He held it up, his voice dripping with icy, venomous politeness that was far more frightening than shouting. "Tarn. My dear cousin. How incredibly thoughtful of you to check in. Again." Karn paced slowly, the wolves on his pajamas seeming to stalk across the marble. "I am genuinely touched by your… dedication to the intricate details of Pete’s and my relationship, the power dynamics, the… progress. Truly. It warms the heart."
He paused near the massive, ornate mirror, catching his own reflection – cold eyes, sharp jaw set. "I trust," Karn continued, his tone hardening like steel dipped in nitrogen, "you’ve noticed Pete wears a collar? Leather. Quite distinctive? Engraved with my name?" A beat of heavy silence stretched. "As a small token of my appreciation for you constantly picking your nose into our private affairs…" Karn’s gaze flickered to Pete, standing paralyzed in his bunny pajamas, then back to his reflection, a cruel smile touching his lips. "...Pete and I were just showering together. Thoroughly. And kissing. Deeply. Together."
Karn leaned closer to the phone’s mic, his voice dropping to a silken, dangerous purr. "He’s currently in the most adorable pajamas covered in fluffy little rabbits. I, naturally, am wearing wolves. I do hope this candid update provides ample fuel for whatever… vivid… imagination you’re currently employing." The politeness vanished, replaced by pure, sharp fury. "And Tarn? Since I know you’re incapable of subtlety, and since I’m absolutely certain my lovely future mother-in-law, Mrs. Riverton, is standing right there beside you, eavesdropping with her usual delightful cheerfulness…"
A small, surprised gasp came faintly through the line. "Oh! Karn! Hello, dear!" Pete’s mom’s voice chirped, unmistakably caught.
"Hello, Mrs. Riverton," Karn replied, the fury instantly replaced by smooth, charming warmth, though his eyes remained arctic. "A pleasure, as always. I believe you, at least, might appreciate a deeper insight into Tarn’s famously effervescent personality." Karn’s smile widened, utterly devoid of warmth. "For instance, perhaps some enlightening background? Like how utterly hilarious he looked before he arrived at your charming farm? Or maybe the truly pathetic, yet undeniably amusing, spectacle he presented when he was crying his eyes out because he couldn’t find an internship placement? Real tears, Mrs. Riverton. Streaming down his face like a lost toddler. Quite the image."
Pete could almost see his mom’s eyes light up with mischievous curiosity. "Oh! Interesting!" she trilled, the delight clear.
Karn’s predatory focus snapped back to the phone. "My dearest cousin," he hissed, the charm evaporating again. "Never forget. I wasn't merely the top of strategy class. I taught it. I operate on a level your cheerful, nosey little brain cannot possibly comprehend. Goodnight."
He stabbed the 'end call' button with ruthless finality. Pete stood frozen, watching Karn, a cocktail of terror and awe churning inside him. In the split second before the line died, Pete distinctly heard a distant, strangled yelp of pure, unadulterated fear from Tarn.
Karn lowered the phone. He stood utterly still for a heartbeat, the residual fury crackling in the air. Then, like flipping a switch, his entire demeanor changed. The icy rage vanished, replaced by a bright, almost manic glee. He spun towards Pete, eyes sparkling with unholy delight.
"We need the archive," Karn declared, a broad, genuine grin spreading across his face. "The embarrassing photo archive! Specifically, section 'Tarn's Pathetic Pre-Farm Era' and 'Tarn's Internship Meltdowns'." He rubbed his hands together. "Your Mom is going to love these. That picture of him sobbing into that oversized novelty teddy bear he used to carry everywhere? Priceless. Come on, Pete! Help me dig them out!"
Pete stared at Karn, the man who had just effortlessly shifted from terrifying fury to cheerful revenge plotting in the space of a breath. The master strategist who weaponized embarrassing photos. The architect of Tarn’s impending doom via Pete’s mom’s amusement. The 'wolf' perfectly content to let the 'rabbit' witness his cunning. Pete blinked, a slow, dawning realization settling over him, washing away the fear and replacing it with stunned admiration.
Tarn wasn't the devil in this dynamic. Not even close. Pete was looking right at him. And he was wearing wolves.